Chapter 11
See the Sites in Norway
Make out in Public
“Torsk, or fish, as you say,” Christian explains as he stands at the grill in jeans and a t-shirt, looking completely comfortable and at ease in the chilly weather.
“Torsk,” I repeat, just to appease him.
“Close,” he laughs.
Which tells me it wasn’t close at all. I’m finally making use of a cute gray sweater that my mom purchased for me when she realized how outdated my winter clothing was. I should have changed from the skirt I’m wearing and into pants, but when I noticed Christian’s gaze linger on my legs, I decided I could take the cold. God, I’m an idiot. But I’m an idiot being sexually satisfied by a very hot Scandinavian.
I shake my head. “I can’t pronounce it. Your language is too complicated.”
Audrey snorts as she steps out onto the patio, a dish of roasted potatoes in hand. No doubt they have some sort of mustard sauce on them. “No, English is complicated!”
Christian points the spatula at her. “Yes.”
It’s almost dark, and the harsh angles of his face are highlighted by the light from the grill, making him appear fierce, otherworldly. My very own Viking, without the crazy beard. It’s cozy in the backyard, hidden behind fences and large bushes of flowers. It’s cozy, but it would be even cozier if it was only the two of us.
The urge to walk to Christian, wrap my arms around his waist and press the side of my face to his back is overwhelming. If Audrey wasn’t watching us closely, trying to judge the seriousness of our relationship, I would. The motorcycle ride around his city yesterday was amazing. We’d stopped at sites, taken silly photos, and gotten dinner. Spent the day alone, exploring. He’d been so proud and excited to show me his town.
I shrug. “My tongue and mouth will just not twist that way.”
“Who’s talking about tongue?” Max comes outside with three bottles of beer and a bottle of water in hand. He’s wearing jeans and a white Henley that show off his massive muscles. He’s a bouncer at a club, not surprisingly, yet I see the gentle way he treats Audrey.
“Hope,” Audrey offers. She’s the opposite to Max’s manliness. She’s delicate, feminine and utterly French. “Hope’s tongue to be specific.”
I flush and am thankful the darkness hides my blush. At times I feel a child around them, unused to the teasing and flirting. “We’re talking about how difficult it is to speak Norwegian, not about my tongue.”
“There are so many better things to do with a tongue than to speak Norwegian.” Max grins, right before taking a swig of his beer. “Such as…”
Audrey slaps her hand over his mouth.
I don’t miss Christian’s smile as he glances at me and I know he’s thinking dirty thoughts. I shake my head, warning him to keep it to himself, even as I remember what Christian did with his tongue last night. I can’t stop the warm flush of pleasure from racing through my body.
“You’re embarrassing Hope,” Audrey says. “She’s American. They don’t talk about sex.”
Ah, yes, I was blessed with the ability to easily blush, and apparently it’s noticeable even in dim light. Lucky me. I take a drink of my water, partly to bide time, partly to cool off. “Sure we do…in dark corners, in huddled whispers, on cloudy nights.”
“Only after marriage,” Max offers. “And then only in missionary position, with your clothes still on?”
As if I would know. Talking about positions only makes me think about Christian, and what I haven’t experienced with him yet. Do I want to know more? Stupid question. Hell, yes. I do. “Exactly.”
“Almost done?” Audrey asks Christian. “I’m starving. Didn’t get a chance to eat lunch, the boutique was packed.”
I’ve never loved fish, but my stomach grumbles and my mouth waters at just the mention. Besides, it smells more like BBQ than salt water grub. I reach for some chips in the bowl on the table. “It smells delicious.”
“How are you so tiny, yet eat so much?” Max asks.
I stick out my tongue. “Something else I can do with my tongue.”
He laughs. I should be embarrassed, but I’m too pleased with my new appetite to care. It must be the cool weather and exercise. Even my jeans are tighter. Mom will be thrilled, even if I have to spend a couple hundred for a new wardrobe that fits my fuller frame.
“You’re never supposed to bring up a woman’s weight, idiot,” Audrey says, slapping Max on the gut, so he grunts. “Sorry, Hope.”
“Don’t tease her,” Christian says, pointing his spatula at Max like it’s a sword. “She can eat as much as she wants.”
