Ten Brides for Ten Hot Guys

by Donna Fasano

  "Oh. My. God," she muttered.

  What the hell had she agreed to?

  She started toward the hotel entry. All of a sudden, two men jumped out at her from behind a parked car. She started to scream, but in a flash, one spun her around, clogging the sound in her throat, and the other grabbed her purse right out of her hands.

  As quickly as they had come, they were gone.

  Stunned, her pulse galloping, she scanned the deserted parking lot, astonished that the men had managed to disappear so easily. But endlessly thankful they hadn’t hurt her. Or worse.

  She eased out a long, unsteady breath. Holy crap. On top of everything else, she’d been mugged?

  Unbelievable.

  Chapter 40

  For the dance, Joanne put on the prettiest outfit she’d packed, a flowing gossamer dress with a beautiful floral print in pastel colors. It had a simple bateau neckline with cap sleeves and a full skirt, and she’d slipped on a pair of strappy heels. Examining her reflection in the mirror, she felt quite the picture of femininity. Hmm. Maybe she should put her hair up to complete the look.

  She had just finished putting in the last bobby pin when there was a knock on the door.

  Leif.

  She took a deep breath, told her speeding heartbeat to slow the hell down, and went to let him in.

  “Hi. Come on—” Her greeting died on her lips, and she had to stifle a gasp at the crushingly handsome man who stood in front of her.

  Leif looked positively sinful dressed in coal-black trousers and open vest, paired with a crisp, snow-white shirt. A narrow, handwoven tie the exact blue of his eyes was knotted perfectly around his neck. His sleeves were casually rolled up below his elbows and his pants were tucked into well broken-in but spit-polished black knee-high boots. He had wrapped colorful woven bands around the tops, gypsy-style. One finger held a jacket slung over his shoulder.

  Oh. My. Lord.

  That's it. She was going to drag him to bed right then and there.

  With a shaky hand, she opened the door wide and invited him in.

  Leif smiled, lifting an eyebrow at her dress. “Nice,” he said noncommittally.

  “Thanks.” Tension ran laps around her stomach. Good grief, she couldn’t just jump the man. And, unfortunately, he didn’t seem inclined to jump her. She searched desperately for something to say.

  At the awkward silence, his eyes narrowed. "Has something happened?"

  Startled, she laced her fingers together nervously. "Well, sort of...”

  His expression went deadly. "What?”

  She made a face. "I was mugged."

  "What?" He grabbed her shoulders, and electricity shot through her. "Did you go out again? I told you not to go anywhere without me.”

  "I didn’t,” she said, attempting to ignore the flames his touch set off in her body. “It was right after you dropped me off. In the parking lot. Two men grabbed my purse.”

  His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “And?”

  She shook her head. “That’s it. They just ran away. Luckily, there wasn’t much in the purse. Just a little cash and a lipstick. And my cell phone.”

  "Did you report it?”

  "I told Vanja, and she called the local police.”

  “Niall?"

  “Yes.” She squirmed against the firmness of his grip. "Leif, you don't have to hold me quite so tightly.”

  He dropped her arms with a grimace. "Sorry.”

  "No, it's okay. I didn't mean—" She took a step closer, but he had already turned away.

  "Did you see who it was?”

  She wanted to groan. The man was totally oblivious. "I gave descriptions to the constable, but he didn't recognize them. He thinks they must have been tourists."

  Leif turned back to her. “I don’t like it.”

  “That makes two of us,” she muttered. “That cell phone was almost new. And it had all my Sweden pictures on it.”

  He studied her intently. “It doesn’t sound like this is related to anything else going on, but I still want you to be extra careful from now on.”

  She moved in, slanting a flirtatious glance up at him. "Don't worry, I promise not to leave your sight for a minute."

  He cleared his throat. "Good. Well, would you like to hear my plan for tonight?”

  She blinked. “Plan?”

  He indicated the bed with a sweep of his hand. "Shall we?”

