Naughty in Norway (8 page)

At least Lisetta had the decency to pack necessary items. Who the hell knows if there is a drug store around here?

There’s no way he’s getting a glimpse of me in my nightie, so I head back through the living room toward the bathroom fully clothed.

He must still be outside. Good.

The fire has heated up the cabin past the point of being ice cube frigid. While it isn’t comfortable by any means, it’s definitely tolerable without a jacket now. The trickle of heat has started to warm the bathroom as well, and the tension eases from my body as I shut the door behind me. I reach for the handle and, of course, there is no lock on it.
Damn. I guess I can’t even let my guard down in here.

After a brief search through the little wooden cabinet in the bathroom, I come across several plush white towels that smell fresh. Looking longingly at the bathtub, I sigh and wish that I felt comfortable enough to take a long soak. Maybe when he goes out, but without a lock on the door, I’m not risking a bath tonight with Alreck merely a few feet away.

I pull my long dark mane up into a twisted bun atop my head and secure it with my tortoise-colored Ficcare hair clip. I wait expectantly for the frigid water to warm enough to wash. After patting my face dry with the soft towel, I study myself in the mirror and ponder how he might see me. The face reflected back at me tonight looks weary, but pretty. My eyes are mildly bloodshot from sporadic sleep but hopefully the majority of what I’m seeing is simply due to fatigue. I tap moisturizer around my face. It instantly refreshes me. It’s amazing what a good moisturizer can do, especially in the extreme cold. It’s a definite necessity here. I finish off by applying Sugar brand lip balm to my rosy, bow-shaped lips.

Hesitant, I step out from the bathroom. Alreck is sitting on one side of the gray sectional, leaning over to clean the rifle perched on the low coffee table. He seems engrossed in what he’s doing and doesn’t look my way.

Keeping a healthy distance, I stop near the large windows and ask him, “What kind of gun is that?”

Without looking up, he answers, “A Remington Winchester Magnum.”

“Oh, isn’t Remington an American rifle?”

“Yeah, American. It’s an American rifle.”

Cocky!

“Well, I see that you like American things, so you must have excellent taste,” I huff.

Finally glancing up, he first checks out my impromptu bun before pinning me with his near turquoise eyes. “I like
specific
American things very much, and those that catch my interest are always
exceptional.”

His words make my cheeks grow hot. Lowering my gaze, I try desperately to hide the blush caused by my quickening heartbeat. Both threaten to expose my nervousness, so I swiftly move toward my room without another word to him.

Once inside, I lean back against the door until my heart rate begins to slow.

I have to get away from this place. The attraction between us is growing like wildfire and it’s driving me insane. There is no denying it. It’s practically tangible
.

I’ll find a way.

I flip the light switch on the wall and the simple track light hanging from the wooden ceiling illuminates the room. I wonder why in the world he is cleaning his rifle now, after such a demanding journey. Perplexing man.

After searching through the bag, I pull out my pink Victoria’s Secret sleep tee. It’s too bad Lisetta didn’t pack me something warmer to sleep in. The room is still chilly, so I leave my socks on and hop quickly into the bed.

Snuggling into the dense down comforter, I’m restless, with an ache between my legs.
Damn that man
! I want desperately to touch myself but I would be beyond mortified if he heard me and I’m not confident in my ability to keep quiet.

The man misses nothing. He’s probably listening outside the door right now.

The knock startles me.

Shit!

“Um, yes?”

He speaks through the door. “I’ll be in town in the morning buying supplies. You are not to leave this
rorbu
. Are we clear?”

“Fine. May I have a glass of water?”

No answer, but less than a minute later there is another soft knock. I stand and crack the door open, hiding myself the best I can behind it. “Thank you,” I say politely, yet detached, as I take the water from his hand. A thrill goes though me as our fingers inadvertently brush against one another.

After downing the cold water, I crawl back into bed and clutch my white pillow against me. As I drift off to sleep, I’m unable to shake the images of his beautiful face and smooth voice from my thoughts. He seems to be surrounding me at every turn. Could I possibly be enamored with Alreck, my kidnapper?

R
olling over the next morning, I blink and peek down at my watch. Eight o’clock? I must have been utterly exhausted to sleep that long. Normally I’m an early riser, but I guess all of the traveling messed with my internal body clock.

As I slide from the bed I notice my door is slightly ajar.
I wonder if he checked on me
.

I don’t hear anything as I get dressed. Alreck must have already left. Just as the thought enters my head, I remember my cell is at the bottom of my purse. I scramble for it and to my dismay see that there is zip-o service out here. He must know that or he never would have let me hold onto it.

