Ten Brides for Ten Hot Guys

by Donna Fasano

  She grimaced. "The flat tire?”

  He nodded. "Those two men. You seemed pretty nervous.”

  "I guess I was, a bit." In a tight voice, she related the story, which pretty much matched what he had observed himself. "I know it's crazy,” she concluded, “but for a minute, I was sure they were going to hurt me." Letting out an unconvincing chuckle, she reached up and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes with a shaky hand. "I'm sure I was just imagining things.”

  He had to stop himself from reaching over and taking her hand to give it a comforing squeeze.

  "Maybe.” Anger narrowed his eyes. “I still don't like it. People like that give our village a bad name.”

  “If it means anything, they didn’t sound like they came from around here. When they talked together, it sounded like some kind of eastern European language. Definitely not Swedish.”

  Surprised, he said, “No kidding? Well, I took down their license plate number. I'll run it by the DMV and see what comes up. Maybe it’s a rental."

  "That’s nice of you, but they really didn't do anything wrong, or even threaten me." She looked up at him, her expression so trusting that he had the strongest urge to tuck her under a wing and keep her safe from anything that might hurt her.

  "I can report it to the police. If those guys make a habit of this sort of thing, they can be deported." And permanently barred from the country, if he had any say in the matter.

  “You’d really do that?”

  "Sure. I can't have anyone harassing my tourists, now, can I?” He gave her a reassuring smile as he pulled into the parking lot of the Hjortron Hotel, all the while wondering where the hell these unfamiliar protective feelings were coming from.

  She shot him an amused look. "Your tourists?"

  He winked. “My village. My job. My tourists.” Though, God knew, he’d never felt quite this protective of any of them before.

  Not good. Feelings like that would only land him in trouble.

  “Well. I definitely feel much safer now. Thank you.” Her pretty lips curved, and he forced himself to turn away before he could lean forward and brush his own over them.

  Oh, yeah. Really big trouble.

  Chapter 4

  At the reception desk, Joanne smiled gratefully as Customs Chief Adel plunked down her luggage on the floor and introduced her to his cousin, Vanja.

  "I know you'll be comfortable here at the Hjortron. Vanja's always getting written up in travel magazines for her famous hospitality." Leif leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his broad chest. There was pride in the grin he gave his cousin before turning back to her. "Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked Joanne.

  Her gaze strayed down the length of his mouth-watering body. She could think of several things she wouldn’t mind him—

  Oh, for Pete’s sake.

  She quickly shook her head, as much to rattle some sense into it as to answer. "Thanks, but I think saving me from those creeps and giving me a ride is plenty for one day.”

  He pushed his thumbs into his pockets. "Well, I hope you enjoy your vacation.”

  "I believe I've already started to." She heated slightly. Crap. Had she actually said that aloud? What was with her today?

  Behind the reception desk, Vanja caught her eye and gave her an amused grin. She was obviously enjoying the mild flirtation between her and Leif. Joanne wondered why. A man who looked like Leif Adel must attract more than his fair share of female interest.

  As long as Vanja didn’t get the wrong idea. She was just flirting a little. Nothing serious. No harm in that.

  Right?

  Normally, Joanne didn't go in for men with hair the color of a summer dawn and auburn mustaches streaked by gold. She usually fell for the dark-haired, clean-cut, suit-and-tie type. This rugged, untamed, outdoor guy who looked like he could toss a woman over his shoulder and carry her off into the wilderness without even breaking a sweat—well, that was the kind of man she’d always steered clear of. Sure, she liked camping as much as the next girl—probably more—but men like Leif made her feel too much out of her element. Not in control. Joanne liked being in control.

  But there was something about this particular man that started her wondering just what she'd been missing, limiting herself to the tame, proper dates she’d had up until now.

  Not that she was looking for a date.

  She hastily pulled out her passport, glancing back at him. "Thanks again for the rescue, Leif." She gave him a smile.

  Just a mild flirtation.

