The Housewife and the Film Star Read online

  Chapter Three

  "At the bottom of the road, turn right and you have reached your destination. Turn right, turn right. You have reached your destination."

  The disembodied voice of the satellite navigation system died when Sven turned the engine off. Sylvia's small house was in the corner of a quiet cul-de-sac. Trees lined the little green in the middle of the street, and white picket fences surrounded tidy lawns. It was London suburbia at its very best. Sven's lips curved into a smile at the amount of curtain twitching he'd already observed in the few minutes he'd sat here. Every window but Sylvia's, he noticed with wry amusement. His regard for her went up another notch. With all the crap in the papers over the last week, living here couldn't have been easy. Fortunately, no reporters were lying in wait today. His restraining order had taken care of that, together with the protection of Timmy's image. He'd been livid when he'd spotted the first few pictures of a terrified-looking Sylvia trying to shield her son from view. Yet, throughout it all, she held a dignified silence, ignoring the reporters clamoring for her story as best she could, whilst she went about her daily business with a quiet dignity he could only admire.

  Sven narrowed his eyes in disgust at himself and his original assumptions, as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. She was as far removed from his first impression of her as you could get. But, damn it, if that didn't fuel his interest in her even more. Clad in jeans and tank tops or pretty little summer dresses with barely any makeup, her hair pulled back into a simple pony tail or just hanging free, she still looked goddamned sexy to him. Even more so than she had in the club in all her finery. He was beginning to wonder whether a man could give himself an injury from a permanent hard-on.

  Her front door was open, an abandoned football on the front lawn testimony to her son's obsession with the game. A boy after his own heart. He could work with that, if he had to. One way or the other, he was going to get Sylvia where he wanted her—in his bed, screaming his name. Skit, those thoughts were not helping. He stepped out of his Range Rover and adjusted his jeans.

  She hadn't returned any of his or Vera's phone calls, and he wasn't at all sure of the reception he was going to get, but here went nothing. He never shrank away from a challenge, and his mystery lady was certainly that and more. He ran one hand through his hair, clicked the lock of his car, and strolled up her garden path. Before he’d made it halfway to the front door, a little human missile ran headfirst into his groin.

  Shit, that fucking hurt. Sven hit the ground facedown, groin on fire and gasping for air.

  ****

  "Mummy … Mummy!"

  Timmy burst into the kitchen with an urgency and agitation unusual even for him, and Sylvia's heart clenched for the second it took to reassure herself he was indeed okay. So what on earth was all that screaming about then?

  "Mummy, there's a strange man on the floor in our garden, and he's breathing like our goldfish. Come and see."

  What in the world was Timmy going on about now? But if that was another blasted reporter, then, God help him, breathing like a fish would be the last of his worries. Sylvia grabbed her heaviest frying pan, and followed her son out of the front door. When she entered the garden, it was time for her to make her own goldfish impressions at the sight of Sven Larsson spread-eagled on her gravel path, holding his nether regions.

  "See, Mummy, I told you he was breathing funny. All I did was run into him. Honest."

  Sylvia's lips twitched in amusement, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop the bubble of laughter that threatened to escape. Sven, in the meantime, struggled to sit up. He still clutched his groin, his voice a Mickey Mouse version of its usual deep baritone.

  "Your son … hard head." He just about managed to groan the words out between gasps of breath. Sylvia couldn't help it; she did burst into laughter.

  "Mummy, not angry?"

  She tore her gaze away from the injured sulk in Sven's features and drew Timmy in for a hug.

  "No, it's okay, but you may want to say sorry to Sven—and in future stop running!"

  Timmy kicked at the gravel under his sandals and looked from her to Sven, his little nose screwed up in worry.

  "Sorry, Sven … sorry, Mummy."

  "Okay, Timmy. Now go and take your football and play in the garden whilst I talk to Sven, will you?"

  "K."

  Sven had managed to sit up a bit straighter by the time she turned her attention back to him, and, this time, he was definitely glaring at her.

