Nordic Lessons

by Christine Edwards

  “Elora. My name is Elora.”

  “Elora, is my English that fucking thick that you can’t understand that I already told you that a truck is on the way for the Jag?”

  Humiliation consumes me as heat once again suffuses my cheeks. “I-I can understand you just fine, Mikkel.”

  “Good. Now get your gear and let’s get out of here. It’s almost dark and I don’t like the idea of standing on the shoulder of the motorway any longer than absolutely necessary. Understood?”

  I watch as he breathes in deeply through his attractive, perfectly linear nose before adding in a slightly less scary tone, “I won’t hurt you.”

  I blink once at his statement before asking, “But, but what about my brother’s automobile? Is the garage nearby? What about the cost?”

  “It’s headed to a reputable garage. That’s all you need to know tonight. Anything else?”

  I look down at the gravel and back up to meet his eyes, appreciating his pure, masculine beauty that’s already sculpted in the shadows of twilight. “Thank you, but I’ll wait here for the driver. Perhaps I can catch a ride into town with him and call a taxi or a bus from there. I suppose this is goodbye. Thank you for the call, and have a nice evening Mikkel.”

  I watch in fascination as both of his thick shoulders jerk back slightly before he plants his huge hands on the front of his denim-clad hips. Those unusual eyes pin me with an unyielding stare.

  In a growling tone, he addresses me, “Woman, you most certainly will not be doing that. For the third fucking time, get your bag and get your sweet ass on the back of my ride.” My jaw drops as he hikes his right thumb over his shoulder toward his sleek motorcycle. I can’t miss the annoyance in his voice as he adds, “I don’t want us to be run the fuck over or have my ride crushed by a texting teenager on the side of the fucking E18 tonight.”

  His rigid demeanor and heated words leave little room for misinterpretation. My fingers fly up to press against my lips. I have never in my twenty-eight years had a man speak to me in such an arrogant fashion. I glance quickly around, weighing my options. The darkness is hanging heavily between us. He’s cast in long shadows now and I realize that he’s right; we could easily be hit. The shoulder we are standing on is only slightly wider than the width of the Jag. We are effectively sandwiched between the motorway and a steep slope. I’m still apprehensive and am about to offer another objection when a loud, hulking wrecker comes in slowly off the road. Its engine emits a loud growl as it comes to a halt behind Mikkel. He turns to nod once in acknowledgment of the blond guy who’s seated high up off the ground in the cab of the wide truck.

  I turn away to walk back and gather my handbag from the front passenger seat. Thankfully, the strap is long enough that I’m able to sling it over me, cross-body style.

  I’m getting in that wrecker.

  I turn to make my way back to him and he calls out loudly over the whir of the engine, “Leave the keys in the ignition.”

  I swallow before answering, “I’ll give him the keys once I’m in the cab of the wrecker.”

  His eyes tighten to narrow slashes and his shoulders flex back slightly. “No. There’s no room. He brought his dog. This conversation is over, Elora. Get. On. My. Ride.”

  I’m frightened and clutch my handbag against me as the handsome blond guy, followed closely by a huge mastiff, hops down from the cab of the still running wrecker.

  He looks down at the ground and sighs heavily before glancing back up to say, “I’ll have him follow us into town, if it makes you feel better. Jesus Christ, female, I’m just trying to help you out, not fucking get my hands up your damn tight-ass skirt.”

  I need the ride, pure and simple.

  I let out a deep sigh that he doesn’t miss. “Oh. All right then. If he’ll follow us then I’ll come with you.” It’s just a lift into town, nothing more. Regardless of how frightening he is, I need his assistance. I turn back to place the key in the Jag ignition as I call out over my shoulder. “Let me just pop my flat key off the ring; otherwise I’ll be out on the street tonight.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I see him waiting, motionless. The darkness that is settling in around him like a velvet cloak suits his dangerous countenance far more than the tranquility of daylight. I lean down and push the key into the ignition. Sucking in a deep breath for reassurance, I walk the fifteen feet back to him. As I draw nearer I’m so infused with adrenaline that I feel lightheaded. I halt, close to his unique motorcycle and await further instructions. He’s speaking rapidly to his friend in Norwegian, pointing at the Jaguar then back to the wrecker. The supremely hot blond guy speaks in a low rumble, pointing up to the sky before inclining his head to Mikkel’s motorcycle. The oversized dog sits obediently on its chestnut colored haunches beside the blond man.