  "My pleasure." He slowly pushed his hip away from the counter. "I'm sure I'll run into you around the village. And if you see those men in the black Saab again, please let me know. You can't be too careful.”

  His handshake was firm and businesslike, but his blue eyes were soft, warm, and inviting...like her grandmother's eiderdown quilt on a cold winter night. She shivered, and knew for certain she wouldn’t need a quilt if it was those eyes looking down at her on a cold winter night.

  The clattering of something against the front entrance of the hotel tore her attention away from her totally inappropriate fantasy.

  A tall, well-dressed man walked in carrying a Ralph Lauren suitcase, several fishing rods, and a leather briefcase. His gaze swept over the lobby, found the reception desk, and finally came to rest on Joanne. For the briefest moment, she thought she saw recognition in his eyes.

  Strange. She had definitely never seen him before.

  He walked up to the counter and flashed her a dazzling smile. Standing next to her, Leif took one look at the man and his whole body went rigid. With a curt nod, he said, “Good-bye, then,” turned, and stalked out of the foyer toward the dining room.

  "Was it something I said?" The newcomer tipped his chin at Leif's receding back as he set down his things.

  American, she noted. She shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't like fishermen.”

  The new guy chuckled. "Maybe not. The name's Bill McAndrew." He juggled his fishing rods to shake her hand. "From Maryland.”

  "The Old Line State, eh?"

  Bill's grin was infectious. "Guess I'll have to come up with some new ones."

  "Ha ha." She smiled. "I'm Joanne Fager, from Detroit.”

  His eyes skimmed lazily over her, his mouth pursing slightly as he took in her chic but grease-stained sundress. "I know you can't be here for the fishing.”

  "And how do you know that?" she queried, lifting a brow.

  "That guy who doesn't like fishermen?" he said with a confident glance toward the dining room. "He liked you.”

  She followed his gaze, and allowed herself a tiny smile. "You think?”

  McAndrew grinned, and turned to fill in the registration form that Vanja passed to him across the counter. Joanne caught a glimpse of his passport. Though it was American, it was black, with the gold seal and lettering of a diplomatic passport.

  She was impressed. Diplomats were scarce in Detroit.

  Then she silently scolded herself for being so obviously taken with the idea. Too bad she wasn't so taken with the man himself.

  Oh, he was definitely easy on the eyes. Well-groomed, broad shoulders, slim waist, expensive-looking clothes. Back home he would have been just her type. No doubt, she would have killed for a date with him. But here, he produced no skipped heartbeats or tingly palms.

  With a mental shrug, she averted her eyes before he caught her staring, and turned back to Vanja.

  Leif's cousin was friendly and helpful as Joanne registered, chatting away about the sights and handful of things to do around Karesuomi. By the time she had gotten her room key, she and Vanja had hit it off so well they arranged to have breakfast together in the morning.

  Then, with a last lingering look toward the dining room where Leif had disappeared, she headed up the stairs to her room.

  Time to start planning.

  Chapter 5

  After unpacking, Joanne lay on the bed collecting her thoughts. She had come to Karesuomi for one impor
tant reason—to find where her grandfather was buried. And she only had seven days in which to accomplish this seemingly impossible task.

  She definitely needed a plan of action.

  The only problem was, she had no idea what to do.

  It had all seemed so simple back home. Just go to Sweden, find where her grandfather’s small plane had crashed back in 1956, ask around for where he was buried, then bring his body home to rest. Joanne’s grandmother, Virginia, was counting on her to discover what had happened to her beloved Robert, lost to the family so many years ago.

  Robert’s military veteran dad had taught him to fly a two-seater during high school, so when he graduated, he’d followed in his father’s footsteps and gone right into the Air Force. Two years later, according to the bare-bones story Virginia had been told at the time by his commanding officer, Robert Grant had been killed during a training mission in Europe.

  But thanks to the Freedom of Information Act, after fifty years, Virginia was able to demand better answers from the Air Force, and discovered to her shock that Robert had been accepted into the Intelligence branch right after basic training. He had been flying an actual mission when he crashed in northern Sweden. His top-secret assignment had been to fly in under the radar to a place just over the Russian border and pick up an important Soviet KGB defector.

