Her Faux Fiancé

by Alexia Adams

  • • •

  Analise was soaked through, and although she was doing her very best to hold back the shivers, her body shook like she was holding a live power line. Huddled in the cabin, wearing her bikini and Erik’s t-shirt, she found an old towel wedged between the seat cushions and wrapped it around her legs.

  At least she didn’t have to worry about disposing of the cheap cell phone she’d bought with her granddad the day before. It had been in the pocket of the shorts that had gone overboard. She’d texted the coordinates for a meeting while Erik had been getting the boat ready. Now, she wished she could discuss it with Erik, but the voice on the phone had warned her to tell no one. If she told Erik, he’d insist on coming with her. Then, the person she was to meet might not approach if she weren’t alone. Merde, what a mess.

  Through the cabin doorway she could see Erik tying the line at the rear of the boat to the dock. Rain poured off his naked back, and his shorts were plastered to his ass, emphasizing the curve of his butt. A flicker of warmth flowed through her. Make that a surge of heat. As she watched, he ran his hand over his face to clear it of water before glancing in the direction of the car park. A second later, he joined her in the cabin. The tiny space filled with large, hard man. Mon Dieu.

  “I’ve got some bad news,” he said. He picked up the Plexiglas section that formed part of the entranceway and slid it into place. He popped the lower bit of the door in as well, leaving a one-foot gap for airflow. At least it stopped the wind from howling in their ears.

  “What?” she managed to get out between clenched teeth, trying to stop them from chattering.

  “I forgot to put the roof up on the BMW, so the car is soaked as well. We can either huddle in here until the rain stops or sit in the wet car. At least I can put the heater on in there.”

  Through the tiny window, she could see the rain coming down almost sideways. The deafening clanging of ropes slapping against the bare masts of all the sailboats in the harbour added to the tension. Make a mad dash through the weather to sit in a sodden car, or huddle where they were in the relative dry? “I don’t think this will last for long. I vote for staying here.” At least in the boat they were private and didn’t have to scramble to the car with everyone watching.

  “I agree. You’re freezing, though. This is going to sound really self-serving, but if you take off my shirt and we huddle together, our combined body heat should warm you.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him but pulled off the soaked shirt, shuddering as the cool air hit her bare skin. Erik stretched out on the long bench that ran under the cockpit, then gestured for her to join him. Skin-on-skin contact soon made her worry less about the cold and more about spontaneous combustion.

  Erik had said he wouldn’t push her into a physical relationship, yet, at the moment, she couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea. She wasn’t the type of person who jumped into bed with people she’d just met. In fact, she’d known Jean-Claude for almost a year before they’d become intimate. However, she’d known Erik for ten years; it wasn’t as if they were strangers.

  “Feeling warmer?”

  How easy it would be to press a kiss against his chest and then work her way up to his lips. She could feel his arousal against her stomach, so she knew the same lusty thoughts were racing through Erik. His hot breath in her ear melted the last of her willpower. Damn the future, and the past for that matter, for once she was going to seize the day.

  As she ran her lips over his collarbone, she heard a loud voice call Erik’s name and footsteps on the dock approach the boat. She scurried out of Erik’s arms and huddled on the seat across from him. Raising her legs to her chest she wrapped her arms around them.

  Erik swore under his breath and sat upright, putting the discarded towel across his lap. “In here, Brent,” he called out.

  Brent’s face appeared in the small gap between the bottom portion of the door and the roof. “I thought I’d come down to check on you. Saw the lake forming in your car and then the boat moored up. When I spoke with Tracy a few minutes ago, she reminded me that she’d taken all the towels and blankets out of the boat for washing. Sorry, I told you it was fully loaded and you didn’t need anything.”

  “We were waiting for the rain to die down a bit before we made a run for the car. If you’re here now, maybe you could give us a ride somewhere warm.”

  “No problem. I’m done for the day. I’ll give Tracy a call and let her know I’ll be bringing a couple of soaked sailors home with me. Should I ask where your clothes are or keep my mouth shut?”

  “I suggest keeping your mouth shut,” Erik replied.

  He picked up his t-shirt and wrung out the water before handing it to Analise again. The wet fabric clung to her skin, chilling her after the warmth of Erik’s embrace. Being held by him was becoming addictive. If she wanted to learn to stand on her own, she’d better find an antidote, and quickly.

  Chapter 9

  “So, Afi. What do you want to do first?” Analise looked around Gimli’s packed harbour area. Three days ago, it had been a scene of quiet tranquility—boats bobbing in the water, a few fishermen on the dock, purple martins darting overhead eating masses of mosquitoes. Today, hordes of people were milling about, looking at display tables, lining up for a taste of local dishes, or waiting for the next installment of entertainment to come on stage.

  “I come to Islendingadagurinn every year, sweet. You lead the way,” he said.

  Icelandic Festival days were the biggest thing to happen to the small town each year, a long weekend when the local population celebrated their heritage or just partied it up as small towns did when the carnival arrived.

  “Let’s grab some pönnukökur first, then look at the crafts.” Analise walked over to a table where the little rolled-up pancakes filled with sugar were displayed.

