Nordic Lessons (3 page)

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.

H
er 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 double 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.”

She shakes her head. “I really am at a loss for words, Mikkel. Your timing was perfect tonight. To be able to help me, I mean.”

She blushes again, staring down at the carpet. It’s so damn sexy when she does that.

I’m getting harder by the second.
I need to get the fuck out of here ….

The words spill from my lips. “
God natt og drøm søtt min skjønne.
”

Wide eyes shoot up to stare innocently at me.

She hasn’t a clue what I just said.

I release her soft hand and turn to leave, but she surprises me with a light touch on my bicep, right below the sleeve of my tee. I turn back to look down into her face.

She tilts her head to the right and asks in a curious whisper, “Wait, please tell me, what did that mean?”