  Mikkel turns back to me. “Elora, this is Bern. Bern, Elora. He’ll have the Jag up on the wrecker in fifteen minutes. We can wait here for him or ride ahead. It’ll be pitch black soon. Your call.”

  Crossing my arms and rubbing my hands up and down to ward off the chill, I make my decision. “No, it’s fine. I trust that he’ll get it to the garage. We can head into the city now.” I step forward and extend my hand, saying, “Nice to meet you, Bern. I appreciate the help tonight.”

  He wipes his hand several times down the front of his jeans before taking mine briefly and nodding once before releasing my palm. I watch him walk over to the Jag, the loyal dog right on his heels.

  These Norwegian men are so difficult to read!

  Mikkel takes the final step, closing the gap between us as I lift my face to stare up at him. I’m awestruck. He’s far taller than my brother, who is precisely six foot two. I’m skittish beyond words as I stare up into those burning, golden eyes.

  “Don’t be afraid of me, Elora.”

  I blink because his tone is noticeably gentler, although his voice is still impossibly deep. Somehow, though it seems mad to trust him, I sense that he’s honest.

  “I’m trying not to be afraid, Mikkel.” Glancing around him at his ride I say, “I, um, well this is a tad embarrassing, but I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before. Should you get on first or should I?”

  Something flashes bright in his eyes. Pride, or honor perhaps?

  Quietly he answers me, “After me, baby, and don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” He hands me his matte black helmet. “Here, wear this.”

  Kind of him to give it up for my use ….

  I pull it down over my head. It’s so big that even with the chin-strap tightened to the maximum, it still feels loose.

  In the next moment he throws his long leg over the shiny black motorcycle and I step back as he turns a key, twists the throttle twice and pushes down hard on the right pedal. The machine immediately roars to life beneath him. The growl of the engine is deep and constant, reminding me of an angry, caged lion.

  Am I really considering getting onto his dangerous ride? My mounting excitement outweighs any trepidation inside of an instant.

  I stare at his neatly trimmed, nearly black goatee as he instructs me, “Hold onto my shoulders, then throw your right leg over.”

  “But I’m wearing a skirt.”

  A devilish smile passes across his lips, “Hike it up a bit, babe, and you’ll be fine.”

  The casual way he speaks to me is foreign and absolutely thrilling. The men I’ve dated in London have all been distinctly cold, nearly clinical with me. His manner is the polar opposite, and I secretly adore the way it makes me feel.

  I bring my palms down onto the smooth black leather of his vest, silently marveling at the heat and hardness beneath as I swing my leg over, just as I was told.

  I really should just go with it and enjoy this once in a lifetime motorcycle ride. Perhaps I’ll even incorporate this sexy experience into one of my abstracts.

  “Ooh!” I instantly jerk up from the leather seat. The strong vibrations feel wicked. The intense shudders rhythmically caress the area between my legs. Oh God, oh
yes, right there … it feels so awesome.

  A knowing, masculine laugh erupts as he glances over his shoulder and says, “Easy there, girl. Just ease down onto it. You’ll be fine.”

  Oh my. The images that my brain just conjured up from his descriptive words have zero to do with this motorcycle, yet everything to do with its sensual owner. A quick image of him stark naked springs to mind and I have to fight back the sudden lust that overtakes me. I ever so slowly lower my bottom farther down onto the wide leather seat. Thankfully his friend is busy inspecting the undercarriage of the Jaguar. I’m not generally given to knicker-flashing total strangers.

  “You have something to tie your hair? If not, even with the helmet, that length you have going on will whip around and you won’t be able to see shit.”

  “Oh, right. Yes, I believe so.”

  I reach into my handbag and pull out an elastic hair tie. I make quick work of a low, impromptu ponytail before touching his shoulder to say, “All right, Mikkel, all set.”

