Ten Brides for Ten Hot Guys

by Donna Fasano

  She moaned and slid her thigh over his, catching his fire, responding to his fervor.

  Breathing heavily, he yanked her T-shirt over her head, unzipped her skirt and slid it off along with her panties.

  Needy sounds hummed from her throat as he spun his body on top of hers, pushing her deep into the bed, kneading her breasts with his large, strong hands.

  "Do you want me?" he asked, his voice gravelly with need, spreading her legs wide with a knee and settling between them.

  “I've always wanted you Leif, from the first moment I saw you." Hooking a knee around his hip, she pressed her mouth up to his and showed him just how much.

  He ran his hands boldly up and down her body, sending rivers of fire over her skin. "Just not enough to stay with me." He slipped a hand between her legs.

  "No, that's not—" She gasped as his finger plunged deep inside her, drawing out hot and wet. "I would— Oh, God. I do—"

  He stroked her clit and she felt herself coming apart.

  "Are you close?" he murmured.

  She tightened her arms around his neck, panting. “Yes.”

  "What would you do if I stopped?" His voice was velvety soft.

  "Kill you," she said on a groan.

  Blistering heat pooled between their bodies as his hand came away and grasped her hip, squeezing. "You'd be angry?" His tongue slid into her mouth, languidly running over her teeth and tongue.

  She whimpered. “Yes.”

  "You'd be frustrated?”

  She bit his lip and tasted blood. “Yes.”

  With glittering eyes, he touched his lip, then lowered his hand to her breast. He curled his finger around her beaded nipple and stroked it with his thumb.

  She arched up, feeling every inch of his fiery hot skin, the scrape of his hair, his thick, powerful erection. He reached between her legs again and teased her with his fingers, bringing her right to the edge of ecstasy, then once again, he withdrew.

  She swiped her tongue over her parched lips. "Leif, please." She was so ready, she wanted to scream.

  "Just wanted you to know how I'll be feeling for the rest of my life, when you're not here to relieve my tortuous, aching need.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut against a flood of emotions. "Oh, Leif." She opened them, meeting his. “It’ll be the same for me.”

  He kissed her deeply, loving her with his mouth, showing her what she'd be missing when she got on that plane.

  If she got on that plane.

  He rolled them across the bed, so she landed on top, and closed his eyes. "I want you to stay, but I won't ask.”

  Her heart stopped beating, her world careening around her. She couldn’t stay. It wasn’t possible. But she was elated that he wanted her to!

  Not trusting her voice, she just nodded.

  "I've tried that before,” he said looking disgusted. “Eventually, you'd leave me.”

  She straddled him and looked down, her hair cascading over her shoulders, the ends grazing his stubbled chin. "I couldn't stay. My job, my family. I really couldn't."

  His jaw tightened. "I know.”

  She kissed him. "But, I've still got three days.”

  "Not counting tonight, I hope."

  She looked at him questioningly.

  "After four shots of vodka and almost no sleep for forty-eight hours, my whole body’s spinning. If I last five more minutes it'll be a damned miracle, and I guarantee I won't remember a thing when I wake up.”

  She pursed her lips, her fingertip flirting with his flat nipple. "So...I can have my wicked way with you and you'll never be the wiser?”

  The corner of his mouth curved as he positioned her over him. "God, I fucking hope so.”

  Chapter 68

  A long time later, when Joanne floated down from her last climax, she didn't want to move. She wanted to stay just like this, wrapped securely in Leif’s arms, for the rest of her life.

  Impossible.

  She had never experienced such happiness and contentment as when she and Leif made love. They had never said the words, but that's what it was—love. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind.

  And that was when she finally understood that nothing was impossible, if you wanted it badly enough.

  With blinding insight, she knew exactly what she wanted, and needed.

  And what she must do to get it.

  "I love you, Leif. I don't ever want to leave. Please, let me stay here and be with you."

  He didn't answer. Didn’t move a muscle.

  An interminable silence followed. Her heart stuttered. Did he not want her, after all?

  Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer. "Leif?”

  Still no answer.

  In consternation, she turned, only to find his limp form sleeping snugly next to her.

  "Oh, for—" She let out a laugh, and pressed a kiss to his warm chest. Then she wrapped her arms around him and she slept, too.

  Chapter 69

  At the sound of the phone, Leif bolted upright in bed, then grabbed his head with both hands. He reached over and gingerly brought the obnoxious nuisance to his ear.

  "What?" he boomed into the receiver, and immediately regretted it. Djävlar. "Hello?” he whispered painfully.

  He could almost hear Vanja shaking her head on the other end of the line.

  "Little too much celebrating last night?" came her amused reproof. She clucked her tongue. "No wonder you two are so late.”

  "What are you talking about?" he rasped, glancing at the clock. It was only ten a.m. Way too early to get up.

  "Robert has been down in the dining room since eight. He thought you were going to make an early start this morning looking for some old list at your folks' place.”

  Helvete. The list. He’d totally forgotten.

  “Sorry, I'm running a bit late this morning. I've been having the most bizarre dreams." About Joanne. And making love. Over and over. He shook his head—very gently—to clear it. "Tell them I'll be right there.”