An image of Kirstin pops to mind. “No stick-thin models for you?” I can’t help but say, and immediately regret it. I sound like I’m fishing. Like I’m jealous. Which I am. And I’m pretty sure they all catch it.
“Christian?” Audrey perks up. “No. That’s definitely not his type.”
I’m surprised, but manage to hide it. So Kirstin isn’t his type? I pick up another chip and dip it in the guacamole I made earlier. Is he truly just her friend? “So then, what is his type?”
She parts her lips to respond.
“Food is ready,” Christian interrupts, changing the subject, which does not go unnoticed. “Let’s eat. Quickly.”
I grin over his obvious unease.
Audrey leans closer and in a faux whisper says, “I’ll tell you later.”
Christian gives her a glare and we both laugh. Even if they are suspicious of me, I love these people. I love the culture. The history. The nature. I love everything about this trip. If I hadn’t met Christian, would I love it as much?
“This is why you don’t let your friends around your girlfriends,” Max offers. “Until they’re too settled in to escape.”
“Escape?” Audrey says, dishing up his plate. “Like we’re hostages?”
But I barely listen to their good-natured bickering because I’m stuck on one word. Girlfriend. Christian doesn’t seem to notice. He’s smiling as he dishes up his plate, offering his own witty comments. I shift in unease. Surely Christian doesn’t see me as his girlfriend. Or maybe it means something different here, than it does in the states.
I can hardly interrupt with, “Excuse me, can you define girlfriend, please?”
As I sit stiffly on my bench, I don’t miss the way Audrey is watching us. She’s trying to decide how serious we are. Hopefully if she figures it out, she’ll let me know. Christian hands me a plate of fish. He cooks, cleans and serves as much as any woman in America. They don’t act weird about gender roles here, which is refreshing.
Out front you can still hear the sound of tourists as they meander through the streets, wishing they lived here. Christian doesn’t seem to mind their constant presence. He’s so easy-going, nothing upsets him. I slept in his room last night, and when I’d woken up warm, curled into his body, I hadn’t regretted it. I don’t even regret coming here even though Max said the dreaded “G” word.
I give myself a mental shake. I should. I’ll be leaving in a few days. Christian and the others will eventually go back to school. And I’ll…fade away. And for the first time in a long, long while, I ache with the need to stay on this planet. To experience this life. To continue.
“Here you go,” Christian says, handing me my plate and startling me from my depressing thoughts.
With a forced smile, I take the offering. He’s watching closely as he sits on the bench next to me, as if he knows something is wrong.
Audrey launches into a work story, and Christian rests his hand on my thigh. A tingle of awareness tiptoes up my leg, centering in the spot low in my belly. I’m suddenly feeling hungry for something entirely different.
No, I don’t regret coming here. Because even now, as I’m wondering how to slow things down between us, I’m also trying to figure out a way to get him back in bed. I bite into the fish and sigh. It’s delicious, delicate, sweet and smoky.
“Good?” Christian asks.
I nod, too busy eating to talk. Maybe it’s the sex that’s suddenly given me an appetite. I’m vaguely aware of Audrey complaining about her toad of a boss. How he leers at her. Max asking if she wants him to pummel the guy.
“No, my superhero,” she leans over and kisses his cheek, “he’s grotesque, let that be his punishment.”
I take a forkful of fish. It’s flaky, and light and so incredibly good. “What? Not everyone in Scandinavia looks like Thor?”
Max clears his throat and puffs out his chest. “Thor is Australian. Thank you very much.”
“Ah,” I say, raising my brows. “So all Australian men look like Thor?”
Christian lightly squeezes my knee. I grin, wondering how far I can push him. Surely he’s not jealous. Christian isn’t the jealous type, is he?
“Well,” Max points to himself. “I mean…look at me.”
I shake my head. “Apparently I’ve gone to the wrong country.”
“No, I think you’ve come to the right one,” Christian says, leaning into me and kissing my neck. “Exactly right.”
I grin up at him even as shivers of delight race down my body, and Max and Audrey watch us with keen interest. They’ve been judging our relationship since we arrived. I’ve even heard them whispering, no doubt trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Get in line, because I am too.
“Have you seen those superhero movies?” Audrey asks, leaning forward. We’ve got something in common now, along with most women. “Max thinks I actually watch them for the action and fighting.”