  "This is not funny, woman." His voice was beginning to return to its usual gravelly self.

  "That depends on where you're standing, doesn't it? What are you doing here anyway?"

  Sven shifted himself a bit more. The male groan he emitted made Sylvia clamp her hand on her mouth in an effort to stop herself from laughing. Timmy did have a hard head, so perhaps she ought to be a tad more sympathetic. On second thought, nah, this was divine justice. How the mighty have fallen and all that.

  "Once you've stopped laughing, woman, do you think you could give me a hand, please, being that it was your son who floored me, or are you intending to finish the job with that frying pan?"

  ****

  Sven wasn't sure he'd be able to use his cock for its intended purpose ever again. His balls still stung like crazy, and the icepack Sylvia had thrown at his head after she reluctantly helped him up and into the kitchen had done little to help.

  "Only because I don't need to give the neighbors any more ammunition to gossip over, and I warn you, you try anything, and your balls will be the last of your worries. You'll be wearing this frying pan, buster."

  Man, if that didn't turn him on even more. However, he valued what was left of his junk too much to voice that opinion out loud. He had no doubt whatsoever that the firecracker making him a cup of coffee right now would follow through on her threat.

  "What's so damn funny, Sven?"

  Sylvia studied him across her small kitchen, arms crossed, teeth worrying that bottom lip.

  "That icepack working yet?"

  "If you mean, do I have any feeling left in my balls, then the answer is no. Your son may have just broken me."

  Sylvia rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  "What a loss to womankind that would be."

  "You have no idea, älskling."

  Her groan of disgust made his smile deepen.

  "I'm sure I don't want to know what that means, do I?" Sylvia said.

  "I've a far too healthy respect for your frying pan to tell you, that's for sure. So, tell me, why have you not returned any of my phone calls, or Vera's for that matter?"

  "I'd have thought that's obvious. I've absolutely no wish to be involved with the likes of you. Why the sudden turn about anyway? You decided I'm the good guy all of a sudden?"

  How to answer that one without risking further injury?

  "Let's just say I owe you an apology for some of the things I said. In my defense, I've a long history of the press raking me over hot coals, and, as you so beautifully pointed out at the time, there've been far too many kiss-and-tell stories about me as it is. Though in the words of a great man—'stories of my adventures have been greatly exaggerated.'"

  "Hah, next you'll be trying to convince me you aren't a playboy at all and are really a choirboy at heart."

  "I wouldn't insult your intelligence; though I was a Boy Scout. Does that give me some brownie points? Always prepared and all that?"

  To his relief Sylvia's lips twitched in amusement. Her eyes lost some of their coldness as she stepped toward him and, with a feather light caress, ran one slim finger over the graze under his eye.

  "I hadn't noticed that before. Timmy really did a number on you, didn't he? Let me go and get something to clean it with."

  He managed to grab her before she moved away again and, with a small tug, pulled her on his lap. The move dislodged the ice pack.

  "It doesn't need cleaning, but you can kiss it better if you like."

  "
Dream on, buster." Sylvia's reply was far too breathy. Her eyes widened at his body's immediate reaction.

  He tightened his hold on her hips, and inhaled her very own sweet scent not masked by artificial trappings like most of the women he knew.

  "It appears Timmy hasn't broken you after all. I can hear the collective sigh of relief from women the world over," she said.

  "Not as relieved as I am, älskling, believe me. But I really need to test the theory. Want to help me out here?"

  The speed with which she darted off his lap made him dizzy, but she didn't get away before he noticed the way her breathing hitched. He was so going to enjoy the chase.

  ****

  Oh for goodness sakes, she was such a sap where Sven was concerned. Sylvia desperately tried to get her breathing back under control. He just didn't play fair. She scrambled off his lap, and turned her back on him so he couldn't see how affected she was by his words and the heat in his eyes that sent her blood to boiling point. Seriously, one look of those blue eyes and she didn't know where to put herself. Whilst her rational brain could recite ten thousand reasons why she should keep a man like that at arm's length, her body just didn't listen. His overpowering presence called to the submissive deep inside of her. She'd thought that part of herself long since broken, but apparently it was very much alive and well, and responding to the man in question. Sylvia had no problem picturing Sven in leather, holding a flogger in his large hands. The thought should terrify her, but it had the opposite effect.

