Her Swedish Billionaire's Baby(40)

 

“No way. He’ll just be back for more. I need you to take Samara and head back to Sweden. Keep her safe and away from him.”

 

Bjorn stared at her in disbelief.

 

“And what about you?” he asked.

 

Alison shrugged, “I’ll deal.”

 

“And you think Samara would let me leave you behind?”

 

Alison shrugged again, “She’s not exactly in a position to protest.”

 

Bjorn looked down, “How about we see if there isn’t a permanent solution to your daddy problem?”

 

“What do you mean? Like…kill him?” Alison’s eyes were wide with horror. Bjorn laughed.

 

“Of course not. There are other ways of dealing with toxic people without killing them. You don’t let yourself dream big enough.”

 

Alison spread out her arms, “I’m here to learn sensei,” she said dripping sarcasm.

 

“Good. That’s settled then,” Bjorn said with a nod as he turned to head up the stairs to Samara.

 

“Was she a good girl today? Did she rest?” he asked as he climbed.

 

Alison snorted, “I put her out on the balcony. She wanted to watch the ocean. It was the only way to get her to settle down.”

 

Bjorn nodded his understanding, “Good. Good.” He murmured, mind clearly elsewhere.

 

 

 

It seemed like every time Samara managed to take a step forward under Bjorn's defenses, something happened to shove him back out, she thought; pissy and not hiding it. Bjorn had all but dragged her to the benefit, which Samara didn't particularly care about, until Bjorn found her a seat and then wandered off to pick up girls.

 

She scowled down at her virgin bloody Mary that she still hadn't finished and was all set to ignore everyone when someone sat down next her. Samara looked up and saw a pretty girl who would likely be right up Bjorn's alley, if Bjorn had been paying Samara's corner any sort of attention. "What'd that virgin bloody Mary ever do to you?" the girl asked with a small smile.

 

Samara couldn’t help but smile back, because the girl didn't do anything to her and she was not rude. "Nothing," she said. "But the guy who bought it for me was being a total douche."

 

"Pretty guy with the violet eyes and the Armani jacket?" the girl said sympathetically. "I saw you two come in. What's up with him?"

 

Samara shrugged one shoulder. "No idea. Tempted to leave him here though."

 

The girl laughed. "I'm Inga."

 

Samara smiled and offered Inga a hand. "Hi Inga, I'm Samara."

 

Inga pulled her in close to whisper in her ear, "Hey, if I were you, I'd go up and show those girls around him just who he belongs to."

 

"Is that so?" Samara asked with a laugh. "I'm not sure about that."

 

Clinking her drink to Samara's, Inga said, "Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but all those girls kind of look like you. So maybe he's scared and not dealing well." Samara hadn't noticed, and she turned new eyes to the girls – three of them for Christ's sake – around Bjorn. "Been together long?"

 

"A few months," Samara admits quietly. Inga's right, the girls look a little like her – in terms of height and build anyway. Her. Maybe it's time to start thinking that way, she admitted to herself as she finished her virgin bloody Mary. "Thanks, Inga," she said and gave her an impulsive hug. "I think I'll take your advice."

 

When she stood up from the table, Samara shook herself off and strode towards Bjorn. She let her hips sway in a way that was difficult with her stomach the way it was, and rearranged her hair into more tidiness than it had been in before. When she reached Bjorn, she tapped Bjorn on the shoulder, and when Bjorn turned to look at her, Samara let herself be.

 

She wrapped her arms around Bjorn's neck and yanked him down closer to her. "I'm bored," Samara said with a slow smirk. "Can we go home now?" She pressed close to Bjorn, arching her back so their chests touched and she kissed him, wet and deep and messy. It was staking a claim and the other girls around them, all of whom made annoyed noises, didn't complain overly much when Bjorn's attention was dragged to her.

 

"Yeah," Bjorn said hoarsely. "Let's go."

 

She slid a hand in his back pocket as they walk back to the Mercedes, and when they were settled inside, she moved to lean against Bjorn's side and nibble on his neck and ear as he drove them back home.

 

Once inside the penthouse, Bjorn pressed her against the wall, hoisting her up and pinning her there with his hips. She compensated for the change in center of gravity by wrapping her legs around his waist and holding on tightly with her arms around his neck. Samara had made sure to put on the caramel-flavored lip gloss that evening when they left for the benefit, and it seemed to have paid off because Bjorn was doing everything he could to lick the taste out of her mouth.