by Donna Fasano
Chapter 1
Karesuomi, Sweden
June
Customs Chief Leif Adel took one look at the woman kneeling by her car on the side of the road and knew he was in trouble. Big trouble.
Djävlar. Devil take it.
Not only did that flimsy excuse for a dress ride way too far up on legs that were miles too long to be tolerated on any tourist, but the reason it did so was because the woman was attempting to change her own tire.
Unbelievable…
As if his day wasn't already bad enough—having been forced to take over his father's infernal Audubon Society birdwatching shift while his parents were off gallivanting in China. Leif hated birdwatching. Almost as much as he hated the feeling tightening his groin as he watched the tourist lady bend over her flat tire.
At the sound of a motor, he jerked his binoculars off the woman's legs and trained them on the road. A big black Saab slowed, coming to a halt in front of her car. Thank God. Now he wouldn't have to unfold his cramped legs from his hiding place at the top of this prickly, scraggly juniper in the middle of the bug-infested bog just to rescue the blasted woman.
Rescuing her would mean having to get close to her. Getting close to her would mean having to actually speak to her. And the way he was feeling right now, sure as the midnight sun, he'd soon find himself doing something really, really stupid...like asking her to the dance Friday night if she was still in town.
He groaned. His friends Håkan and Ingvar were prone to these midsummer attacks of hormones. But not Leif. Not after what he'd gone through three years ago. Leif Adel was immune to hormones, and to women.
He shifted uncomfortably on his high perch and ground his teeth.
Okay, so apparently not totally immune.
A cute, fluffy little blue and white ball of feathers landed on the next branch over and stared at him. Perfect. Leif glared back, sorely tempted to shoo the pesky thing off. Instead he resignedly jostled open his identification volume, found the correct bird, and made a notation in his dad's journal of the time and the bird's long Latin name.
Why couldn't the damned things just stay down south where they belonged?
With an irritated sigh, he pointed his field glasses back at the woman and the men from the Saab, wishing they'd get on with changing her damn tire and leave him in peace.
He tugged at the stifling collar of his uniform shirt and cruised over her body once again with the binoculars, reluctantly appreciating the trim turn of her ankles in her high heels, her shapely calves, and the acres of bare thigh below the scandalously short hem of her pink sundress. Her pink, grease-spotted sundress, he noted with some satisfaction. Ha. Served her right for tormenting him with that view of her doubling over the tire wrench earlier—the wrench which she was now handing to one of the trench-coated men from the Saab.
Leif puffed out an impatient breath. Talkative little thing, too. She was chattering away at the two men, pointing at the tire and gesturing like an Italian. But they didn't seem to be saying much back. Well, who could blame them? There was nothing worse than a woman who talked incessantly.
Leif’s ex-wife had talked incessantly. Of course, at the time he'd found it chic and endearing. So unlike the local yokels.
Just went to show how easily a woman could trick a man into being a world-class chump.
Rousing himself from the unpleasant memory, he watched the Saab man balance the tire wrench in his hand and glance from behind his silver reflector sunglasses first at the flat tire and then back at the woman. Mr. Glasses gave his palm a smack with the heavy tire iron. Leif frowned as the woman backed up a step, her face suddenly filled with fear.
He felt a quick spurt of alarm. Hel-lo. What was going on here?
Without making a conscious decision, he leapt down from the tree branch he was crouching on and started jogging across the bog toward the trio, steering around the soft patches of quicksand.
Something wasn't right with the scenario down there, and he didn't aim to see it go any further. He might be on his lunch hour, but he was still chief of the Swedish Customs Service northern section, and he wasn't about to let anything happen to a tourist on his beat. Or anyone else, for that matter. It just wasn't the way things were done in Karesuomi.
Here, people took care of their own.
He didn't stop to ponder exactly when he'd started thinking of the woman as his own. The last thing he needed was to get involved with another pretty tourist. Hell, look at what had happened last time. Three years later, he was still a hermit nursing a bruised and battered heart.
