The Map of My Heart (Sample)

Chapter Two - San Francisco

"Are you sure about this?" I asked, gazing up the long staircase that disappeared into the trees above.

"Nope," said Niklas. "But my phone is telling me this is the best way to see Coit Tower."

I snorted. "That's because your phone hasn't been walking all day."

I leaned against the metal railing and brushed a few stray strands of hair off my face. Despite all the hiking of the last months—or maybe because of it—San Francisco's hills were testing the limits of my leg muscles. Of course, Niklas looked the same as he always did: alert, sexy, and ready for anything. At least he could have the decency to break a sweat on a day like today.

I scanned his body, starting from the bottom up, looking for signs of fatigue, but instead I found the thick muscles of his legs, only partly disguised under jeans. His t-shirt hung just below the buckle of his belt, and I knew if I lifted that shirt I'd find the ripple of his stomach muscles, dusted with a trail of hair, that would respond when I touched them.

Niklas looked up from his phone and raised his eyebrows. The smile on his face widened. I bit my lip. I didn't think I had moved or made any sound, but somehow he noticed the turn of my thoughts. He shoved his phone into his pocket and stepped closer until our bodies were almost touching. He cupped my chin and brushed his lips against mine in invitation.

"The climb will be fun. Let's give it a try," he whispered.

He let go of me and took a few steps up the winding staircase. Was he leveraging his sex appeal to get me to follow him? I shook my head. I straightened my shirt and smoothed my hair.

"I'm not sure we have the same definition of fun," I grumbled.

He turned back around, barely suppressing a smile. His gaze drifted down my body, slowing at my breasts and my hips, before he met my eyes again.

"I'm pretty sure we do," he said, his voice a little deeper.

I chuckled. Even if I ignored the more intimate hints in his words, he was probably right. The steps looked brutal from the bottom, but even from here I could see we'd get plenty of views of the San Francisco Bay on the way. I could stop for some photos as long as my arms weren't shaking too badly.

"Fine, we'll take the stairs." I sighed. "As long as that phone of yours tells you how to get us to a nearby restaurant right afterward. Preferably with lounge chairs and tropical drinks."

"Yep."

"And you might have to carry me part of the way."

"Gladly," he said, and he probably wasn't kidding.

I started up the staircase, trying to ignore the burn in my legs. Concentrate on the view. I looked up, and my gaze immediately found Niklas's well-sculpted rear, flexing with each step.

Not that view.

As we turned the corner onto another flight, the phone in his back pocket rang.

He stilled. Slowly, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and looked down at the screen. Finally, on the third ring, he sighed.

"It's my agent," he said, frowning. "I need to take it."

I nodded.

"Hi, Tom." All the emotion left Niklas's voice as he answered the phone. Instead, I heard the Niklas from the press conference in Stockholm: charming, polished, well-spoken but so far away from my Niklas. He smiled a little as he spoke, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Weren't you the one who told me to take some time off this summer? I was just following your advice," he said.

I studied him as he spoke. This Niklas I barely knew. The hockey player whose missteps landed on the front pages of the newspapers for everyone to see. The person I was about to meet again when our trip ended.