Max sends her a glare, before taking a swig of his beer. “We are sitting right here, you know.”
Audrey stands and settles upon his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Poor baby. You know you’re my only superhero.”
Sure, they’re borrowed friends, but it’ still fun to be around these people, to pretend. I grin as I sip my water. Everything feels so normal, so relaxed. Comfortable even. I realize as I watch everyone talking and laughing, that I feel better than I’ve felt in a long, long while. Audrey says something in French, then apologizes.
“Sorry, I forgot to speak English.” She shakes her head. “Too many languages!”
I shrug. “It’s okay. I can’t believe how well you all speak English.”
“It’s the one language we all have in common. Most Europeans speak more than one language. But you see,” she explains, cutting up her fish. “The music we listen to, the movies we watch…they’re all in English, which is why it’s easier for us.”
She’s got a point, but I know she’s only being kind. As much as I like Christian’s friends, they tend to make me feel like a complete loser. They’re all so sophisticated, so worldly in a way I’ll never be. What bothers me most of all is that before I met Christian, I wouldn’t have cared. “How many languages do you speak?”
“Three. French, German and English,” Audrey says, taking a bite of fish. “And Max two.”
I look at Christian.
“Four.”
Four? Four freaking languages? I speak a few words in Spanish that I remember from my middle school, but I’m not about to offer my pathetic offering. “Which?”
He takes a swig of beer, and I know he’s trying to bide his time. He’s embarrassed, or maybe he doesn’t want to embarrass me. “Danish, Norwegian, English, and French. And a little German.”
“Nothing like being overly accomplished,” I tease him, nudging my shoulder into his arm, using the excuse to touch him. I wish he’d touch me. I shift, pressing my thigh to his, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint. Dare I just grab his hand and hold it?
Audrey jumps from Max’s lap, picks up the chip bowl and heads toward the French doors. “Oh Christian is perfect. Utterly perfect. Hadn’t you heard?”
She’s teasing, but we all know there’s some truth to the statement. He is perfect…so why doesn’t he have a girlfriend? No one can meet his high standards? Or does he just like to play the field?
“Hardly,” he mutters.
“That’s right,” Max says, as Audrey disappears inside. “If you knew the stories I do…”
I clap my hands. “Oh do tell!”
“Let’s not,” Christian replies.
It’s fun seeing him so uneasy. Mr. Always in Control is nervous. I slide my arm round his waist and lean into him, kissing his shoulder. “Oh come on.”
He smiles down at me. For a split second it’s like we’re the only two people on this patio. Hell, on this planet. Not once, I realize, have I thought about my illness since arriving to this little cottage.
“Well, there was one time when my sister was being picked on,” Max explains. “This guy in school had a crush on her, when she wouldn’t go out with him, he told everyone she was a slut.”
“Ugh,” I say. “Typical.”
Audrey returns, the bowl full of chips. She’s refreshed her makeup. Max probably won’t even notice but I do. I would have mentally laughed at her preening for her boyfriend. But who am I to judge when I’m sitting in the cold in a skirt because Christian likes my legs?
“When Christian found out she was being picked on, he was livid. So he planned to humiliate the bastard. We basically cat-fished him, made him think this really hot girl in school was interested.”
“Evil!” Audrey says, laughing at Christian. “I knew there was a devil inside of you.”
Max shrugs. “He never did that to another girl again.”
“She was like my sister too,” Christian explains.
He sounds sad and I wonder why. The others don’t seem to notice. But I do. I notice everything about him. The way he rubs his neck when he’s unsure. The way he gives that lop-sided smile when he’s truly happy. The guy is creeping more and more into my affections.
“Well that’s no fun,” I said softly. “That’s just being honorable.”
He looks somewhat uneasy as he draws his fork through his fish. “It’s what anyone would do…protect their friends.”
“Oh please. Christian is not like anyone else,” Audrey says. “You would take in a homeless person you’d just met. Practically did with me. He sees me crying on the street corner, having come from France for a supposed job. I have no money. That was a year ago. I’ve been here since.”
“Thank God.” Max lifts his beer bottle in salute. “He has a hero complex. Always has to save someone. Why do you think he’s friends with Kris—”
Audrey elbows him in the gut, cutting him off.