  He nods, and the scent of his leather and a familiar musk tease my nose. It feels natural as I lower my right cheek down against the embroidered, arching patch that straddles his broad shoulders. It reads in crimson lettering, ‘Devil’s Wrath MC,’ and there is a fearsome horned demon below the words. ‘Oslo’ is stitched in a swooping arc across the base.

  My chest presses into his wide back. I say into his ear, “Sorry, but I have to ask. Your cologne, it’s Bulgari … correct?”

  He turns and blinks, surprised by my question. “Yeah, why?”

  “Because I simply adore it.” The words leave my lips without hesitation.

  The utterly intoxicating, masculine scent has always drawn me in with its perfect blending of woodsy musk and rich patchouli. I’ve never dated anyone who has worn it; however, I’ve admired the sensuality of the cologne several times while browsing through Harrods back in London. I recall actually wondering what it would smell like on a sexy male. Now I know. My imagination fell exceedingly short.

  His head turns slightly again and he casts another wickedly handsome smile my way. “Do you now? Well that’s fucking good to know. Hold on tight, Elora. You’re in for your first ride.”

  I bind both arms tightly about his thick waist and wait for the fear to come as he eases onto the motorway.

  He leans back to shout, “You follow instructions very well.”

  Without hesitation I call out, “I suppose it’s my nature.”

  My brows draw together as he looks straight ahead and replies in his low, dominant voice, “I can tell, baby.”

  Instead of fear, I feel only the thrill of freedom as we begin to roar toward the gleaming lights of the city. There’s a distinct chill in the evening air and I press closer to his large body, which is throwing off copious heat. The wind is strong and without glasses like his or a visor, it’s difficult to take so I meld my body to his for protection. The power of his cycle along with the strength of his body deliver a heady dose of exhilaration.

  I could really get used to this ….

  Is he a gang member? The thought really doesn’t bother me in the least. I’ve always been open-minded and besides, tonight, biker or not, this man is my savior.

  Chapter One

  The Devil You Know

  Her legs are shapely and slender, pressed tight against my outer thighs. I fight the urge to run my hand down one as we fly along the highway. Oh fuck, yeah. Stopping to help her out was worth it. Even her name is sexy as hell. I’ll owe Bern for working overtime tonight, but for the chance to spend time with this sexy woman … I’ll gladly pay up.

  She feels so small and perfect sitting behind me. I should ask her where she lives at this point, seeing as we’re getting closer to the exit for the City Centre. The primal part of me wants to drive her straight out to my lake house, for the chance to spend more time with her. Who am I kidding? I want to take her to my place and fuck her relentlessly until she can’t form a coherent thought, but I don’t want to scare her away. It’s clear how nervous I make her and I’ll need to gain her trust before I take her for the first time.

  Could she be what I think she is, a pure submissive? All the natural, telling signs are there: her willingness to follow my lead, to please, her underlying sexuality that is practically rolling off her in waves. She seems intelligent but I doubt she’s familiar with the lifestyle.

  Shit, I bet she’s never even heard of what I’m into, what I’ve been searching for ….

  Her smooth voice breaks me out of my thoughts, “I believe this is my exit, Mikkel.”

  Fuck, her silky, accented voice is as sensual and addictive as she is. I take the ramp nice and easy, not wanting to frighten her, seeing as she is a total novice on a chopper. If I have my way after tonight then she’ll be riding out with me regularly.

  Where the fuck is this need to claim her as mine coming from?

  She presses deeper into me and speaks into my left ear, “I’m in the City Centre, three blocks north of Karl Johan’s Gate.”

  “Got it.”

  Even though my custom garage is located in the city, I make a conscious effort to avoid the chic areas of town whenever possible. Just the annoyed looks of the tight asses here make me want to strangle an ox out of sheer frustration.

  “I’m staying on this next block, Mikkel. The yellow building, just there, on the left.”

  I pull up carefully between two parked BMWs and cut the engine. She’s still holding fast to my waist, clearly not sure what to do next. I can’t resist. I lower my right hand and touch the back of her fingers … damn, just like cool satin.