  "And Leif, don't forget to bring Joanne.”

  "What?" He sniffed the air, hallucinating the smell of coffee.

  "She is with you, right?" Vanja prodded.

  "What the hell would she be doing with me? She hates my guts." He sighed wearily and frowned. "At least, I think—" He looked around uncertainly at the bed—yes, he was the sole occupant—then swung his legs to the floor, straining to remember how he’d gotten there.

  “Robert was under the impression she was going over to your place last night.”

  "She was?" He was getting really annoyed with the blank void in his brain that should have been his memory of the night before.

  "Leif," Vanja scolded in exasperation, "is she, or is she not there with you?”

  "Well," he said, playing for time as he carried the phone out into the kitchen to check if, by some weird miracle, she actually was there. “Vanja, I have to confess, technically...I don't know.”

  "Leif!" she snapped.

  He cringed. "Hey, I was exhausted. And I wasn't exactly, well, what you might call, precisely...sober.”

  "That, cousin," she said through clenched teeth, "is abundantly clear. Now will you please, for the love of God, check to see if she's there with you?”

  He winced, set down the phone, and promptly located the source of his hallucination in the form of a full thermos carafe of coffee. He poured some of the life-giving liquid into a mug sitting next to it, and took a long pull.

  "Well?" Vanja demanded when he picked up again.

  "Yes and no," he said. "Someone has been here. But it could have been the coffee elves." He gulped gratefully.

  "Not funny, Leif.”

  As he held the mug to his lips, a luscious female scent wafted up at him from his arms and hands. He closed his eyes and flared his nostrils, breathing in deeply.

  "No, wait. It was Joanne,” murmured. “I'm sure of it." A single, delicious memory trickled back. Oh, yeah.

  "Was?"

  He padded to the living r
oom and peered out the front window. "But she's not here anymore. Her car is gone.”

  "Well, she must have gotten tired of waiting for you to sleep it off," Vanja said with a snarky huff. "Just get your butt over here. She's probably on her way." He heard a click.

  He poured three more mugs of coffee down his throat. Coming up for air, he looked at the carafe, and furrowed his brow.

  She'd been there.

  They'd apparently made love.

  She’d brewed coffee.

  She’d left.

  Now if only he could fill in some of the details.

  Such as whether or not he was still furious with her.

  Chapter 70

  Ten minutes later, Leif emerged from the shower in a daze. When he walked into the small bathroom, he hadn’t known if Joanne would ever speak to him again. Or, if she did, he hadn’t known if he should listen to what she said. He had come out a different man. A man who knew exactly what he wanted. A man who was sure he could get it.

  The lipstick message on the mirror had told him everything he’d needed to know.

  He was now a man with a purpose, and his purpose was to get to the Hjortron and Joanne, ASAP.

  Toweling off his wet hair, he threw on some clothes and headed for the door. At the last minute, he paused, and strode back to his bedroom dresser. He reached far back in one of the narrow top drawers and drew out a small leather pouch. He looked at it for a moment, then slipped it into his uniform pocket and buttoned the flap shut.

  He hurried into the Hjortron's dining room, and spotted Vanja and Robert sitting at a table by the window. As he approached, they looked up nervously.

  "Where's Joanne?" Leif asked with an irrepressible smile. He couldn’t wait to see her, to sweep her into his arms and kiss her.

  "We were hoping she was with you," said Vanja, her face shadowed with concern. "She hasn't made it back here yet.”

  The words hit him like a sledge hammer in the gut. "What? But she has to be here!" He glanced around, worry slamming into him.

  "We've looked everywhere." Grant's voice quavered as he spoke. "Leif, she's disappeared.”

  Chapter 71

  Wincing at the wide piece of duct tape covering her mouth, Joanne tore her gaze from the landscape hurtling by, and looked with growing terror at her captors. The two men in the front seat were the creeps from the black Saab. The AVO agents.

  The same ones who’d been trying to kill her.

  Omigod. Omigod. Omigod.

  She renewed her struggles to free herself from the duct tape binding her wrists behind her back.

  The guy in the passenger seat turned to glare at her. For a brief moment, his silver mirrored aviators reflected her frightened eyes right back at her. Then he turned back, unconcerned, toward the front of the car. Which wasn’t the Saab. This car was big and gray, and looked just like that weird vehicle she kept seeing driving around the village—the one everyone acted like it was invisible.

  Oh, sweet Jesus. How would anyone find her in that?

  The second man was at the wheel. He turned the car off the main road, and they headed slowly up a bumpy, gravelly track hemmed in on both sides by tall, whispering pines. They’d been driving for over an hour, and she had no clue where they were. God. Forget the gray car, how would anyone find her way out here in the back of beyond?

  The two Hungarians had easily waylaid her at Leif’s place that morning as she’d strolled dreamily to her car. They’d come up from behind and grabbed her, slapping the tape across her mouth before she’d even realized what was happening. She’d fought, but hadn’t had a prayer against the two hulks.

  Where were they taking her?

  And what were they going to do with her once they got there?

  As if she didn’t know.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what they were after. Which was good. Because that meant she could tell them what they wanted to know. And then, they’d let her go. Right?

