Naughty in Norway (11 page)

“Certainly,” I whisper and nearly trip over the single word.

I stare at his thick, muscular back as he strides across to his bag. The stretched towel leaves little to the imagination. His sculpted ass is rock hard and clothing should be permanently banned for a man like him. Seriously. Covering that up is tragic.

I try to focus as I plate our dinner and hope that he enjoys it. Taking my seat, I do my best to act casual but I’m far from it. That encounter left me whirling and I need to regain my composure before he comes to the table. Inside I’m trembling, and it’s not from fear.

I hear his deep voice beside me. “It’s good that you’re feeling better now. I knew you were a tough one.”

Shyly, I look down at my hands clasped in my lap. “Yeah, well, I had to put in a good effort, right? But, let’s not get into another disagreement tonight, Alreck. Let’s just eat and enjoy the evening together, and the view.” I sweep my hand across to the Aurora Borealis that hangs in green and rose splendor just outside the wide windows. I’ve moved the dining chairs closer together so that we both can take in the scene. Will I ever get accustomed to their mysterious beauty?

“You know, Vail, I was really scared for you, and I don’t scare easily. I’m happy that you’re all right. Don’t ever do something like that again.”

“You left me with few options.” I stare at him with open defiance.

He sighs. “You’re right, let’s not argue tonight. You cooked a nice meal and I look forward to enjoying it with you.”

“Please eat, then, before it gets cold. I found the fish in the fridge. Did you catch it yourself?”

“Yes, right off the dock yesterday.”

The tacos are flavorful and I watch as he devours them in clear appreciation. I decide to ask the question that’s been on my mind since I met him. “So, if I may ask, why were you in prison?”

Oh, this could be bad.

His hand freezes around the taco that is almost to his lips. He sets it down, takes a generous swig from his beer and begins. “Nearly a year ago, Ragnar and I were out together drinking downtown in Oslo at a place where his girlfriend is a cocktail waitress. There were several bikers there from different clubs, and most often we have no problems with one another. Ragnar’s girl is younger than he is … was … and quite pretty. She also dresses to sell drinks and get tips, if you know what I mean.”

I nod that I do, eager for him to continue the story, and surprised at his willingness to tell it.

“We had been drinking pretty heavily since noon that day and were both well on our way to getting torn up. Ragnar noticed a table of guys nearby that kept looking at his girl and making comments. He didn’t want to get her into any trouble at work, so he let it slide for a while and asked me to watch out for her while he used the restroom. I guess they thought that once he was out of sight it was a green light to feel her up. One guy even put his hand right up her skirt while the other grabbed her tits. They obviously weren’t counting on me watching or giving a shit.”

I suck in a breath. “What did you do?”

“Bikers aren’t the type you reason with, especially if we’re drinking. So I redesigned the table and stools with two of their faces. The third one fled while I was occupied.”

“Oh my.” I can imagine him doing that with little effort. All that controlled aggression could easily turn lethal.

“Yeah, Ragnar returned as all hell broke loose. One guy nearly died from his injuries. It’s a good thing he didn’t; otherwise I’d still be stuck in there.”

“How long were you in?”

“Nine months. It wasn’t that bad, though. Compared to the stories I’ve heard of your prison system in the States, ours is basically a holiday. I had a television in my cell and even got to go fishing several days a week.”

“You got to go fishing?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yes, crazy right? I was at Bastoy Prison Island, which is about forty miles south of Oslo. You are totally isolated, so outdoor activities were quite normal there.”

“When were you released?”

He looks down at the table. “Six weeks ago.”

My heart should be leaping out of my chest, but can I really hold something against a guy who was honoring his best friend’s lady? “You must miss Ragnar terribly.”

His eyes make a slow trail up to mine. “He was my closest friend. The first guy I met when I arrived in Oslo. After my mother died, my father and I fought constantly, like oil and water. He was a very difficult man. We could never get on the same page and didn’t understand each other. I had to get out of this place. I was nearly flat broke when I arrived in the city and only knew how to build things. I’ve always had an interest in motorcycles so I found my way to Mikkel’s garage, Heavy’s Customs, and asked for a job. I was willing to do anything, sweep the floors, whatever, just to be able to learn, to work my way up. He gave me a chance and has taught me a lot. That was fourteen years ago.”

“I’m so sorry, both for you and poor Ragnar. The men who did this are monsters and I hope the police catch them soon.”

“I don’t.”

“Why?” The venom in his voice makes me set my water down in surprise.

“Because my biker brothers will unleash a far more just punishment on them, that’s why.”

My breath catches as his eyes go hard as flint. His stoicism is positively terrifying because underneath it is a controlled rage, waiting to be unleashed.