  She stood transfixed, knowing what a rabbit must feel like in the headlights of an approaching car when he rose from his chair. He crossed the distance between them in two long strides until he was so close to her that she literally couldn't breathe. He tugged at the band holding her hair. It all tumbled down her back, and he wound one long strand ‘round his fingers, and inhaled the scent.

  "You've such beautiful hair, Sylvia, a man could get lost in it."

  "Save it. It's a great line, but it won't work on me." But, oh, my goodness, her insides went to mush as his whispered laugh skittered across her neck. One of his hands settled on the small of her back and pulled her closer into the hard wall of muscle that was his body. He must spend hours in the gym to achieve that definition.

  Fortunately, before she could dissolve completely into a bag of drool, Timmy bounded into the kitchen, and demanded she play football with him. But, instead of leaving as she expected him to, the blasted man grabbed the ball off a delighted Timmy and followed him out to the back garden, where the two of them engaged in a surprisingly competitive football game. Sylvia gave up and returned to the kitchen to watch them through the window.

  Gone was the arrogant Sven, and in his place was a man who seemed to genuinely enjoy Timmy's company. Heaven help her, the little boy lapped up the attention. The stark reminder of how much her son needed a father figure in his life sat heavy on her heart and, with it, the realization that her sister-in-law's dinner party was tomorrow. God, Harry was going to be there. She'd lost count how many phone calls she'd had from the man over the last week. It seemed the more she pulled away, the more he persisted. The thought of turning down yet another marriage proposal and enduring Peggy's narrow-eyed disapproval afterwards was more than she could handle right now. In her last conversation with her sister-in-law, Peggy had been perfectly clear about the choices she thought Sylvia should make.

  "Harry is a good man, and you could do a lot worse. Not many men are willing to take on a widow with children, especially one with your past. Edward is retiring soon, and we'll not be able to support you financially anymore like we have done, you know that. With the current recession, and your years out of the work place, you'll never find a job that pays enough to support all of you. You had your mad five minutes with your film star, and Harry is willing to overlook that, so for goodness' sake, girl, do the responsible thing for once."

  As though she hadn't done just that for years. If only her late husband's investments hadn't gone sour. It had left her and the children penniless and relying on the good will of Peggy and her husband. Edward was kind enough, but he was completely under Peggy's thumb and would never go against her wishes. That left Sylvia up the creek without a paddle.

  The sound of Timmy's giggle, interspersed with Sven's deep male chuckle, as the two of them came in from the garden, brought her out of her reverie. She fixed a smile on her face for her son, and avoided the searching look Sven gave her. Damn her expressive face. It always gave her away.

  "I'm reliably informed by Hard Head here that he's hungry, so I thought it wisest to bring him in. We thought pizza, and, as it happens, I know the perfect place. We're a bit too far for home delivery, but Gino is an old friend, so I'll have us eating in no time at all."

  "I'm perfectly capable of putting a meal on the table for my son, Sven. Surely, there must be somewhere you have to be?"

  Please just go away and leave me alone already.

  But Sven simply ruffled Timmy's hair, and his smile turned wicked.

  "Nonsense, I've promised this little man pizza, so the best pizza outside of Italy he'll get. I've nowhere else I need to be"—and whilst Timmy whooped his delight he added for her ears only—"other than buried deep in you with you screaming my name."

  Oh Lord!

  The desire that had been simmering in her veins ever since he arrived reached instant flash point. She bit her lip so hard she could taste blood, as the heat rose in her cheeks.

  "Sven, for pity's sake my son is right there."

  That husky whisper came out far too needy, as confirmed by his gruff response in her ear.