But this was different. It was his duty to come to this woman's aid.
After that? Strictly off-limits. Yessir, ten minutes, tops, to chase away those goons and change her tire, then she was out of his life for good.
No smiles. No asking her where she was from. No polite interest in her vacation.
Definitely no invitations to dances.
He clenched his fist around his notebook, plastered on the Official Customs Scowl, and strode onto the blacktop behind her car.
"Hej. Kan jag hjälpa till här?”
Chapter 2
Joanne Fager whirled in panic, shocked to see a huge tawny-haired man suddenly appear from behind the stubby trees at the side of the road. Her heart pounded double-time. Oh, lord, another one?
The man said something indecipherable to her two scary Samaritans. As he talked, she glanced down at his snug-fitting dark blue slacks and up over the crisp white uniform shirt that stretched taut across his broad-shouldered male frame, then focused in on the shirt's pocket. There was a large silver badge pinned to it.
Oh, thank God.
She dragged a shaky hand across her forehead in relief. The cavalry had arrived.
She looked up again, and found herself staring into deep blue eyes that were surrounded by a handsome, tanned face sculpted in angles and hollows. The smile below the man's sexy auburn mustache stretched all the way up to the charming crinkles next to those fathomless eyes.
Good lord. He had a face that could practically turn a woman into a pool of melting Jell-O. And it was accompanied by a towering, powerfully muscular body designed to finish the job.
Honestly, all this man needed was a set of leather leggings and a helmet, and he might have stepped off the cover of one of those Viking romance novels she loved to read.
She barely even noticed when the two Saab creeps dropped the tire wrench and beat a hasty retreat, driving off with a squeal of rubber.
"Thanks for stopping," she managed to say to the Viking.
His cobalt eyes sized her up in three seconds flat, and his smile became a lopsided grin. She had to struggle not to let her jaw drop any farther than it already had.
Damn, was he gorgeous.
"Flat tire, I see," he said in a soft, melodic accent. Kneeling down on one knee, he rested a hand against her rental car’s fender and assessed the damage. He gave an approving tilt of his head, then tapped the lug nut that had refused to budge for her. "Couldn't get this last one, huh?”
Oh. My. God. His accent turned even those simple words into a sensual delight.
"Mmm," she replied, severely distracted. Surveying him from behind, she suffered a temporary lapse of sanity, and murmured, "Tight. Very tight."
At that, he peered over his shoulder at her. She blinked, then smiled innocently and nodded toward the offending nut. She could have sworn his neck turned red...but it was hard to tell since she was too busy imagining what it would be like to run her fingers through all that wonderfully wavy golden hair.
His brow lifted imperceptibly. "Let's see if I can get it off, then," he said in a low, impossibly suggestive voice.
It was her turn to blush.
After a split second's hesitation, he turned and impaled the lug nut with the tire wrench.
Ho-boy.
He braced his athletic thighs apart, flexed his corded muscles, and wrapped himself around the tool. A quick stab of envy for the cold metal wrench zi
nged through her insides, and she had to reach out a hand to steady herself on the car. Mercy.
She took a deep, calming breath. Down, girl.
What was with her? It must be the events of the past hour catching up with her—the unexpected blowout and those scary creeps in the black sedan—making her physical reactions go haywire. That's all it was. It couldn't be the Viking causing her body to tremble this badly. Not possible.
She tore her eyes from her rescuer’s hard, amazing body as all its considerable strength worked on muscling loose that last lug nut. No thanks. Not this girl. She had only one objective in coming to Sweden, and she wasn’t about to let herself be distracted from her task by some would-be cover model with a badge.
Turning away determinedly, she set her jaw and frowned down at her wilted sundress, brushing the dirt and grime off it as best she could. She hadn’t even made it to the village yet, and already things were not going at all according to plan.
Well. Not that she actually had a plan...