  The lady behind the table greeted them as they approached. “Hello, Gunnar, how are you? This must be your granddaughter.” She was dressed in the traditional Icelandic costume of a long, black dress with a white apron and white hat edged in lace.

  “Morning, Inge. Yes, this is Analise. We’ll take a half dozen of the pönnukökur, please.”

  “With pleasure. Can we hope you’re back home for good now, Analise?” Inge wrapped the treats in napkins before putting them in a white paper bag.

  “I’m not sure,” Analise replied.

  “Well, it would be lovely if you stayed with your afi. We could use more young people around here.”

  Analise looked around curiously at the young people and families milling about.

  “Most of these are from the city or are just here for the summer,” Inge continued. “I hear you’re engaged to Erik Sigurdson. I know his family would love for him to move back as well.”

  Ah, the joys of small towns.

  “We’re talking about it, but we can’t make any promises. We both have careers far from here.” Her stomach clenched. But she wasn’t sure if it was because of the lie or the disappointment the town would feel when she and Erik broke off their fake engagement. If she’d given Jean-Claude back his ring, no one in the world would have cared.

  “I heard you were a great photographer. Your amma used to show me some of your work. Are you taking photos today for the festival committee?” Inge’s voice brought Analise back to the present.

  Out of habit, she reached for her camera, which dangled at her side. “No, only for personal use. Thanks for the pönnukökur, Inge. May I take your photo before I go?”

  “Of course, anything for Gunnar’s family.”

  Analise snapped a photo of Inge surrounded by the tasty delights. She’d get her granddad to pass on a copy to the friendly woman. They wandered past several crafts tables. She occasionally stopped to admire a particular piece of artwork or ask a question. Almost everyone knew Gunnar and exchanged greetings with him, encouraging her to move back to Akureyri with Erik. Rather than consider it prying, she took the interest in her future as friendly concern and a sincere desir
e to have her live in the area again.

  From the craft tables they made their way over to the beach area. The waves lapped at the sand in a hushed murmur, so different from the crashing tumult that had ended her day of sailing with Erik during the week. Still, soaking aside, it had been about as close to a perfect day as she could remember.

  Her thigh didn’t hurt anymore, unless she bumped it. And her spirit was healing, too. She woke each morning, eager for the day. When was the last time that had happened?

  Yesterday, Erik had been conscripted into taking his mother and grandmother into Winnipeg for a little shopping. Analise had spent the day trying not to think about how much she missed being with him. The physical attraction was becoming something more, and it frightened her.

  “Analise!”

  She turned at the sound of her name being called. Brent and his children were playing in the sand, attempting a sandcastle. Further along the beach, professionally created, massive sand structures were being judged. The children’s handiwork might not have been as impressive, but just as much determination was going into its production. Analise snapped a few pictures after getting Brent’s permission. She loved the grainy texture of the sand on the children’s small, soft hands—it would make a great black-and-white photograph.

  “Where’s Erik?” Brent looked around, as if expecting to see him appear any minute.

  “He’s helping his mother and grandparents set up for the big party tomorrow. He’ll meet me here later,” she replied. It was disconcerting how everyone expected the two of them to be joined at the hip, probably literally more than figuratively.

  “Daddy, we need more water; the sand won’t stick.” Brent’s little boy, Nathan, tugged on his father’s arm.

  “We’ll let you get on with your masterpiece,” she said. “I hope you win the competition,” she called out as the small child poured the water over the pile of sand his sister had erected, destroying the structure. A wail went up that could probably be heard in Akureyri. Analise left Brent to sort out his domestic dispute.

  After wandering around the sand sculptures, they returned to the stage area where students were reciting Icelandic stories. Gunnar sat and closed his eyes, a look of contentment on his face. Even after all these years living in Canada, speaking English, it must have felt like home to hear his native language spoken, even if by amateurs.

  Her father, when he was around during her first fifteen years in France, spoke French, and her mother spoke only English. Yet it was hearing Icelandic, the language that her grandparents had used when they didn’t think she was listening, that made her feel at home. She’d never learned it beyond a few basic expressions, but it always soothed her soul. Probably because she associated the language with love.

  She took her grandfather’s rough hand in hers and closed her eyes as well, letting the reading flow over her like a warm bath. The next thing she knew, her head was pulled gently onto a large shoulder, and a strong arm wrapped around her, supporting her weight. Her eyelids felt as though they were weighted when she tried to open them. Erik’s deep voice filled her mind. “Rest, my darling. I’ll hold you until you wake.”

  Home.

  • • •

  Analise finally stirred in his arms, her dark lashes fluttering like a butterfly about to take flight. When her bright aqua eyes gazed up into his, he wasn’t prepared for the rush of emotion that swept through him. His chest swelled, and a fluttery feeling invaded his stomach. Falling in love with Analise was not part of his plan. In fact, given the recent loss of her fiancé, which probably clouded her ability to form any new attachments, it was a disaster. He couldn’t afford another ten years getting over her.

  “When did you get here?” she mumbled.

  “Just as you were about to tumble out of your chair, fast asleep,” he answered. “Are you ill? Do you want me to take you home?”