  "If that's your only objection to my suggestion, then we're certainly making progress. And stop abusing those lips of yours, before I'll be forced to put you over my knee."

  With his most sinful smile yet, he blew her a kiss, and, pulling his phone out of his pocket, dialed for their take away pizza. For the life of her, she couldn't think of one sensible objection.

  Chapter Four

  Dinner turned out to be a lively affair, and Sven was all too aware that Sylvia would have a devil of a job getting Timmy to bed tonight. The little fellow was beside himself with excitement at the pizza, and the arrival of his big sisters did not help to calm him down one bit. Sylvia tensed when Alicia and Ruby walked in, as though concerned about his reaction. Little did she know that Vera's report on her had been very thorough, so the fact she had teenage daughters did not come as a surprise to him. Sylvia had been very young when she had Alicia, who at eighteen was the spitting image of her mother. Alicia's father had taken off the minute a teenage Sylvia had found out that she was pregnant, leaving her to raise the girl on her own, until her marriage to Richard, fourteen years ago. Ruby, at thirteen, was an older, just as rambunctious version of three year old Timmy. Sven smiled to himself at the endless questions about actors and Hollywood in general she bombarded him with over dinner. Sylvia's sharp retort sent the teenager off in a huff. Loud hip hop music boomed from her room less than two minutes later.

  Funny, he hadn't minded the endless questions and he said as much to Sylvia, but she bit his head off, too.

  "Ruby has enough stuff and nonsense in her overly romantic head. You don't need to add to them. No one here is impressed by your film star exploits."

  "My am! My like Sven!" Timmy's excited shouts broke the sudden tension, and Sven received an impromptu hug from Hard Head, which left a fuzzy, warm feeling inside his gut. He had to force himself to not pick up his phone and see how things were back in Malmo. Lord knew he'd have to go home for a few days at least, no matter how painful the trip, but first he had to sort this thing out with Sylvia.

  She took a protesting Timmy up to bed shortly after, and left him on his own with Alicia. Sylvia's daughter hadn't said much throughout the meal. Her eyes, so like her mother's, had assessed him throughout, and Sven couldn't help but feel that he was put through some sort of silent test.

  Sure enough, once Sylvia was out of earshot, Alicia pi
erced him with a look his own mother would have been proud of.

  "I warn you, Mister, if you hurt my mother you'll have me to deal with."

  Sven was so startled by the quiet steel behind those words he didn't know what to say.

  "I've no intention of hurting her, Alicia, quite the opposite."

  Mind you, the things he had in mind would no doubt shock the young tigress in front of him. She was definitely her mother's daughter, that's for sure. Alicia took a few steps toward him, and he covered his balls instinctively at the thought of another woman in the vicinity who would no doubt be deadly with a frying pan. Her gaze flicked down to his groin and back up to his face, and her lips twitched in amusement.

  "You think Timmy hurt? I happen to be a black belt, so bear that in mind when dealing with my mother."

  Of course you are, just my damned luck.

  She made to leave the room, and he stared after her, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, when she turned round again abruptly. What the hell?

  "Mum has had to deal with more crap in one lifetime than any woman should, and it's high time she let her hair down a bit. I reckon you're just the man to show her, but, for pity's sake, keep her out of the papers. Aunt Peggy doesn't need more ammunition to torture her with. Oh, and ask her about tomorrow, because she won't mention it. If you're as intent on getting into her knickers as you appear to be, then helping her get rid of Harry will earn you many Brownie points from all of us."

  Sven's strangled cough in response to that statement made her smile.

  "Oh come on, surely I didn't shock you?"

  "Not exactly, but I doubt your mother would appreciate you arranging her love life for her, and who the fuck is Harry?"

  "No need to swear, Mr. Larsson, but for your information Harry is my Aunt's choice of husband for Mum, and the way things stand, she might just feel obliged to agree to marry him. It would break her heart if I was jailed for murder, so work that famous Larsson charm and talk her out of it!"