Talk about brilliant. How had she ever gotten it into her head she that should come to Sweden in the first place? She, who had never even set foot outside her native Michigan before. How could she possibly have thought she could just waltz over here to a foreign country and find her grandfather?
Okay, her grandfather's corpse. Not to put too fine a point on it.
A hand touched her shoulder. She jumped and whirled, and nearly tripped. She caught herself on the stranger’s arm just in time. His warm, masculine scent washed over her—the barest hint of spicy cologne mixed with that indefinably delicious maleness that was impossible to bottle.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "This won't work.”
She tried half-heartedly to recall what in the world he was referring to. But again she felt herself being drawn into those dreamy Viking eyes.
"I'm not the man for you,” he murmured.
He was so right. And yet, here she was, lost in their bottomless blue depths.
"Oh," she managed, and for a moment they just stood there gazing at one another as if transfixed.
Abruptly, he backed up. "No," he said in a clipped voice. "Right now you need a man with a tow truck." With that, he turned and strode quickly around to the trunk and stowed the spare tire and the tools.
She gave herself a mental shake. "Yes, of course. A tow truck.”
He slammed the trunk. "Meanwhile, you'll have to come with me.”
"Ye— Wait. What?" Sudden alarm snapped her head up, her big-city instincts taking over.
"My Landcruiser is parked just around the next bend. You can't go anywhere with that tire." He pointed to the mangled rubber still firmly attached to her car. "Where are you headed?”
She hesitated, glancing anxiously down the narrow black strip of highway that disappeared into a forest of stunted evergreens. Other than her rescuer, the ribbon of macadam was the only sign of human intrusion in the vast Arctic wilderness surrounding her. Being stranded on a desolate road in northern Sweden, two hours from the nearest real city, and lord knew how far from anything but moose and reindeer, was not her idea of a good time. But unless she went with him, that was exactly where she'd be stuck.
He must have sensed her discomfort. "Or, I could just call for a tow truck. The garage in Karesuomi probably has one available." He extended a hand. "By the way, I'm Leif Adel, northern area chief of the Swedish Customs Service."
She pushed out a small breath. She had to get a freaking grip. The man was a totally legitimate government official, not some ax murderer. Her nerves were just shot. Those Saab guys had been creepy.
But the Customs chief’s expression was so full of concern, his manner so courteous, her worry melted away like snow on a warm sidewalk.
She took his hand gratefully. “Nice to meet you. I’m Joanne Fager.”
"I'm based in Karesuomi, and heading there now," he said. "I'd be happy to give you a lift, if you'd like.”
She gave him a wobbly smile. See? No reason to panic. "Thanks, Mr. Adel. I'd appreciate that.”
She gave his body a covert glance. Besides, what red-blooded female wouldn't want to spend a few minutes with this incredible hunk, just taking in the awesome view?
Nope. No reason to panic at all.
Chapter 3
Leif was worried. About the woman sitting next to him in the Landcruiser, sure. But mostly about himself.
He shifted impatiently, adjusting his seat belt—which was unaccountably much too tight across the hips. Djävlar. He was attracted to this woman. Seriously attracted.
She was, of course, some kind of beautiful. Her mop of blond hair in its current state of disarray was beyond sexy, and her body simply didn’t quit. But that wasn't what worried him—he hadn't reacted to beautiful in years. That her face shone with a unique personality and a sense of humor hit closer, but even that didn't worry him too much.
He glanced at his passenger—Joanne Fager—who was looking out her window. Damn. Why did that little grease smudge on her cheek send his libido into overdrive? She'd actually tried to change her own tire. And had done as good a job as he’d been able to.
Worse, she'd flirted with him. He was absolutely sure of it. No woman had flirted with him since—well, since he couldn't remember when. They wouldn't dare.
And how she had made him blush, well, that didn't bear thinking about. Blush, for God's sake! He groaned inwardly, raking a hand through his hair.