“Um, I should get the kitchen tidied up now and then I really could use a bath.”

His features smooth out and in a gentler voice he says, “Leave everything, I’ll take care of it.” His head inclines toward the bathroom. “Go enjoy your bath.”

I hold his gaze for a long moment before heading to the bedroom to gather fresh clothes. How many layers are there to this complex man?

He’s in the kitchen with his back is to me as I move toward the bathroom and close the door behind me. At this point, I don’t know why I should even bother. He’s seen me naked nearly as many times as I’ve been clothed.

A
fter running the steaming hot water, I lower myself into the delicious vanilla-scented bubbles. I’m struck by how the minimal exertion of cooking a meal has left me nearly wiped of all energy.

I almost died.

He saved me
.

He’s in my thoughts more and more frequently now and I find that I’m longing for his touch. It’s so prevalent that it is a constant ache. The way he cradled my body against his when I was sick was so tender, so unexpected coming from this carefully crafted, rough demeanor. It must be the isolation coupled with the situation. My reality has been spun on its head and I need to figure out a way to right it, and fast. I want him too much and I’m positive that I could not refuse him if he asked for, or took from me, what he wanted.

I lean back and glide my hand down my wet chest, beneath the water to rest between my slick parted legs. I envision him on top of me, thrusting hard with major exertion, allowing me no quarter beneath him. I recall his tremendous power when he pinned me on the apartment floor back in Oslo. I was helpless beneath him. Would it be like that, all dominance and male animalistic need?

Oh, hell yeah.

I lightly run my finger across my throbbing clit, imagining that it’s his thick finger pleasuring me, teasing me.

A light knock on the bathroom door makes my eyes fly wide as my hand jerks from the warm water. The door opens before I can answer.

He stares at my wide eyes and flushed face as I try to appear calm and not pant. My heart is thundering in my chest.

He knows! Oh God!

Any indication that he suspects what I’ve been doing is swiftly covered with a head tilt and a quiet, “I have a surprise for you tomorrow.”

He watches me carefully, cautiously.

“Oh, um, okay. Are you going to tell me what it is or do I have to wait?”
And why did you have to come tell me about it right now?

“We will travel to Borg tomorrow. It’s not far. The rest I will leave as your surprise.”

Before I can answer him, I watch in breathless fascination as his eyes slowly drift downward toward the apex between my legs, well hidden from him by a mass of bubbles. Something changes in his face and I recognize the emotion as raw lust. My heart starts to pound impossibly harder in my chest. Without another word or a glance, he turns to stalk out of the bathroom, leaving the door wide open behind him.

I gasp and let my neck fall backward in exasperation. As soon as I collect myself, I become almost giddy. Is he releasing me? Maybe I’m just too much trouble, or perhaps he got a call from Mikkel saying to let me go. Maybe there is a small airport in Borg. I’d gladly hop on a flight destined to anywhere at this point, so long as it ensured my freedom.

“H
ow much longer are you going to make me wait? Let’s get a move on, I’m totally excited!”

“Be patient, woman. It’s important that these chains are secured onto the tires. Tow trucks are not easy to come by on Vestvagoy.”

I look out of the high truck window as he fixes me with confident raised eyebrow. Stubborn man! Hopefully he will allow me to call my mom today, assuming that we pass through an area with cell service. I wonder for the twentieth time this morning where he could be taking me.
Please let it be a train station or airport
. Wherever it is, dogs are obviously not allowed, as Alreck told me over tea and toast that we’re dropping Titan off with Edgard.

“Okay, we are ready to go now.”

He steps up into the driver’s seat and within a moment the big rig roars to life. We amble up the morning-lit trail and come to a stop at Edgard’s cabin. I chance a smiling wave at the little old man. He slowly lifts a weathered hand in acknowledgement before continuing his chat with Alreck, who is leaning down to pet a jubilant Titan.

Alreck makes his way back toward the vehicle and I’m eager to get a move on, wondering yet again what my surprise could be. Nothing could be more shocking than being abducted; however, I’m starting to think of all this as a bewildering cultural experience rather than the former. That fact alone makes me worry for my sanity.

Once he’s seated, I ask, “Do you ever take Titan with you to Oslo?”

“Not very often. He prefers it here in the forest and Edgard is a lonely old man. Titan is good company for him. I come to the
rorbu
whenever I can get away from work, mostly between custom jobs.”

“That’s nice of you. To leave him company, I mean.”

“I’ve known that man since I was a small boy. He has been very kind to me. It’s the least I can do.”

Compassionate and sweet.