Sighing, I charge it up anyway because it’s nearly dead. I wish that I’d had my hands on this while we were traveling. He knowingly kept it from me, tucked away with my duffle bag. I’m certain that all my stored music will come in handy to help keep me company in this desolate place.

I pull on a warm, light gray cashmere sweater, thick socks and jeans. Grabbing the remaining toiletries, I slowly open my door and check to make sure he is gone. The cabin looks larger in the daylight. There’s a piece of paper lying on top of the coffee table, an interesting piece of furniture that appears to have been made out of a twisted, heavily lacquered tree stump.

Very cool.

I curiously pick up his note to see what orders he has for me.

Put logs on as needed.
It’s written in thick block lettering.

Direct. Why would I imagine anything else?

I head to the kitchen and hunt through the glass cupboards, thankful to find sugar, tea and coffee in one of them. There is no food to speak of and I hope that he’s bringing us something to eat from his little trip this morning.

After a bit of searching, I come across some matches near the gas range in an artistic, hammered pewter box with a longship on a body of water decorating the top. It looks historic but well cared for. I run my fingertip across the beautiful, smooth three-dimensional scene. Lighting the range, I set the full kettle on and wait for the water to heat.

He must have taken Titan with him,
I think as I cross to check on the fire. After throwing a couple of logs in, I walk around to view everything in the daylight. The walls are uniform planks of wood painted a crisp white. The only décor to speak of consists of a bookshelf that I have yet to explore, a set of blue and red cross-country skis hung in an “X” behind the sofa, and an enormous moose head on the rock wall over the fireplace
.

Poor guy.
Was he felled by Alreck?

Satisfied that Alreck really is gone, I stand by the window nearest the front door and look out at the deep snow in the driveway. There are rifts where his truck was parked, and visible footprints over to the shed.
Maybe there’s something outside in the shed that I can use to escape.

The high whistle from the kettle pulls me from my introspection and I make my way back toward the kitchen. I’m just pouring my tea into a cream-colored mug when I hear the crunch of tires on snow coming from outside. Within moments, the front door swings wide open and Alreck immediately looks at me to ascertain whether I’ve gotten myself into trouble. It’s as clear as day in his expression.

I can’t resist. “I’m still locked up, exactly where you left me.”

I watch his lips tighten into a taut line as he stalks across the living room to hand me a small bag. Titan gleefully bounds in behind him and plops down on his belly in front of the fire.

“Here, breakfast. Might not be hot anymore.”

I tentatively take it from his hands with a quiet, “Thanks.”

He turns to walk back out the door and I surprise myself by asking him, “Would you like a hot tea?”

Turning back, his eyes briefly flick to mine as he responds in a low voice, “Yeah.”

What is it with him? Why is he so infuriatingly suspicious?

After setting the steaming mug on the island, I peer into the small bag and see a huge folded crêpe. It’s lightly powdered with sugar and smells completely decadent. I pull it out and gingerly take a small bite.

Mmm, heaven.

He returns moments later carrying several bags of groceries. I’m standing at the counter, savoring my crêpe while trying to determine the name of the tart little red berries.

My eyes do a head-to-toe scan as he takes off his midnight blue, down parka. He’s just a few feet from me as he tosses it onto one of the dining chairs. I take in the faded gray Harley Davidson tee stretched deliciously across his broad shoulders and I’m unable to turn away from the drool-worthy sculpture of his biceps.

Oh my lord, he must have bench pressed his way through his entire prison term.

He crosses the slight distance separating us to stand a foot from me. He smells clean and fresh, like soap and lush male. He must have bathed and I can’t wait to get into that deep tub of his once he leaves again.

His eyes lock onto my lips. “It’s good?”

“Mmm hmm, delish, thanks. What are these?” I ask, pointing to the berries.

“They’re lingonberries. We put them on everything here from toast to salmon.”

I push the steaming mug on the counter closer to his hand. “Here, before it gets cold.”

Without his eyes ever leaving my lips, he lifts the mug and drinks deeply. Then he reaches into the bag to pull out another crêpe.

In the light of day he’s larger than life. I’m mesmerized by the multicolored strands of gold mixed with a deeper blond that weave gracefully through his luxurious hair. I would love to run my fingers through it. This man is a contradiction, hard but sensual, caring but boorish. I’ve never been so stumped by someone in my life.

Or so aroused.

I stop breathing as his large hand reaches slowly across the space between us. With a feather light touch, he wipes a tad of powdered sugar from the corner of my mouth.