  Her heart slammed against her chest and heat ripped up her cheeks. She looked at the bed, then back to him. "Um…"

  "Shall we sit?" The corners of his lips curved up as he lowered himself with cat-like grace onto the bed. "Unless there's something else you’d rather...?

  She gave him a strained smile. "I think I’d better stand.”

  Why she'd said that, when her whole body burned for the man, was completely beyond her. She walked backward until she bumped into the dresser, then leaned back against its solid support.

  Seduction was the reason, of course. She wanted to be seduced. Wooed and cuddled. Kissed and whispered to. Wanted. Needed.

  Desired.

  Something more than just a wave of a hand toward the bed.

  She tamped down on her frustration. "So. What’s this great plan of yours?”

  He tilted his head and met her gaze. “Simple, really. I think you should try to seduce Bill McAndrew.”

  Chapter 41

  Joanne gaped at Leif. "Excuse me?”

  “Just pretend,” he said, putting his palms up. “Not actually do it. Otherwise I’d probably have to kill him.”

  She just stared. Totally confused. “Are you freaking nuts?”

  “We need to find out why CIA sent him here. And more important, what he knows about those Hungarian agents.”

  Her jaw dropped. Was he kidding? “You want me to run a honey trap on Bill McAndrew?” she asked incredulously.

  His brows shot up.

  She rolled her eyes at his surprise. “Anyone who’s ever watched a James Bond movie knows what a honey trap is.”

  "In any case," he said, looking chagrined, "it's the only way I could think of that we can find out what the hell they’re all doing here.”

  It was her turn to raise a sardonic brow. “We?”

  He stepped toward her. “If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”

  He had a point. She gazed at him ruefully. "Fine. But don't think for a moment I'm going to enjoy this."

  He leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. "I’m counting on that. Because, again, I’d have to kill him.”

  She refused to be flattered by that oblique confession. With a glare, she went to fetch her room key from the vanity table. Not that she had anywhere to put it, without a purse.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave a small cough. "Uh, Jo?”

  “Yes, Leif?” she said evenly.

  "You look very nice.”

  His tone made her instantly wary. "Thank you. Again.”

  “When you meet my mother, that dress would be perfect.”

  His mother? She turned, trying to decide whether or not to kick him in the Hessians.

  "But for tonight, it's not quite right. What else do you have?”

  Before she could object—or kick him—he strode over to the closet and flung open the door. He leafed through her dresses and skirts, shaking his head. After a second search, he pulled out a red jersey miniskirt that she only ever wore over a bathing suit at the beach.

  “Hmm.” He held it up approvingly.

  "No, way—”

  "Shirts?" he ordered, cutting off her protest.

  She pressed her lips together. He just shrugged, opened the top dresser drawer, and dug through the short stack of folded items.

  “Hey!”

  He pulled out one that made her suck in a breath. It was a man's muscle-style undershirt she wore under white T-shirts.

  “Oh, yeah.” He tossed it at her with a grin.

  "Oh, hell, no. You can see everything through it." />
  She felt herself blush when his eyes traveled consideringly over her breasts.

  "Okay. I see what you mean. What have you got to wear over it?”

  She crossed her arms to cover her suddenly peaked nipples, and pressed her lips together.

  He gave her a sexy smile, and opened the next drawer.

  She ground her teeth as she realized what he would find lurking among the Henleys and other goodies.

  Sure enough, he pulled it up, sublime amusement etched on his face. “Hello.” His gaze met hers in a perfect question mark. "Dare one ask?"

  How could she explain about the dark blue Cub Scout uniform shirt, four sizes too small? She’d bought it at the Goodwill when she was a freshman in college. There had been an older girl in her art class who was everything Joanne had longed to be—beautiful, shapely, petite, with an alluring aura of confidence and sensuality. She had virtually floated over the floor, trailing exotic perfume and upper-classmen.