  She leans deeper into me and exclaims in a breathy voice, “The motorcycle ride was unreal. You clearly know your way around Oslo, Mikkel.”

  “Yeah, grew up in the city.”

  I glance up at the elegant, five story historic building. My parents live not two blocks away so I know the price tag on these posh places. Maybe she’s married? I fucking hope that’s not the case.

  “You live alone?” There’s an inadvertent edge in my voice. She hesitates for a second before answering, “Well, technically yes, for now. This is my brother’s flat. He’s a banker and is away for the next few weeks on business in Asia.”

  Interesting ….

  “Okay, baby, do the same as when you hopped on except in reverse. I’ll hold the bike steady. Watch for any passing cars as you get off, yeah?”

  “All right, Mikkel.”

  She hands me back the helmet and pulls the tie from her hair. As she dismounts, I catch several people slowing to watch, looking back and forth between both of us and my custom ride. She’s standing beside the bike, shifting nervously from foot to foot. I can tell all the staring from strangers is making her uncomfortable. I swing my leg over to dismount, grab the keys and take her hand in mine. Without breaking my stride I lead her straight across the street, toward the entrance of her building.

  “Code?”

  “Right. 4897603. But, you don’t have to walk me in. I’m safe now, thanks to all of your gracious, er, kind, efforts this evening.”

  I ignore her comment. The door buzzes open and I move forward, staying right at her side.

  A middle-aged doorman in a black suit stands behind an all-glass desk. He sees us and begins speaking English to her in a friendly tone, “Good evening Miss Thornthwaite ….”

  His greeting is cut short with one good look at me. His eyes scan rapidly between her and me in an obvious effort to determine if I pose a direct threat to her safety. It’s a fucking certainty that leather-clad bikers do not usually visit the lobby of this high-class building.

  “Good evening, Anders. I had a bit of trouble with the Jaguar, but luckily a friend came to my rescue.”

  She steps closer into me and I nod once to acknowledge the man.

  The man gives us a blank stare as if trying to decide how to respond.

  When he glances down at something on his desk, I tag the circular button near the elevator and the silver d
ouble doors slide open. Placing a hand on her lower back I guide her in before me.

  “Floor?” I ask in a subdued tone.

  “Five, please.”

  I push the button and wait as the double doors slide shut.

  Inside the sleek, well-lit elevator I get an up close and personal look at her. She seems nervous but holds her ground, standing a mere foot away from me. Our eyes collide and I scan her face for a flaw, any fucking flaw. There is none. She is absolute, heartbreaking perfection.

  “We’re here,” she whispers.

  Too quick. “Yeah.”

  I let her step out first onto the royal blue and gold patterned carpet. Her small hand is still covered with mine. I’ve never been a fan of formal ‘old school’ style, makes my fucking skin crawl. I’m a clean lines, modern guy, always have been.

  She points down the hallway and heads in that direction. “I’m just here, at the end.”

  She comes to a stop in front of the tall, carved ivory-colored door and turns to look up at me. Her aqua eyes are so clear that they remind me of the Norwegian Sea in summer. Long lashes sweep wide in a graceful arch. Fucking amazing.

  “Mikkel. I, I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “No need. What were you doing out there today, anyhow?”

  “I’d been photographing the landscape just outside the city. I work from photographs, that and memory mostly. I wasn’t supposed to touch Alexander’s car while he’s away. I’m not the best driver and he knows this. I just couldn’t resist getting out of the city today for a little inspiration. The light was so beautiful this afternoon. I’d pulled the Jaguar off to the shoulder for a brief stop and when I tried the ignition … well, the rest is history, I suppose.”

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  “I’m an artist.”

  “Paintings?”

  “Yes, oils. Mostly abstracts.”

  She should be the subject.

  I pull my wallet out of my back pocket and slide out one of my English business cards for her. “Here is the address where the Jag will go tonight. It’ll be secured so you don’t need to worry about it. Assuming it’s nothing major, like a transmission or anything, then it should be ready by late Monday afternoon. You can swing by and pick it up then.”