  She stretched her arms above her head, pulling her t-shirt taut across her full breasts. He tried to take his eyes off the lace outline of her bra. He tried not to remember the taste of her skin, the low moan that had escaped her lips as he’d drawn her nipple into his mouth. He tried and failed—epically.

  “No, I’m fine,” she replied, bringing his eyes back up to her lips. Soft, luscious lips. No longer chapped, they practically begged for his kisses.

  Man, he needed to get a grip, and fast, before he embarrassed himself in front of all these people.

  “Where’s Afi?” Analise looked around for her grandfather.

  “He met up with a friend, and they’ve gone for a coffee. I told him I’d look after you and take you home.”

  “I can’t go home yet. I haven’t been on any rides.” She pouted and somehow managed to look even sexier, and another tsunami of lust rolled over him.

  “All right, we’ll wander over to the park. But you have to promise not to fall asleep on the Sizzler.”

  “I promise. I’m good to go now. How long was I asleep anyway?”

  “About forty minutes in my arms.”

  “I hope I didn’t put off any of the performers.”

  The performers hadn’t had to cope with her soft breath blowing down a gap in his shirt. “I don’t think they noticed,” he replied. They’d better get walking while he still could.

  They wandered down the path by the beach. Neighbors and friends of his grandparents chatted with them. He kept his arm around Analise, except for when she stopped to take a photo. After replacing her lens cap, she’d return to his side as if it were the most natural place for her to be. And it was.

  “I want a huge plate of perogies,” she said as they approached the food tent. “With sour cream and bacon and onions.”

  “Is there any other way to eat perogies?” They lined up behind an elderly woman who turned at the sound of his voice.

  “That you, Erik Sigurdson?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He scanned the wrinkled face before him, wracking his brain for a connection, but came up blank.

  “I remember you when you were just a little thing. This your girlfriend?”

  “My fiancée,” he corrected. “This is Analise Thordarson.”

  “Oh, yes, Gunnar Thordarson’s granddaughter. I must say we were all so happy, Analise, when you first came to live with your grandparents. They were devastated when Sigrid went to France, taking you with her. Such a surprise, too, as everyone expected Sigrid was going to marry Derek Sigurdson.”

  “My father?” Erik had never heard that his dad and Analise’s mother had been an item.

  “Oh, yeah. They were all over each other through high school. Then, when that Frenchie came to town, Sigrid dropped your father like a hot potato and went off with him. I guess it all comes around in the end, if both their children are now getting hitched.”

  Having made that pronouncement, the lady turned back and ordered her meal, ignoring the shocked look he was sure must be all over his face.

  “Did you know about that?” he whispered into Analise’s ear.

  “Nope, news to me. Now I know why my granddad keeps asking me if I’ve changed my mind.”

  “And have you?” The words were out before he could stop them. He was having trouble remembering that their engagement was simply for appearance’s sake.

  “Not for the week or so, anyway,” she said, then stood on tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “What can I get you, dear?” the lady behind the table asked, holding a Styrofoam plate in her hand. Analise ordered and then waited for him to get his dinner.

  Laden with perogies, they found a couple of empty spots at a picnic table. Their fellow diners were deep in conversation about what to do with the rest of their time before heading back to Winnipeg.

  “Did you know that lady in the food line?” Analise licked a spot of sour cream off the corner of her lips.

  Erik took a long drink of his ice-cold lemonade before replying. “No. But I quickly learned that in a small area, who you know and who knows you are usually two wildly different
demographics.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you—complete strangers knowing your business?”

  “It used to, when I was young. Now I realize most people are pretty friendly and just want the best for me and my family. Plus, they only know the things I want them to know. Secrets are still possible.” He twirled the ring on her finger.

  Half an hour later, Analise rubbed her stomach. “I’m stuffed. I always feel such a traitor having Ukrainian food at the Icelandic festival, but I have to say, aside from pönnukökur and vinnaterta, there’s not a lot of Icelandic fare I enjoy. Plus, perogies are pure comfort food.”

  “Do you feel in need of comfort?” He’d been amazed that she’d gone back for three plates of dinner.

  “No, not really. I have been craving potatoes and pasta lately. I guess I lived on rice and couscous for too long.”

  “Well, you’ll get your fill of perogies, potato salad, and pasta tomorrow. The food has already started arriving for the family reunion. I think we could probably feed the entire Interlake region.”

  “I think the entire Interlake has been invited. I thought the family party was last weekend. So if this thing tomorrow is only your relatives, what’s the party next weekend?”

  “Last weekend was the super-close family—people my grandparents see on a regular basis. Tomorrow is everyone. My grandmother is one of fourteen, my grandfather comes from a family of five. All their siblings were prolific breeders as well, so I have literally hundreds of cousins, and of course most of them are on the third or fourth generation. There will probably be a couple hundred people there tomorrow.”

  “And next week?”

  “Next week is for the friends and close family. That event is being held at the hotel and is catered. There will probably be about two hundred to that one as well.”

  “Goodness. You Sigurdsons don’t do anything in half measure, do you?”

  If only she knew how thoroughly he wanted to make love to her. “Nope. Now, do you want me to win you a giant teddy bear?”