  The girl had worn a Cub Scout shirt to art class one day, which had fit like a second skin, pushing up her breasts enough that the curves spilled out enticingly between the open top buttons. Her breasts had made the boys drool, but the shirt had attracted no one's attention except Joanne’s. It captured perfectly the essence of the girl's daring and unconscious originality that she envied so much. The same day, she had trolled the local thrift stores until she found a similar one that fit her just as well, replete with pack number and even a few merit badges sewn on. It looked killer on her. Ever since, she'd worn it on those special occasions which called for a bit of the rebel.

  But tonight she was not feeling rebellious. Not remotely.

  "Yes, it will do very nicely," Leif said, apparently satisfied. "Change into those and meet Vanja downstairs in ten minutes. She said you could ride over with her. I don't think we should go in together."

  She surveyed the outfit in her hands, feeling her stomach knot. "You seem to have thought of everything.”

  "Yes, well, I better get out of here and let you change."

  “Before I strangle you.”

  "See you there." He reached the door, and paused as he opened it. "Oh, and Jo, don't touch the hair. It's perfect.”

  Leif made his escape just before she started throwing things.

  Chapter 42

  The restaurant where the weekly dances were held was on the Finnish side of the river, high up on a hilltop. From the front entrance steps, Joanne turned and gazed with awe over the magnificent view of the entire river valley. Forests, bogs, and barren tundra stretched out to either side in a patchwork of savage, unspoiled beauty.

  “Pretty, huh?” Vanja said.

  “Beautiful,” Joanne said with a sigh. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

  Vanja gave her a searching look, then said, “Come on. Leif texted ages ago, wondering where we are.”

  They’d stopped at the hotel pub for a fortifying drink before taking a taxi to the dance. On the way, Joanne had broken down and told her about Leif’s plan. Vanja had just shaken her head, and said, “The man’s a certified idiot.”

  Joanne hadn’t disagreed.

  The Finnish restaurant was a two-story affair with the entire lower level taken up by a huge dance floor surrounded by small, round tables. A bar the length of an airport runway nestled in the back of the room, and a massive, wooden outdoor deck ran along three window-bedecked walls. Vanja told her that upstairs was another, smaller bar, and the dining room.

  When they walked in, the dance was already going at full tilt. A live band played on a small stage, pumping out what would be an amazing array of music, from waltzes to rock 'n' roll. What the musicians lacked in finesse, they made up for in enthusiasm and volume. They started playing a tango, the mournful lyrics pouring from a singer with an incredibly husky voice and an even more incredibly gaudy gown.

  Vanja leaned over and murmured, “ Hope you like to tango. Finns love them. They’ll play one every four or five songs.”

  “I do,” Joanne said, perking up. “I hardly ever get to dance the tango at home.”

  Hell, make that never. Even if she’d go out dancing—which she didn’t—the last thing they’d play was something you could actually dance to. Unless you were at a Polish wedding, or something. A few times she’d tagged along to her grandmother’s beloved ballroom dance club—Virginia adored dancing and, despite not having a steady partner, she went as often as she could—but there hadn’t been a single other person under the age of fifty, and although everyone had been super nice to her, Joanne had always felt like she’d landed in some kind of weird time warp. So, all those dance lessons her grandmother had given her growing up had totally gone to waste. It would be great to finally use them.

  She shook her head at the coat-check girl who offered to take her carefully zipped-up jacket, and smiled feebly at Vanja's questioning glance. She wasn’t ready to show off her new look quite yet.

  Chicken much?

  Ya think?

  When she’d checked herself in the mirror back at the hotel, after dressing and darkening her makeup to match, she’d almost fallen over. The sophisticated girl from her art class had been staring back at her.

  What did they say about being careful what one wished for?

  The restaurant was packed with both locals and tourists, all dressed to the nines. Leif’s sexy outfit, and his obsession with hers, made more sense now.