I chance a glance over at him and marvel at his beauty. To me he is perfection. His strong, stubbled jaw sweeps down in a straight angle, resting just below those full lips. Oh God, I know that his mouth would feel unbelievably sexy taking over mine …

“All right, Vail, now we go to your surprise. I figure I owe you a day of pleasant distraction. Do you agree?”

With that statement, my earlier thoughts of kissing are wiped clean away as my inner hope falters. He’s not releasing me. We’re only going somewhere for the day. Damn!

Dreams of escape ruined, I have to ask, “Seriously though, where are we heading?”

“Mmm, I’m enjoying you all eager like this.” He grins arrogantly.

I narrow my eyes in annoyance and change the subject. “So, is your last name Falstad?”

He looks at me curiously. “If you mean my surname, then yes, it is Falstad.”

“And where did you learn to speak English?”

“Starting in the first grade, all Norwegians are taught to speak English. With what I do, creating custom bikes for a variety of clients throughout Europe, often English is the best language for communication. That and I’ve always enjoyed American music and films. It’s also far easier to get around in America when you speak it. Does that answer your question?”

“It does.”

“What drew you to Oslo?” he asks with genuine interest.

“Lisetta and I were college roommates in the States. We got along well and she asked me to come stay here and take a semester of courses abroad. I’ve always wanted to travel and saw no reason to refuse.”

“I see, and what else do you do besides attend University?”

“You’re curious about me?” I cock my head to the side and smile at him.

With a sly grin, he replies, “Yeah, I like to know all about my prey.”

“Veeery funny. No, actually I surf quite a bit. I like to go near the Huntington Beach Pier where I have a favorite spot. Aside from that, I work part-time in a specialty shop that deals in rare maps. It’s quite fascinating, really, especially the unusual, one-of-a-kind pieces. I really adore those. The owner is wonderful. She allows me extremely flexible hours. With my fluctuating class schedule, it’s ideal.”

“What about your parents? Do they live near you?”

“Only my mom. We’re very close because I have no siblings. She’s had the same boyfriend for about ten years now and I’m thrilled to see her so happy.”

“And your father?”

I take my time answering. “Killed in a construction accident when I was a baby. The clip on his harness failed. He fell six stories and broke his neck.”

He turns to watch me with his eyebrows drawn tight together. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “It was a long time ago.”

He holds back the barrage of questions and we ride in comfortable silence. I’m glad he distracted me until our arrival at the main road. He must remember where he found me two days ago. I shudder at the thought of how it all could have turned out with a very different outcome.

Now that I have the opportunity to enjoy this wondrous island chain without fearing for my life, I take in the tall mountains that seem to lap endlessly, one over the other. Green moss covers most surfaces not blanketed by snow. Plump sheep and cows roam freely on the vast fields running along both sides of the country road.

“It’s evening in the States. Do you think I could call my mom? Please, Alreck?”

Pulling out his silver and black cell, he appears to be checking for service. Satisfied, he hands the phone to me with the country code already punched in. He gives me no instruction on what to say and my heart beats faster in anticipation.

Four rings later and I hear my mom’s sweet message followed by
beep.

“Hi, Mom, it’s me. I just wanted to touch base with you for our weekly call. You can try me back on this number although the service here in the North is very spotty. I-I really miss you Mom ... I love you ... All right, take care, bye.”

I hand the phone back without looking his way and valiantly hold back the tears that threaten to fall. I didn’t want her to worry. Not after everything she’s been through.

Twenty minutes of comfortable silence pass between us before he announces, “Okay, we are nearly there. I have not been here since I was a schoolboy. I think you will find this place interesting.” He smiles mischievously at me.

He slows as we turn off onto a double lane, frozen dirt road. Where on earth are we heading?

We have been ambling up the road for about a mile when I see an intricately carved wooden sign titled ‘Lofotr Viking Museum.’

Oh yes!

With bouncing glee I turn to him and gush, “I had no idea it was right here. I’ve heard about this place, Alreck. I can’t believe we’re going. This is so fantastic!”

His eyes light up as he points forward and says, “Watch as we come up over this hill.”

Leaning forward, I wait, and once the truck begins to level from the climb the first thing I see is a massive, low oblong-shaped structure that dominates the rolling field around it. It is gray-brown in color and appears to have some kind of a peat surrounding the lower third of the curved walls and a scaly, slate roof.

“That is the Chieftain’s longhouse. It is the oldest one ever located and they say it dates back to the Iron Age. 500 AD. Impressive, eh?”

The structure is built on a high plateau, adjacent to the open sea. In this pure setting it is easy to imagine the ancient Norse Vikings roaming this unscathed region. It is even easier to imagine Alreck among them, his giant body clad in animal skins.

“Alreck, I’m speechless. I can’t wait to see it!”