  Joanne’s grandfather had been a spy.

  This new information had made Virginia to want to know the full story of how the crash had happened—but unfortunately, try as she might, the Pentagon had refused to divulge anything more, due to “national security.” Which, in turn, made Joanne even more determined to find Robert Grant’s crash site...along with some possible answers from the locals.

  At the very least, the family would have a funeral. And some degree of closure, at long last.

  But now that she had arrived in Karesuomi, she realized how naïve she had been to think finding him would be easy. Confronted with the reality of a tiny village tucked into the vast, empty tundra and boreal forests far north of the Arctic Circle, the whole idea seemed preposterous. How could she possibly find the unknown site of a small plane crash from sixty years ago in all this desolate landscape? She was overwhelmed by the task before her.

  Joanne’s ever-helpful mother had warned her from the get-go it was a mistake to come to Sweden, that she was going on a fool’s errand that served only to dredge up a painful past that was best left forgotten. But both Virginia and Joanne wanted to learn Robert Grant’s fate.

  She could not disappoint her grandmother. Virginia had been the loving rock she had clung to while growing up. When Joanne's own father was killed in Iraq and her mother had been too wrapped up in her own private agonies to see those of her daughter, Virginia had always been there for Joanne—to take her to soccer practice, to plan birthday dinners, and cajole her through those difficult nights when all her friends were out dancing at the father-daughter ball. She had even gifted her with four years of Fred Astaire dance lessons to make up for missing those dances. But what Joanne remembered most was her grandmother rocking her to sleep in her nurturing arms when the heartaches simply became too much to bear.

  Despite the myriad emotions Joanne’s decision to find her missing grandfather had dredged up within herself and her small family, she knew she must not fail. Not after all her grandmother had done for her.

  And especially not when she had already come this far.

  What she needed was some help.

  But from whom?

  Maybe she should talk to Vanja and ask her advice. Her new friend might know of someone who had been in the area during the fifties, who might still remember a small plane crash and where it had happened. Or, if she got really lucky, where the pilot was buried.

  Yes, she’d talk to Vanja first thing in the morning when they had breakfast together.

  That decided, she relaxed into the soft feather comforter on the bed. Unbidden thoughts of Vanja's delectable cousin crept stealthily into her mind—his hypnotic blue eyes twinkling with sultry temptation.

  No, no, no.

  She flopped onto her stomach, steeling herself against the unwanted distraction.

  Leif Adel was a prime example of a walking heartache if ever she'd seen one. Those blue eyes were purely hazardous, luring her in with an appeal that nearly took her breath away.

  So, she forced down the feelings of loneliness that always trickled through her at the idea of someday finding someone she could fall in love with—feelings suddenly much too close to the surface.

  Just another good reason not to think about the man and his annoyingly sexy smile. Already, he had brought too many unwelcome physical and emotional reactions bubbling up within her. She had to get a grip. Build some kind of barrier to shield herself against her own reckless attraction to the man.

  Leif Adel was Trouble with a capital T. She could feel it in her bones.

  What was it about him that triggered such a strong response in her? Was it those dreamy eyes? The sense of safety exuded from his badge? The instinctive knowledge that this was one man who wouldn’t be controlled, but would be the one doing the controlling?

  Whatever it was in him that spoke to her on that deep level, she didn’t like it. Not one bit. It made her feel raw. Exposed.

  Vulnerable.

  Better by far to give him a wide berth, concentrate strictly on finding her grandfather.

  And play it safe.

  Chapter 6

  The dining room where Joanne and Vanja met for breakfast was noisy and bright. An impressionist sea of glittering mullioned windows overlooked a sunny wooded area to the side of the hotel. A huge batik mural depicting the idealized life of the local Sami—or Lapp—people, covered an entire wall.