Kirstin. Lovely, wonderful, model-like Kirstin. Will I ever escape her presence? I have to try really hard not to roll my eyes. She’s more than just an old family friend, he feels like he’s her protector. If this wasn’t just a fling, I’d be annoyed.
“She’s had a hard life,” Christian defends the woman, much to my annoyance. “You know that.”
“Haven’t we all?” Audrey says and I love her in that moment.
“Yes, but most of us haven’t found our father’s body after he committed suicide.”
The comment brings a darkness to the party and we settle into uncomfortable silence. Damn, but now I’m feeling sorry for Kirstin when I planned to despise her for eternity. It’s bad enough losing your dad to illness, but knowing her father actually killed himself makes me downright sad. I so desperately wanted to loathe her.
“You know she’s in town?” Audrey says, and I don’t miss the accusatory tone she takes. Audrey, apparently, isn’t falling for Kirstin’s sob story.
Christian doesn’t respond, which means of course he knew. I’m not sure whether to be frustrated or resigned. If he runs off and leaves me again for her… Yet, how can I deny him the right to offer her comfort? They’ve known each other since the beginning of time.
“Anyway, I do not have a hero complex,” Christian says. “Look at Hope. She doesn’t need saving. She’s the most independent woman I’ve dated.”
I smile at him. But it’s a forced smile. Hell, does he sense there’s something wrong with me even if he doesn’t realize it? Hero complex or not, if he stayed with me he’d realize that sometimes you can’t save people.
“So.” I look to Max to change the subject. “Where is your sister now?”
They grow quiet again, and between the downcast glances, I realize it was the wrong thing to ask. Lovely. This party is getting worse by the minute.
Max takes a drink of his beer. “She died.”
The words hit me like a punch and I feel guilty as hell bringing it up. “I’m so sorry.”
He gives me a tight smile and nods. I know that look. Sorry doesn’t cut it. Sorry doesn’t help. And because I know better than to continue, I drop the subject and eat, while they make small talk around me.
Audrey smiles and teases Max, trying too hard to lighten his dour mood. Christian is quiet beside me and I can’t help but feel that it’s my fault. Didn’t I bring up Christian’s type? Didn’t I ask about Max’s sister? This socializing thing is more complicated than I realized.
As I take in their faces, these people I’ve come to care about in such a short time, and see the darkness there, lurking within their gazes, I’m reminded again that death doesn’t just affect the dead. It affects the living much, much more. When I’m gone my mom will be devastated, Beth will be lost.
And Christian….he won’t have to know. He won’t have to mourn because I’m not telling him. In a few days I’m leaving. In a few days this will be just a memory. Sure, he might want my email or number. We’ll text. Write. But I’ll make sure our contact fades off, and he’ll forget all about me once he returns to school. It happened with most of my friends, it will happen with him too. But I’m not angry.
He’ll forget about me. Move on. Just as it should be. Just as I planned.
****
An hour later I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth and pinching my cheeks to add some color when I hear Max and Audrey retire to their room. I’m thinking over what Audrey and Max have divulged.
Christian has a hero complex.
It’s a thought I don’t want to dwell on. I want him to see me as strong. I want him to see me as…me, not a problem. I pick up the blue bottle of aftershave on his bathroom shelf and pop off the lid. His scent. It’s something Norwegian. Maybe I can buy it online because I’m going to miss that scent.
I replace the bottle, smooth down my skirt, and head back down the stairs. The house is quiet. Christian is sitting outside alone. I pause for a moment, watching him through the doors. The wind tousles his hair, plasters his shirt to his chest. There’s a quietness about him that pulls to me. He looks at peace here, as if he belongs.
At the same time, there’s something about him I can’t ignore. A weight that he carries. We all have our demons to battle, my father told me once. What are his demons? He’s a good guy. Charming. Smart. But there’s something else too…something he doesn’t let others see. A pain, a darkness.
I open the door and step out into the chilly night. He reaches for my hand, and pulls me toward him. There is a connection between us I can’t deny. I settle on his lap, his thighs hard and muscled under my bottom. The light upstairs goes off, and the backyard is thrown into darkness.