I’ll pass out if he licks that finger.

Instead, his eyes go soft and stay latched onto my lips as he devours the crêpe in four large bites.

“I’m heading out to fish for the day. I trust that you can entertain yourself?”

With mild annoyance, I answer, “That’s something I’m more than capable of doing, but before you leave me again I’d like to know why the hell I’m being held hostage. It’s my damn right, Alreck.”

Faster than I can blink, his large hand snakes out and captures my wrist. He gives a slight tug and I land, palms out, smack against his rock-hard chest. The heat coming from him is so stunning that I immediately bite back a moan of arousal as I tilt my face up to meet his.

“Wha-what are you doing?” I pant.

His emotions are under lock and key and offer no clue to his reasoning.

His blue eyes slowly roam the planes of my face. “I thought I asked you before not to curse. Did you misunderstand me, American?”

I can’t think straight!
I feel my face flame from both excitement and shame.

“No, I just want you to tell me what I’m doing here. And I thought I asked you
to stop calling me ‘American.’ ”

Shit!
I’ve done it now. His eyes narrow into ice chips.

In a lethal whisper directly against my lips, he says, “If you cross me again you’ll be punished. I won’t put up with a disrespectful girl defying me in my own home.”

My lips fall open in astonishment. Part of me wishes his punishment would include us both being naked.

Oh, yes please!

I can’t resist flexing my fingers against his hot pecs and, in an embarrassingly breathy voice, I say, “But you haven’t answered my question.”

Before I know it, I’m released and sway forward from the loss of his strength. He grabs his coat and picks up the mug of tea, taking it with him as he strides toward the door without a backward glance.

“Wait, take me with you. I’ve been trapped here all morning!”

Arrogant, he’s not even looking at me.

I stare at the back of his thick ponytail and hear, “No, I don’t trust you yet.”

And with that thoughtful parting line, I watch him disappear back out the door.

“Bastard,” I call out loudly. Too bad it’s only heard by the surrounding silence.

Fantastic, alone again in tranquil-town.

What’s with him? Does he suddenly feel guilty after sleeping on it, coming to the realization that he’s indeed a kidnapper? Maybe that’s why he brought me breakfast and tried to be nice? That man is as complex as a 3-D puzzle.
I’m beyond determined to get out of here. He won’t be able to stop me this time. Now I just have to come up with a foolproof way to do it.

***

After I finish putting the groceries away, I decide to get tactical and start searching through every cupboard and closet for a weapon or anything that might assist me in fleeing this place.

Books are no use in my particular quest, but he does have a large collection with some good authors, including Dean Koontz, Ann Rice and Pushkin.

After eying the numerous titles, I glance down at the large black duffle bag he left on the floor beside the sectional. No way. He would know if I went through his bag. Where does he keep anything useful? All of the tools must be outside in the shed. I know that he said not to leave, but I’m going out there anyway. If I’m really set on freeing myself, I have to get brave at some point.

I gear up for the frosty weather the best I’m able and tentatively open the front door. The temperature difference is staggering. How in the heck is he fishing in this cold weather? Tough Viking blood? Must be. I remember the warmth of his chest under my palms. It’s as if he runs on his own supremely hot engine.

My feet make loud crunching sounds as I step out into the lightly falling flakes. Turning to pull the door slightly ajar—because I certainly don’t want to be locked out—I see that the wooden cabin is a beautiful rich red with stark white trim around the window and door-frame.
Did he grow up here?

I round the right side of the cabin and take in the wonder of the water that laps against the shoreline. Picking up one of the thousands of smooth, weighty gray stones, I flip it out across the crystal water.

I wonder where he headed out to fish. There’s a short plank dock. Perhaps he has a boat?

Crossing the forty feet to the shed, I see that it’s larger than I’d initially thought—the size of an American two-car garage and painted to match the
rorbu
. It must be his workshop. I stop in front of it and reach out to pull on the door handle. Locked, of course. Walking around the building, I spy several square windows running down the length of the wall. I peek in the first of three and easily make out a large snowmobile, a huge wooden work platform with a table saw on top, and a wall covered with hanging tools. He must spend a good bit of time out here. Everything is clean and neatly displayed.

The third window offers me the jackpot when I look through and see a tall, glass gun case in the far corner of the shop. From this distance I can see three rifles and a selection of handguns. I’m beginning to think the only way I could ever put distance between us is with a gun.

Oh God, it has been so long since I’ve held a gun, my hands shaking, on that horrible night back in California 
…

I never thought I’d need to touch one again.