  Both the Swedish and American governments knew who they were. Killing her would cause an international incident. Attract media attention. They wouldn’t want that. Right?

  Surely, they’d let her go if she cooperated.

  Which she fully intended to do. No moldy old list of calcified KGB operatives was going to make her play the hero. No damn way.

  Besides, she had unfinished business with a certain stubborn Viking.

  The memory of their stormy lovemaking last night made her smile, even though the movement practically ripped her lips off. But the smile didn’t last long.

  Why, oh, why hadn't she waited for him to wake up?

  Because she was a damn chicken.

  Leif had warned her he’d be blissfully ignorant of what had happened between them when he awoke in the morning, hung over from the vodka and two days with no sleep. And he’d definitely never remember what she said to him just after he’d fallen asleep. Because he hadn’t heard.

  Honestly, she didn’t know which would have proven to be harder on her—him not remembering, or having to say it all over again, face to face, in the full, sober light of day.

  Which was why she’d taken the coward's way out this morning.

  She’d made some coffee to soothe his poor, aching head, and to jog his memory that she had been there. She would have to rely on other, more subtle, physical clues to confirm that fact for him. Then, the real kicker would come when he hit the shower, and encountered her lipstick message.

  After reading that, there would be no doubt left in his mind how she felt about him, regardless of the magnitude of memory loss.

  Her heart overflowed with love for her untamed man of the northlands. The man who had so quickly won her over, body and soul. She’d never believed in love at first sight before, but now she did. It had happened to her in the blink of an eye, and when she’d least expected it.

  The gray car ground to a halt in front of a dilapidated old cabin in a small clearing, jerking her back to the present. Her heart pounded out of control.

  On second thought, she was glad she had not waited for Leif to wake up. If he’d been with her when the two goons grabbed her, he would either be trussed like a pig in the car with her now, or he’d have been hurt or killed trying to prevent the kidnapping. He would never, ever have let them take her without a fight. Even when things were the chilliest between them, she knew he would have defended her to his last breath. There was no doubt in her mind.

  She trusted him with her life.

  And also with her heart.

  Which meant she had to get out of this alive. So she could tell him, face to face.

  She would not die. She couldn’t.

  She had too much to live for.

  The guy with the aviator glasses dragged her from the car and gave her a push to start her moving toward the cabin. Neither he nor the other creep seemed to be too worried about what they were doing. Maybe they already knew she’d cooperate.

  She’d told them as much yesterday at the river—just before one of them pushed her in to drown.

  Well. Unless that had been Bill McAndrew. That deceitful excuse for a man. Truthfully, it was far more likely that Bill had pushed her.

  Her blood simmered at the thought, and over what he’d done to her at the dance. Pretending to be her friend, getting her to trust him so she’d made the slip about Kauti. Then shooting the poor old man in the back. After that, pushing her in the river to drown wouldn’t even have been a blip on his Gucci radar.

  Keeping one step ahead of Aviator Guy’s poking fingers, she stalked up the steps of the tumble-down cottage. His sidekick opened the door and she was prodded over to a rough wooden door in the far wall. He opened it and gave her a shove. As she flew into the room, she spun around and spewed a shower of curses at the two weasels. Too bad the duct tape sealing her mouth turned her choice words into oatmeal.

  "Most effective, Detroit," came a drawl from behind her.

  She whirled at the familiar voice. Her eyes popped.

&
nbsp; Oh, hells, no.

  She spun back to the door and started kicking it furiously, yelling as loud as she could under the duct tape, telling the creeps that under no circumstances did she want to be left in a room alone with that traitor, Bill McAndrew.

  Her captors, at least, had not tried to kill her.

  Yet.

  The door whipped open and Aviator Guy stood glowering at her. “Shut up, bitch!” he growled, then slammed the door in her face.

  She gave it one final kick and made a gritted-out noise of frustration. Then turned to face her nemesis.

  “I don't suppose you've brought any books with you?" Bill asked hopefully. "I'm getting damned bored just lying here counting the spiders crawling across the ceiling.”

  She shot a nervous glance upward, then returned her focus to Bill. His wrists were handcuffed to the only piece of furniture in the room—a short metal bunk. She narrowed her eyes. There was something familiar about his clothes.

  He noted her scrutiny. "I apologize if I offend your delicate sensibilities." He sniffed lightly. "I haven't had an opportunity to clean up much since we last saw one another.”

  Wait. That was the same designer suit he'd worn to the dance.

  "Good thing we didn't go back to the hotel together the other night,” he said conversationally. “They nabbed me in the restaurant parking lot. How about you?”

  She narrowed her eyes even more. That could not be true. If he'd been here, captive, all this time, how could he have pushed her into the river? Or shot Kauti?

  No one else knew about Kauti. It must have been Bill.

  Unless he really was a double-agent working with the Hungarians.

  Which...apparently he wasn’t. Judging by the handcuffs.

  "Oh, right” He straightened up a little on the dirty mattress. “The gag. Come over here, I'll see what I can do about it.”

  She continued to eye him suspiciously, not quite believing his story, or his innocence. This could be a set-up. She didn’t move.