It’s quiet. Finally so quiet. The tourists are gone. The only sound is the wind through the trees and bushes, rattling the leaves. His body is warm, comforting underneath me. Christian tugs at my sweater sleeve until the collar falls down off my shoulder. The cool air whispers against my skin right before he presses his mouth there. I close my eyes on a blissful sigh and sink into him. In this moment I realize I could stay here forever.
His hand rests on my bare knee, his other arm around my waist. Desperate, I turn my face toward him and find his lips. As he kisses me, slowly, ever so slowly, as his hand moves up my thigh, under my skirt. I gasp against his mouth. He feels good. So damn good. I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him tight, clinging to him, knowing he’ll keep me safe. Secure.
“Don’t go to Sweden,” he murmurs against my lips. “Stay here.”
If I stay here, the lie will continue for another week. If I stay here, our connection will deepen. His hand reaches the top of my thigh. I can barely think, let alone form a coherent thought. His finger traces the elastic band of my panties. Oh. Dear. God. I’m going to die.
“I…I don’t know.”
“Just say yes.” He tilts his head back and meets my gaze, even as his finger traces the outline of my underwear. He’s taunting me. Making me frantic. Seducing me. “You don’t need to see Sweden anyway. You saw it across the water.”
I laugh, a strangled, desperate sound. We need to end this. I should push his hand away, stand up. Leave. I can’t. He slides his finger underneath the elastic band. I bury my face into his shoulder and bite my bottom lip to keep from moaning. When his thumb brushes my clit, I jump, gasping. His arm tightens, holding me safe, captive.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs, right before he kisses me.
Our tongues entwine. He tastes of mint. Of him. There are so many things I should say. Things we need to discuss before this goes on. Instead, I focus on his mouth. The feel of his velvet tongue as it rubs against mine. The rough texture of his fingers as he pushes them down…down, through my sleek folds.
One more time, one more kiss, one more touch, I tell myself. Just one more, and then I’ll pull back from him, mentally, physically, emotionally. The ache low in my belly flares, tightening almost painfully. Once more, and then I’ll end it all. Look for a hotel in Sweden. Plan my escape. I arch my hips, pressing against his palm. One more.
His mouth is on mine as he slides his finger inside of me. I’m starving for this man. Addicted to him. My body is no longer my own. I have no control and rock my hips, taking him deeper. His finger slides in and out of me while his thumb brushes my clit and his tongue devours my mouth. The heat builds. I feel surrounded by him. His scent. His touch. His very being.
I realize with a start that I could fall for him. The truth pierces my lust. Suddenly, I’m not sure who I’ll be saving if I leave….him or me. The tightly held control on my emotions is wavering. If the dam bursts, I know I’ll drown in feelings I’m not prepared to handle.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say, even as my hands run under his shirt and I soak up his warmth. “I have to go soon. It won’t end well.”
His finger is still inside me. “Are you worried you’re getting too attached to me?”
I release a husky laugh. Whether he’s joking or not, it’s the truth. “Yes.”
“I could get addicted to you,” he whispers against my lips, not helping the matter. He’s supposed to be rational about this. “Your scent drives me insane. I can smell you on my sheets, my pillows. Do you have any idea how good you smell?”
His words destroy me, make me weak and vulnerable. I mumble something indecipherable as I run my hands up under his t-shirt and over his muscles. I want to trail kisses down his chest, over his stomach. I want to taste him in my mouth. I start to tug his shirt over his head when the back porch light from the rental cottage next door comes on. My hands freeze against his stomach. Damn it all to hell.
“Shhh,” he whispers, a flash of white teeth that tell me he’s enjoying this a little too much. “They won’t notice.”
I’m trembling in his arms. I can’t move, afraid of drawing attention to us. He shifts under me. I slide farther down onto his lap, and his finger goes deeper. I suck in my sharp gasp. It’s dark, but a patch of light shines from their porchlight and lands about five feet from where we sit.
His thumb presses against that sensitive spot. A shock wave of pleasure bursts through me. I bite into his shoulder to muffle my groan. I shouldn’t move, but I can’t help myself. Don’t care if all of Norway is watching. I rock against him, desperate to ease the tension.
“Y’all, I can’t believe how expensive food is!” someone says in a southern accent that reminds me all too much of home, when I want to forget. “It’s ridiculous.”
