Naughty in Norway (6 page)

“Sit here. I will get us something from the café bar.” He points toward a corner table located near the windows.

He’s gone before I can respond as I take a seat and shed my thick coat. It’s a relief to sit alone, if only for a minute. From what I can discern, the voices from the other passengers seem to be mostly Scandinavian. However, I spy a young Japanese couple at a table close to the opposite set of windows.

There must be someone around here to whom I can plead my case. I bet most anyone here would understand me if I explained I need help. I’ll wait for the perfect time. Patience, Vail.

“Here’s a pot of tea for us. I will be back with the food. Do you need sugar or milk?”

Thoughtful.

“
Just sugar please.”

I watch as he moves swiftly across the area to pick up a large tray from the male attendant at the bar. The young man is clearly wary of Alreck and takes a small step away from him. Who wouldn’t be intimidated? He towers over everyone here and is so confident and in control of his movements that he’s mesmerizing to watch.

Stop it right now. He kidnapped me and I detest him. No matter how hot he is …

Alreck returns with the large white tray and my eyes widen at the wonderful array of breakfast items. There is the typical Jarlsberg cheese with flatbread, a little plate of smoked salmon and an assortment of homemade jams with butter. My stomach gives off a loud rumble.

“This looks amazing, thanks.”

“Different from your big American breakfasts but this is all that is served on the ferry.”

“This is perfect, thank you.” I watch him shrug off his leather jacket and study the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally 2012 black t-shirt straining across his massive chest.

As I pour my tea I glance up and ask, “May I?” The pot hovers over his empty cup.

Glorious eyes lock with mine. “
Takk
. I mean yeah, thanks.”

I fill his cup with the aromatic tea and set the pot between us on the round wooden table.

Nodding to his t-shirt, I ask him, “Have you been there?”

Glancing down at his chest and back to me he answers, “Yeah, twice. I missed last year but Mikkel brought this back for me. Good times. South Dakota is quite a scenic place to ride. Have you ever been there?”

I’m surprised by the question. “No. I’ve heard that it’s incredibly scenic, especially in warm weather. So, do you ship your bike over?”

“We all do. We have friends in San Francisco who are bikers. They own a garage where they also build custom rides. We ship our bikes via freighter ahead of the flight and then we all ride out from there.” His chin tilts down an inch toward the table. “You should eat.”

I slather the thick strawberry jam onto the warm bread. It’s so fresh that I nearly groan as I bite down in delight.

“You don’t like fish?”

I swallow and then reply, “I like it just fine. But as you like to point out on a routine basis, being American, it’s just not a part of my regular morning routine. It’s all yours, big guy.”

I slide the plate across the small space and watch his full, pink lips twist into a grin
.

What would it be like to have those lips all over mine? Would he be rough and forceful, as his demeanor suggests? I turn my eyes to the window, searching for something to look at that will keep my mind off the subject. “What body of water does this fjord flow toward?”

He takes a sip of tea before answering. “It ends at the Norwegian Sea, which we will cross on our way to port.”

“Oh.” His answer reminds me of the gravity of my situation, effectively killing all earlier fantasies. “Listen, I really need my eye drops and toothbrush. I assume that they’re both in my bag. Is it somewhere in the truck?”

Suspicion crosses his face as his brows draw together. “Yeah, okay. Finish your tea then I will walk you back to get it.”

“Um, can I wait here? I just got warm.”

His eyes tighten and pin me like a dart. “I don’t think so.”

“Fine,” I mumbled and turn to face the window again. At some point, he has to let me out of his sight. Right?

N
early two hours have passed since we arrived on the ferry and I wonder if this could be my opportunity. Apparently even big bad bikers find it difficult to go more than twenty-four hours without sleep. After giving me the chance to freshen up in the ferry’s tiny bathroom, he brought us to a smaller, lower-level lounge area with comfy, padded bench style seating that perfectly frames the curved windows. Before falling asleep, he had grabbed my hand and held it in his, a tether rather than an endearment. Any movement away from him and he would wake up.

He’s been out cold for forty minutes now and I’ve tried to stay as still as possible in order to let him drift away into a deep sleep. With his hand around mine like this it would be easy for a casual observer to think we were a couple. Although the sheer mass of both his height and musculature are major contributors in his overall intimidation factor, he is also exceedingly beautiful and doesn’t give off an “I’m a kidnapper” vibe. His thickly shadowed jaw is a few days’ growth away from a complete beard, the dark gold hair blended with light brown. With different clothing he could be mistaken for a huge surfer back in California, thanks to his angelic hair and gold-hued skin. His lightly callused hand is still locked like a vice around mine, making it look exceptionally small and delicate. A myriad of fresh scrapes and older thin scars mar the back of his hand, probably from the work he does. I flick my eyes back up to his chest and watch the rise and fall become increasingly slow and deep.

Now or never.

