“That surprises me.”
“Why? It’s a matter of supply and demand. I have no interest in a boyfriend or a
married man or someone living with me. I do best on my own. Who should I have
sex with? One of the teachers at school? I don’t think so. One of the students? A
delicious story for the gossiping old ladies. And they keep a close watch on people
called Vanger. And here on Hedeby Island there are only relatives and people
already married.”
She leaned forward and kissed him on the neck.
“Do I shock you?”
“No. But I don’t know whether this is a good idea. I work for your uncle.”
“And I’m the last one who’s going to tell. But to be honest, Henrik probably
wouldn’t have anything against it.”
She sat astride him and kissed him on the mouth. Her hair was still wet and fragrant
with shampoo. He fumbled with the buttons on her flannel shirt and pulled it down
around her shoulders. She had no bra. She pressed against him when he kissed her
breasts.
Bjurman came round the desk to show her the statement of her bank account—
which she knew down to the last öre, although it was no longer at her disposal. He
stood behind her. Suddenly he was massaging the back of her neck, and he let one
hand slide from her left shoulder across her breasts. He put his hand over her right
breast and left it there. When she did not seem to object, he squeezed her breast.
Salander did not move. She could feel his breath on her neck as she studied the
letter opener on his desk; she could reach it with her free hand.
But she did nothing. If there was one lesson Holger Palmgren had taught her over
the years, it was that impulsive actions led to trouble, and trouble could have
unpleasant consequences. She never did anything without first weighing the
consequences.
The initial sexual assault—which in legal terms would be defined as sexual
molestation and the exploitation of an individual in a position of dependence, and
could in theory get Bjurman up to two years in prison—lasted only a few seconds.