The Truffle Caper (Regina #3)

By Lotte Larsen

What I wanted was my lover Janek and the truffle trove he said would make us rich. What I got was an Icelander who claimed her baby was Janek's, some human remains I promised to scatter around Sweden and Gustaf, a scarred cop who offered me an intimate tour of his police station. Then I found the truffles—and everything became dangerously complicated.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lotte Larsen
• Release date: Sep 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311499585

Lotte Larsen

Lotte Larsen is a Swedish-Canadian who lives in Toronto, Ontario. She hopes you have as much fun reading her smutty little pulps as she has writing them.

Book preview

HotSwedishMen: Regina #3

THE TRUFFLE CAPER

Lotte Larsen

Copyright © Lotte Larsen, 2015

Cover design copyright © Lotte Larsen, 2015

This cover was designed using Gimp 2.8

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Table of Contents

One: Janek's Apartment

Two: The Deal

Three: Gustaf

Four: Mushrooms

Five: Traffic Violation

Six: Prisoner

Seven: Truffles

Eight: Gustaf

Nine: Sauna

Ten: Spanking

Eleven: Truffles

Twelve: Loose Ends

One: Janek's Apartment

The key didn't fit in the lock. I looked up and down the hallway in case the apartments were numbered differently in Sweden. Like they had two apartment 512's for some reason. Nope. But the key to the building had worked. It was early, not even six in the morning and I'd been travelling for two days. Buses from this little Norwegian coastal village down to Oslo and then the train across to Stockholm. All I wanted to do was sleep.

Inside the apartment, a baby started crying. I blinked at the door. Janek hadn't mentioned babies in his plans. Stealing truffles and getting rich, yes. Squalling rug rats, no. He must have messed up paying his rent while he was working on the Northern Majestic and the landlord evicted him and changed the locks. It could happen. I'd go have a coffee and then call him, something I should have done when his friend Lars dropped me off in Norway.

My knuckles rapped on the door.

After a minute, the lock clicked and Bjork's little sister looked out, an infant draped over one shoulder. Her eyes widened ever so slightly as if she recognised me. Then she frowned and juggled the baby. Ya?

I'm looking for a friend who use to live here. A Czech man?

No. No Czechs here.

He lived here before you.

No, I always live here.

Always? Really? When did you move here from Iceland?

Iceland? No, I'm Swedish.

I was getting annoyed now. Then why do you look like Bjork's sister?

Who?

Bjork, the singer.

No English. She shut the door in my face.

Janek had gotten off the ship in Iceland a month and a half ago and now there was an obfuscating Icelander in his apartment. Coincidence? I thought not.

I knocked on the door again and stuck my foot in the gap when Young Bjork opened it. Baby still jiggling on her shoulder. Where's Janek?

Her eyelids fluttered. Who?

Janek. The guy who owns this apartment?

No, it's my apartment.

I narrowed my eyes. So why did you open the door a second time?

She smirked. Janek tells many women he loves them but I'm the one he comes back to.

Something curdled in my stomach. So that's how it was going to be. I drew myself up and scowled, my Scot's accent slipping loose. He mentioned a business deal. That was all.

Of course he did.

She cooed at the baby who was gurgling now instead of wailing then let go of the door to stroke the baby's curly black hair. Her hair was black and straight; Janek's was wavy brown. Didn't mean it was his child. Didn't mean anything. The door swung open on a comfortable living room. Green floral sofa and a low white coffee table dotted with soft bright coloured toys and baby paraphernalia. A puppy calendar on the fridge to the right and pink and yellow sippy cup on the counter next to a carton of apple juice. Like she had lived there for years.

Young Bjork gave me an innocent