Looking around the lounge, I spy an older couple seated within twenty feet, and they are definitely Scandinavian from their accents. A teenage boy with modern headphones on is staring at a laptop screen. The Japanese couple from breakfast are the only additional people in this area. My best bet is the Scandinavians because they’re closest. They appear well-dressed and I know for a fact that the majority of Scandinavians speak at least basic English.

Slowly,
very
slowly, I gently touch his thick fingers with my free hand to see if there is any reaction.
Nothing, good.
I run my fingers up to the tips of his and tentatively pull while sliding my hand from his heated grasp.

No change, excellent.

The couple is still seated not far away. If I can get to them and explain what’s happened to me then perhaps they can get me to the captain and lock me in with him, away from Alreck, because he’ll be
beyond
pissed off when he wakes up to find me gone. At the very least someone would be aware of my situation and alert the authorities. I doubt very much that Lisetta will have done that. Anger rushes through me, giving me greater determination.

Slowly, Vail, keep it smooth, girl. Easy …

My hand is free and I gently lower his palm down to his denim-clad thigh. I test my luck and scoot an inch from him on the padded cobalt seat. When he doesn’t respond I move a few more inches. No reaction, he’s out. The couple glances at me and the wife smiles, oblivious to what’s occurring. I hold her gaze with my frightened one as I begin to stand. On shaky legs I take one hesitant step, followed by another, thinking that this could be it, my ticket out of this nightmare …

Suddenly, firm hands lock onto both sides of my hips and pull me swiftly down, backwards into an off kilter sprawl. I land on his lap and at the same time let out a startled, “Oh!”

I didn’t even hear him move.

Off balance and leaning at an awkward backward angle, I hesitantly tilt my face up to see how mad I’ve made him. Immediately I’m assaulted by his familiar agitated blue gaze.

“Going somewhere without me, my sweet?” he calls out loud enough for the other couple to hear; only I’m aware of his true underlying meaning. I slide off his lap onto the seat next to him.

“Nnn-no, no I wasn’t,” I stammer through the blatant lie. “I’m thirsty, that’s all. Where could I run off to on a ferry anyway?”

Rolling his shoulders back with a slow, controlled stretch, followed by a loud neck crack, he unfolds his long limbs and stands. “Well, let’s find you something then … together.”

With another glance at the couple, who are now watching us with curiosity after the odd display, he holds his palm against my lower back and marches me down the hallway in front of him straight toward the central stairs.

As we enter the empty narrow interior walkway, he thrusts me back against the smooth wall and I let out an audible whimper of distress.

“I thought I told you to be good for me,” he growls down against my forehead. His arms are forming a cage on either side of my head and he’s so close that I can feel the air coming from his flared nostrils. My only answer is to tremble while staring at his jacket as he pins me tightly between himself and the wall.

“I like that timid look. It means you understand that you can’t escape from me. Have you finally realized this? You will be free only when I
allow
it, so stop trying to run from me, American.”

To my horror, tears well up in my eyes and begin to spill as if from a faucet down my flushed cheeks. Through the blur I glance up to find that he’s watching me with a strangely sad expression. Slowly, the tension in his arms dissipates as a big palm gently touches the back of my head and pulls me forward against his leather-clad chest.

With my cheek resting against his smooth black jacket, I sob in exhaustion as his fingers stoke through my tresses. “Shhh, shhh, everything is okay. You’re going to be fine. Come, let’s get you that tea.”

Once I’m able to collect myself, I duck away from his hold, mortified over what just occurred. I frantically use my fingers to dash away the remaining wetness on my slick, pink cheeks.

***

We remain silent after the hallway incident for the final approach into the quaint port town of Moskenes. I’m thankful that he has yet to lecture me again about my “impetuous behavior” and I try my best to zone out while taking in the stunning views. The jagged snowcapped mountain ranges are the first to come into view. They reach straight up like sleeping giants from the narrow shoreline and proudly hover over the Norwegian Sea.

The town itself is nestled into a beautiful cove and many of the wooden buildings are painted a beautiful shade of scarlet red. White fishing boats give us a wide berth as we make our way toward the wide wooden dock.

“Come, let’s get into the truck. We will dock at any moment. From here we will travel about an hour north to Reine on the island of Vestvagoy. There we’ll stop to eat, but will need to be quick because it will be dark at around three o’clock. My
rorbu
is in a remote location outside of the town so we want to reach it by nightfall, if at all possible.”

Feeling as if I’m on the never-ending journey with Alreck, I reluctantly hop into the truck and turn back to watch the ferry sidle up to the dock. Panic begins to flicker through me once again. Escaping from a remote cabin will be far more of a challenge than sneaking away in a public place.

Several of the crewmen from our ferry are gawking in open interest at Alreck’s big Ford and I momentarily entertain the thought of yelling to them, telling them I’m being kidnapped, but I think better of it. Alreck has created the illusion of us as some sort of cutesy couple, and these men only have eyes for his truck, anyway. I suppose something this huge and loud is most definitely not the norm in the Lofoten Islands; but guys are guys and, regardless of the language, appreciate massive vehicles.