The woman was just plain dangerous to his state of mind.
Hell, he wasn't even ready to hit on someone from his own village, let alone a tourist from half way around the world. Satisfying a simple case of overactive hormones wasn't worth the pain getting close would involve.
And there was always pain, no matter how hard you worked at avoiding it. Why put himself through that?
In the end, love betrayed you, one way or another.
Her soft voice interrupted his inner debate. "Mr. Adel, how long will it take to get to Karesuomi?”
It must have been the scowl on his face as he swung a glare in her direction that nearly knocked the irksome woman out of the Landcruiser.
Her eyes grew big as teacups. "If it's not too much trouble to ask." She bit her lip and lowered those pretty green eyes. Green, like a meadow in—
Forbannade! Damn it! He squeezed his own eyes shut for a second to banish the unwelcome thought, and tried to relax his spring-loaded muscles. "About fifteen minutes. And please, call me Leif."
"Okay," she murmured, then quickly turned back to study the landscape. Her fingers worried the purse strap in her lap.
He shifted on his seat again, annoyed with this woman who had so swiftly awakened a deep ache within his body. The kind of ache he'd nearly forgotten. The kind of ache he'd never wanted to feel again.
Looking over at her, he felt the impact double. He sucked in a cleansing breath and let it out slowly.
Drawing his fingers down his mustache, he fought for normalcy in his voice. "Are you staying at the Hjortron Hotel?" Not a big stretch. There was only one hotel in the village.
She nodded to her purse. “Yeah.”
"It's nice. You'll like it.” He knew he shouldn’t ask, but he did anyway. “How long will you be in Karesuomi?"
Her gaze sought him shyly from beneath golden lashes. "A week."
“That long?” Surprise sifted through him. Karesuomi was not exactly a hotbed of exciting touristy things to do—a bit of wildlife for hunting or fishing, a few handcraft shops, and some nice scenery for photographers, that was about it. Not many outsiders stayed more than a day or two, unless they were camping at the river.
She smiled back tentatively. “I’m doing some research in the area,” she said, but didn’t elaborate
Okay, so probably an anthropologist, or a biologist, or maybe a geographer. Not unheard of in the village.
A week...seven days... That was enough time to get to know someone pretty well. But not enough time for things to get serious.
Hmm. Maybe he cou
ld break his rule about casual affairs, just this once. After all, it was a Swedish custom to indulge in a bit of romance at Midsummer. Håkan and Ingvar were always telling him so. He could keep his emotions completely out of it. And in a week she'd be gone.
How involved could one get in such a short time?
He gave her a smile, his imagination already making mischief. "Great. You’ll have to tell me about your research sometime.”
Then he came to his senses.
Nej, för helvete. No way in hell. There was absolutely no chance he was going down that road. He’d learned his lesson the first time.
Besides, he was a high-ranking Swedish government official. It wasn't very professional to deliberately plot the seduction of a guest in his country.
And he definitely had no use for any soft, city woman who inevitably preferred the fast urban life down south, either. No matter how temporary the relationship.
Briskly, he said, "My cousin Vanja owns the hotel. I can give her a call and let her know you're on your way.”
His passenger caught her lip between her teeth again, and said hesitantly, "That would be nice.”
He silently cursed himself as he pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial for the hotel. He needed to get his shit together and stop being a jerk.
"You speak English really well," she ventured after he’d left a message with reception because Vanja was away from her desk. "Have you been to the States?”
"No, not yet." He sent her a grin. "But when I was at the university in Uppsala, I had several American friends who were over here on a junior-year-abroad program. I guess I learned more English than they did Swedish.”
She laughed. "Figures. Some of us tend to be lazy about learning other languages."
Her laugh sounded bright and sweet, and suddenly he wanted to hear more of it. But seeing the contrast in her, now that she was finally relaxed and happy, brought back the reason she was with him in the first place.
"I hate to bring it up, but can you tell me what happened back there?” he asked.