Christian’s breath is harsh and hot against my neck. He wants me. I can feel it in the tense lines of his body. The bulging erection pressing hard and hot to my ass. I rock against him once more and a low growl rumbles in his chest.
“And the waiter was so gosh darn rude,” another woman replies.
“I know!” Someone huffs in exasperation. “Who doesn’t give refills on soda?”
Christian kisses my neck. A shiver races down my spine. I can hear champagne being opened next door, laughter of the ladies, but it’s like a dream. A hazy dream. Right now, my only reality is Christian and his body, Christian and his touch.
He slowly pulls his finger from me, and I assume we’re going to finish this in his bedroom. Instead, he slides another finger deep inside me. I bite down hard on my bottom lip. He’s not done. I should push his hand away. I should stumble off his lap and race inside to maintain a bit of modesty. Instead, I hold perfectly still. His tongue darts out and he licks my neck, teasing me. I shiver. It’s too much. He’s too much.
And then his thigh starts moving, his fingers surging in and out of me, as his thumb works its magic on that perfect spot. It’s all consuming. The sensations overwhelm me. My entire body is trembling as I try to hold back. In some ways this feels even more confusing, scarier than the first time we were intimate. I’m trusting him to take care of me. Trusting him that we won’t get caught.
“Come for me,” he demands in a breathless whisper near my ear. “Now.”
Just when I think I’ll go insane from the ache, I come. I bite into his shirt and muffle my cries as I pulse around him. He’s just made me come outside, in public, where the neighbors could look over the hedges and see us. Where someone from that skyscraper on the hill in the back could notice. I don’t care.
Slowly, I float back into my heavy, sated body, aware of his scent clinging to me. Aware of his throbbing erection still demanding attention against my bottom. I smile a slow, seductive smile and imagine what I’d like to do to him in return. There’s no time for modesty.
“Oh, hello there,” a woman calls out.
I stiffen. We’ve been spotted. My face heats even as I tell myself I look like I’m merely sitting on his lap for a cuddle. They have no idea his finger is still inside me. No idea that his hands have worked their magic…again.
Christian grins. He’s amused by this. Bastard. “Hello,” he calls back. “Enjoying your visit?”
Fortunately, my back is to her, she can’t see my heated face, hear my harsh breath. “Yes, very lovely. We’ll make sure to keep it down.”
“No worries.” Christian slides his finger out of me, a slow and delightfully torturous moment where I have to swallow my groan. He stands, helping me to my feet. He’s got a raging erection that’s pressing to his jeans but my skirts cover it.
I get my first look at the woman spying over the fence. She’s all eagerness and watchful eyes. The kind of neighbor who bakes you a dish, just to get the latest gossip she can share. We had one of those when I first became ill. Mrs. Fought would bring over food, listen sympathetically to my mom, tell her it was in God’s hands, and she would pray for us, then hurry to the other neighbors to give the latest gossip on that poor Reynolds family.
Christian takes my hand. “We were just going inside.”
I smile sheepishly at them. “Have a good evening.”
His grip is tight, his pace quick, so fast I can barely keep up. He’s desperate, I realize. He needs the same release I experienced moments ago. That low ache returns, my desire flares. I know exactly what we’ll do when we reach his room. I’ve become a sex fiend.
“What a sweet boy, and cute too, did you see him?” I hear the woman ask her friend. “And the girl…”
“You,” I hiss when he closes the French doors. My body is still humming from his touch. I can feel the imprint of his hands on me, his fingers inside me. “Are unbelievable.”
Slowly, he turns toward me. “But you enjoyed it.”
There’s a heat in his gaze that makes me shiver, makes me nervous and excited all at once. That area between my thighs still tender, and throbs to life. He starts toward me, his steps determined, his gaze piercing.
My heart hammers madly and I stumble back. “Maybe. It was…nice.”
“Nice?” He tugs his shirt over his head, dropping it to the couch. “Nice? Did you think we were done?”
I can’t help but drop my gaze to his chest, to his pecs, and biceps that flex as he moves. To the six pack that ripples as he walks. My hands curl. I want him. Already, I want him again. He’s still stalking toward me when I spin around, racing up the stairs, knowing he follows.
Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow I’ll decide what to do.