  A warm, pine-scented breeze blew gently through the open windows, billowing the lacy curtains. Hotel guests sat at linen-covered tables enjoying delicate pastries, cheese croissants, and strong, aromatic coffee, while a low murmur in several languages wafted about the room.

  Joanne was in heaven. This was her first trip to Europe. In fact, her first trip anywhere outside Michigan. Growing up in the hubbub of Detroit had convinced her of her own worldly sophistication, a notion which seemed to be confirmed when she’d landed a prestigious job in the research and development department of a leading Detroit car manufacturer shortly after college graduation.

  But right now, she felt more like a kid on her first trip to Disneyland.

  Vanja was every bit as genial this morning as she’d been the evening before. After exchanging greetings, Joanne looked around, dreading—hoping—she would see Vanja's handsome cousin.

  The other woman seemed to read her thoughts. "I'm surprised Leif isn't here. He usually comes in for a quick cup of coffee before going to work.”

  Joanne winced inwardly. "Now, what would make you say that?" Lord, was she that transparent?

  "Oh, no reason." Vanja smiled mischievously into her orange juice. "It's just that I've seldom seen our local Customs chief rescue a damsel in distress. He seemed quite smitten.”

  Joanne’s brows hiked. "Could have fooled me. He couldn't leave fast enough yesterday.”

  Vanja shook her head. "No kidding." She sighed. "Leif went through a messy divorce a few years ago. His wife ran off with a slick lawyer from the south who was up here on a fishing trip." Vanja's mouth twitched up at the corner. "He's still a bit sensitive about male tourists with fishing poles.”

  Joanne chuckled. "Ah. I see.”

  Vanja gave a small moue. "He's been a hermit ever since. He's not interested in any of our local girls, and because of his ex, he’s convinced no woman who wasn’t born north of the Arctic Circle would ever want to live in a place like Karesuomi.”

  "Oh, it can't be that bad living up here.” Joanne glanced out the panoramic windows. “From what I've seen, it's really lovely.”

  "Tell me that after you've spent a winter here, with its endlessly long months of darkness and bitter cold. Or an all-too-short summer being atta
cked by bloodthirsty insects the size of small helicopters." Vanja's hands came up in a helpless gesture as she laughed wryly. "You're right, though. He's just being ridiculous. But how to convince him of that...?”

  Joanne gave her a sympathetic smile. "I’m sure when he meets the right woman—”

  "Not much chance of that,” Vanja said with an eye roll. “He growls if a woman so much as looks at him. Since the divorce, he hasn't been interested in even the most casual relationship. I keep hoping though," she added, looking wistful. "He's a great guy, and deserves to be happy.”

  A waitress with a name tag that said Gunilla came by and refilled their coffee. Joanne poured cream into it until it was almost white, and carefully stirred the over-full cup. So bizarre. Romance had been the last thing on her mind when she'd planned this trip. Yet, in less than half a day she had met two of the sexiest men she had ever seen.

  She was definitely out of her usual element, on every front.

  "Well, you didn't come to Sweden to hear about my problematical cousin,” Vanja declared. “Do you have any plans for your vacation?”

  Joanne breathed a sigh of relief at the change of subject. "As a matter of fact, I'd like to ask your help with something. You see, I'm not really on vacation. I'm here to find my grandfather's remains.”

  "Really?" Vanja said with puzzled interest.

  "His name was Robert Grant. He was a pilot in the Air Force during the fifties. He was over here on a mission in 1956, and his plane went down somewhere around Karesuomi. I don’t know exactly where.”

  "Oh, how awful!”

  "The Pentagon claims the mission was top-secret, so they refuse to answer my grandmother's questions about his death. Not even so we can have his body brought home.”

  "Outrageous! But then how do you know he crashed around here?”

  "In the U.S., after fifty years, the government is obligated to release information to the public. So, after jumping through a bunch of hoops, we finally got the complete files—or what was left of them after they’d censored the still-secret bits. There was a memo in one of the documents that described his last mission. It was almost completely blacked out, redacted, but a few sentences were left intact.”