“They drive trucks this big on cattle ranches in Texas. Where in the world did you get this beast?”

In an amused voice, he says, “A guy in Oslo had it. I built him a custom ride as a trade.”

“Oh. So you build and design motorcycles then?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

He answers in a manner that states that he is openly uncomfortable speaking about himself. Could he be modest? I can definitely see it.

The line of cars crawls off the ferry while I peek out the passenger window at the charming port town of Moskenes. All the minimalist, A-frame structures are nestled close to one another and the houses near the water have long, natural wood docks. We pass by several charming shops that cater to the tourists milling about wherever you look.

“Several cruise ships come here on a regular basis,” Alreck says.

“Ah, I see. It’s very picturesque.”

“Wait until you see Reine.”

I take in the imposing mountains that dominate all views. There are no trees this close to the shoreline, there is only crystal water rising up to rugged mountains. It’s mythic and surreal. Under any other circumstances I would have been overjoyed to be here, and a part of me is pained that it had to be like this.

We take a main road for fifteen minutes before crossing a large causeway over a vivid blue body of frigid sea. He’s remained quiet since Moskenes and his rich voice startles me. “We’re now on Vestvagoy, the middle island of the Lofoten Island chain.”

***

We walk into a charming pub in the majestic coastal town of Reine, and Alreck is instantly welcomed by several of the patrons. Looking about, I take in the dark wood and nautical themed décor. Historic navigational maps hang on the walls interspersed with a variety of items from wheels to compasses, no doubt authentic.

The large, weathered proprietor reaches up to affectionately clap Alreck on his thick shoulder as they fervently chat away in their native tongue. The salt-haired man leads us to a quiet corner table.

“And who is your friend, Alreck?” he asks curiously, switching to heavily accented English.

“Ahh, she’s just an American I kidnapped on the way up here.”

My mouth opens in shock at his arrogant statement coupled with his smug grin.

The man bellows out a laugh. “Good one, Alreck! You’re such a difficult man that you would be hard pressed to get a woman like her any other way, eh my friend?”

The proprietor turns to me as he asks kindly, “So, you do have a name I assume? I am called Bjorn and I’m happy to have you here in my pub for lunch.”

I answer politely, “Hello, I’m Vail, and what he said is true. He did kidnap me.”

I expect to see anger on Alreck’s face but he surprises me by howling with laughter right along with his buddy Bjorn.
Damn! How am I ever going to make it back to Oslo?

“The usual, Alreck?”

“Yeah, make it two today and two Nøgne IPAs as well.”

“Two Bacalao dishes with beer coming right up.”

Once he’s out of sight, I lean across the small round table and hiss, “Are you mad? Stop toying with me, Alreck, it’s beyond cruel. Just tell me what I’m doing here!”

“Relax, American, no harm will come to you. That’s all you need to know for now. Have you ever tried Bacalao?”

“You know that your vagueness is infuriating, right?”

His grins transforms his face into a glow of male beauty.

No answer.

Tall, brimming glasses are set in front of us and I take a sip of the strong beer, enjoying the rich character.

“To answer your question, no, I’ve never tried, what did you call it, Bacalao?”

“Yes, I have never seen this offered in America. Bacalao is actually a Spanish dish but it’s frequently served here in Lofoten. I think you will enjoy it.”

“Why would you think that? You don’t know me in the least.”

He leans back in his chair and stretches his long legs out before him while saying quietly, with annoying confidence, “We will have plenty of time to get to know each other.”

My lips press together.
That’s what he thinks!

“Where’s the ladies room?”

He tenses. I see it easily within his shoulders and neck as his guard goes right back up like armor.

“It’s through the doors to the left side of the bar, but try anything here and you’ll more than regret it.”

I glare in disgust before standing and crossing the worn, wide planked floor. I push the door marked ‘
Damer
’ for women and sigh heavily with relief to be away from his intensity, even if just for a few minutes. Why can’t he be repulsive or even just cruel? Then I could easily run screaming down the street, away from him. Sure, I’ve tried to get away, but I know I could have tried harder. Something about him is like an alluring magnet …

This is so not right! I’ve got to find a way to get back to my life in Oslo and hopefully figure out why Lisetta sold me out to this thug and his badass buddies in the first place
.
It just doesn’t make any sense.
Damn her.

A simple hairbrush really does wonders for a woman who hasn’t had a shower in over twenty-four hours. I touch up the best that I am able and slip back out into the dimly lit pub. Even from across the pub I can feel Alreck’s eyes on me, watching me like a hunter stalking prey as I cross the small space.

He opens his hands, palms up and announces, “Bacalao.”

I sit down across from him and look over the steaming red dish. It looks quite amazing.

“Eat, you won’t find stockfish any fresher than this.”