  She and Vanja moved through the glitzy crowd until they found a free table on the short side of the dance floor. Immediately, they were greeted by a succession of Vanja's friends, which kept up steadily throughout the evening. Joanne was happy when most of them spoke passable English. A vodka and grapefruit juice appeared magically before her, and soon she was engaged in lively conversation with a dozen new friends.

  She was also starting to work up an unladylike sweat.

  After a short while, Bill strolled up to their table. Inwardly, she groaned. Was she really going through with this ridiculous plan?

  "Where's your handsome friend tonight?” he asked after they’d said hi.

  Oh, what the hell.

  "Why, Bill," she said, and batted her eyelashes. "He's standing right here talking to me.”

  At that, he studied her with a curious gleam in his eye. "You're looking warm, there, Detroit. Let me check your jacket for you.”

  She hesitated. Ho-boy.

  "Don't be silly, Joanne," Vanja chided. "Give the man your jacket.”

  Whatever. Joanne blew out a resigned breath, unzipped it, and slid it off to hand to him. When he was finally able to drag his gaze from her breasts, he took the jacket, said, “Damn, girl,” and strode off with it.

  She sank down in her chair and met Vanja’s amused smile. “I think the plan’s working,” she said, and they laughed.

  Taking a fortifying sip from her drink, Joanne looked out across the dance floor. Her gaze collided with Leif’s. He was lounging comfortably at a table on the other side of the room, surrounded by a bevy of worshipful women.

  Her heart constricted at the sight. What the hell was he doing? She wanted to leap up and smack every one of them in their cool, Scandinavian faces.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle hand on hers. "Here comes Bill." Vanja gave her a sympathetic smile, then speared her cousin with a deadly look. "Forget about Leif tonight. This is the first time in years he's let any woman near his table, and word must be out.”

  "Nice,” Joanne muttered.

  This was not part of the plan.

  Bill sat down next to her, and she forced herself to put everything—and everyone—out of her mind, and concentrate on her task. She had no intention of seducing him, but there was no harm in flirting a bit. Leif was right. They needed the information he could give them.

  It was tough not to look in Leif’s direction, but somehow she managed. Even when Bill asked her to dance.

  Those years of dance lessons had not been an advantage back home, she’d found. American men rarely ev
en knew the proper dance position, let alone any sort of organized steps. Cowboys being the exception, of course. But you didn't get many of those in Detroit.

  She was pleased when Bill twirled her out in a tolerable foxtrot.

  Then he spoiled the effect by casually asking, "So, did we have a lover's tiff?"

  She lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Mr. Warmth and Personality. I thought you two were an item.”

  She scrambled for a suitable excuse. “I’m easily bored,” she said, and smiled up at him.

  He cast a quick glance toward Leif’s table. To her dismay, Leif was leading a petite red-haired beauty onto the dance floor. Joanne's heart squeezed painfully.

  Bill returned her frozen smile. “Awesome. So I have a chance.”

  “We’ll see,” she said under her breath.

  They danced for a few minutes, then he asked, “How’s it going with the search for your grandfather?”

  She followed as he led her in an under-arm twirl. "I might actually have a lead on the plane," she said.

  "Really?" He tucked her back into a close dance position.

  She was trying to get information, not give it out, so she said, "Yeah. I spoke to someone who remembered a relative mentioning an old plane wreck near their summer cottage. I should know more tomorrow.”

  The song ended and he guided her off the dance floor. "That’s great.”

  "I'll say. Maybe if I actually find the plane, all these strange accidents that have been happening to me will stop.”

  His head came about as they approached her table, his gaze narrow. "What accidents?”

  Chapter 43

  Håkan and Ingvar gave Leif censure-filled scowls when he strolled over to their table on his fourth circuit around the dance floor. He’d been too antsy to sit, and was tired of dancing with the flock of women pushing themselves at him. The only woman he wanted to dance with was otherwise occupied.

  His own damn fault.

  Stupid, stupid plan. What had he been thinking?

  "You haven't spoken to Joanne all evening, boss, “Ingvar said. “What gives?”