Nordic Lessons Read Free Page A

Somehow, though it seems mad to trust him, I sense that he’s honest.
    “I’m trying not to be afraid, Mikkel.” Glancing around him at his ride I say, “I, um, well this is a tad embarrassing, but I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before. Should you get on first or should I?”
    Something flashes bright in his eyes. Pride, or honor perhaps?
    Quietly he answers me, “After me, baby, and don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” He hands me his matte black helmet. “Here, wear this.”
    Kind of him to give it up for my use ….
    I pull it down over my head. It’s so big that even with the chin-strap tightened to the maximum, it still feels loose.
    In the next moment he throws his long leg over the shiny black motorcycle and I step back as he turns a key, twists the throttle twice and pushes down hard on the right pedal. The machine immediately roars to life beneath him. The growl of the engine is deep and constant, reminding me of an angry, caged lion.
    Am I really considering getting onto his dangerous ride? My mounting excitement outweighs any trepidation inside of an instant.
    I stare at his neatly trimmed, nearly black goatee as he instructs me, “Hold onto my shoulders, then throw your right leg over.”
    “But I’m wearing a skirt.”
    A devilish smile passes across his lips, “Hike it up a bit, babe, and you’ll be fine.”
    The casual way he speaks to me is foreign and absolutely thrilling. The men I’ve dated in London have all been distinctly cold, nearly clinical with me. His manner is the polar opposite, and I secretly adore the way it makes me feel.
    I bring my palms down onto the smooth black leather of his vest, silently marveling at the heat and hardness beneath as I swing my leg over, just as I was told.
    I really should just go with it and enjoy this once in a lifetime motorcycle ride. Perhaps I’ll even incorporate this sexy experience into one of my abstracts.
    “Ooh!” I instantly jerk up from the leather seat. The strong vibrations feel wicked. The intense shudders rhythmically caress the area between my legs. Oh God, oh yes, right there … it feels so awesome.
    A knowing, masculine laugh erupts as he glances over his shoulder and says, “Easy there, girl. Just ease down onto it. You’ll be fine.”
    Oh my. The images that my brain just conjured up from his descriptive words have zero to do with this motorcycle, yet everything to do with its sensual owner. A quick image of him stark naked springs to mind and I have to fight back the sudden lust that overtakes me. I ever so slowly lower my bottom farther down onto the wide leather seat. Thankfully his friend is busy inspecting the undercarriage of the Jaguar. I’m not generally given to knicker-flashing total strangers.
    “You have something to tie your hair? If not, even with the helmet, that length you have going on will whip around and you won’t be able to see shit.”
    “Oh, right. Yes, I believe so.”
    I reach into my handbag and pull out an elastic hair tie. I make quick work of a low, impromptu ponytail before touching his shoulder to say, “All right, Mikkel, all set.”
    He nods, and the scent of his leather and a familiar musk tease my nose. It feels natural as I lower my right cheek down against the embroidered, arching patch that straddles his broad shoulders. It reads in crimson lettering, ‘Devil’s Wrath MC,’ and there is a fearsome horned demon below the words. ‘Oslo’ is stitched in a swooping arc across the base.
    My chest presses into his wide back. I say into his ear, “Sorry, but I have to ask. Your cologne, it’s Bulgari … correct?”
    He turns and blinks, surprised by my question. “Yeah, why?”
    “Because I simply adore it.” The words leave my lips without hesitation.
    The utterly intoxicating, masculine scent has always drawn me in with its perfect blending of woodsy musk and rich patchouli. I’ve never dated anyone who has worn it; however, I’ve admired the sensuality of the