We park the truck and he says, “Wait here.”

He comes around the front of the truck and opens the door.

“Come to me.”

My breath catches as I reach out to place my palms on his shoulders.

Let go, Vail, jump in.

His eyes are filled with a myriad of deep emotions, one I recognize as blatant passion. His hands span my waist as he lifts me out of his truck. Once on the ground, he clasps my small hand in his and we proceed toward the impressive longhouse.

Even though we’re early, the parking lot is almost empty. I assume this time of year is not high tourist season. My heart beats faster as we make our way up to a massive set of arched doors carved in relief with dragons, weapons, and old Norse designs.

Alreck enters first and before I can see anything around his massive back, my senses are assaulted with a foreign smell. It is heady and thick in the air. As if sensing my thoughts, he turns to me. “You’re smelling tar and oil from the lamps. Everything here is as historically accurate as possible. They reconstructed the building to scale from what the archaeologists excavated.” He straightens back up to his full height and steps to the side. My mouth falls open as I gawk at the wondrous sight before me.

The lighting is dim and mysterious from the oil lamps hung throughout the giant structure. The ceiling is surprisingly tall for such a low-slung building. Strategically placed huge wooden posts soar up to the ceiling. There are countless thick, light-colored fox and seal fur skins hanging from the ceiling beams.

The Scandinavian actors are dressed in a variety of costumes that appear to be based on class. There are men who look like they are about to engage in a raid, clothed in beautifully laced leather armor and imposing metal helmets. Some ladies are wearing gorgeous embroidered dresses topped by heavy robes secured by pewter clasps at their breastbones. I have no doubt they would need those warm robes in the frigid winters so close to the sea.

We are greeted by a young man dressed in a dark blue outfit with heavy lacing and embroidery on the tunic. His long, fair hair is held away from his face by two braids near his temples. He speaks briefly in Norwegian with Alreck, and after he hands us a map we are ready to explore.

One thing that keeps catching my eye is the dominant throne that sits high on a raised platform near the fire pit. That must be where the Chieftain sat and made decisions regarding the fate of his people.

“Come, we will start at the throne.”

I glance up at Alreck and my steps falter. His stoic persona fits far better in that mysterious, historic world than this one. He is one of a kind, both complex and mesmerizing.

The Chieftain’s throne is set near two adjacent fire pits. It’s wide enough to accommodate two men and I can’t help but step closer to admire the skilled carvings. The armrests curve into mythic dragon-like creatures and there are thick gray furs covering the seat.

“Are these images all from Norse mythology?”

Staring at the imposing throne, he answers, “Yes. As you may have heard, the Vikings believed strongly in Gods such as Odin and Freya. Most of their decisions were based on what they believed would please the Gods.”

“And the Chieftain of this village would make decisions regarding everyday issues, along with life and death, from this very seat?”

“This is true.”

“Fascinating.”

“Come, there is much more to see yet, before we partake in the traditional feast.”

“Oh, that sounds exciting.”

He smiles and clasps my hand softly in his as he leads me through the shadowy lamp-lit longhouse.

***

“Oh my, it’s amazing to see such detailed pieces from this era up close.”

I have my nose nearly pressed onto the glass to take in the gold relief pendants, sterling silver hand-hammered bracelets, and wide collar necklaces that must have taken a skilled jeweler years to make. And with such limited tools at that!

A warm breath brushes against my ear. “The jewelry would look very nice on you, Vail.”

Just his closeness makes me tremble with need. The way he purrs my name is so overtly sexual that I have trouble holding still on shaky legs. He is so overwhelming to me and seems to flood my lungs as I breathe. I want him. It’s wrong, I know, but it doesn’t change reality. Something about being in this mysterious setting is awakening a wilder, primal side of me.

“Let’s head back into the main hall. The feast will begin soon. It will be very enjoyable. I became drunk on my first glass of mead when I was here, at ten years old.”

“That’s funny. I would have liked to have seen that. Were you this tall at ten?” I motion upward with a sweep of my arm.

“God no, I was a head shorter at least. I grew to the height I am now at age fifteen. Come, are you hungry for some traditional Norwegian food?”

“Yes, I can’t wait!”

We take our seats at a twenty-foot-long table with low benches on either side. We are right in the middle with a clear view of the show taking place on the packed-earth floor.

A young girl with gorgeous blonde braids adorned with lilac-colored dried flowers pours our drinks into stunning sea glass green, cone-shaped glasses that have swirls of smooth pewter twining around them from base to top.

“Have you ever tried mead?” he leans in to ask me.

“No, I haven’t. Is it beer?” I look down at the interesting amber-colored liquid.

“No, it is honey laced wine. It’s served during special occasions. Try it.”