Oslo, Norway, March 4, 2:00 a.m.
Jens woke up, disoriented, in the dark. What had yanked him to consciousness so abruptly? Then he heard it again. Someone was pounding at the front door. Jesus, what time was it? He rolled over and squinted at the digital alarm clock: 2:07. He groaned as he rolled out of bed, stumbled to the closet, and pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. He picked up his shoulder holster and unsnapped the leather strap holding down his service revolver. Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he padded barefoot into the hall.
“Stop banging, already!” he bellowed. “I’m coming.”
Astrid nearly ran him over as she came barreling out of her room. “Daddy, if it’s Willie, don’t hurt him. I told him you might be asking him some questions—”
“Jesus, Astrid! What were you thinking? Do you want me to have to arrest both of you for impeding a police investigation?”
“Daddy!” she wailed. “You can’t arrest Willie!”
Like hell he couldn’t! He drew breath to argue the point, but whoever was at the door pounded again. It was two o’clock and he was dead tired, dammit. He’d been putting in ungodly hours with all the murders in Oslo, and now this.
She hurried down the hall ahead of him toward the front door.
“Astrid!” he ordered sharply. “Don’t open that!”
He stepped around her up to the peep hole. A person couldn’t be too careful with all the nutcases on the streets right now. Aww, hell. He threw the dead bolt and swung the front door open in disgust. “What do you want, Ivo? It’s the middle of the flipping night.”
“May I come in?”
Jens stepped back. The young detective followed him in and stopped cold when he spied Astrid. “Is this your daughter?”
Jens rolled his eyes. Right now, she was mostly a whiny pain in the butt. “What’s up?”
“The initial toxicology reports are in.”
That woke him up. Like a bucket of cold water in the face.
Wow. That was fast. It could take two to three weeks to get tox reports back. And this set had been run in two to three days. His eyes narrowed. The folks at the lab were going to regret demonstrating to him how fast they really could run their tests.
Jens stared expectantly at Ivo. “And?”
“You were right. There’s a match in all three of the initial murders. I swung by the office on the way over here and picked up the files.”
“Bring them into the kitchen. I need coffee if I’m to function at this hour. And what’s up with that godawful shirt?” Ivo was wearing a psychedelic monstrosity that for all the world looked like a polyester leisure shirt. Add a puka shell necklace and the horror would be complete. Jens turned to head for the kitchen.
Ivo answered, “I was at a club, Val Hall, when I got the call. You should go sometime.”
Jens’s head whipped around. Astrid gushed, “Isn’t that for members only? I hear it’s gorgeous and the music is incredible. What’s the dance floor like? Is it as wild as they say?”
Ivo grinned. “Next time I go I’d be happy to take you.”
“You’re a member?” she squeaked.
Jens rolled his eyes. He’d hated disco the first time it came around, before either of these two were born. Still hated it.
Astrid followed them into the kitchen. Jens said, not unkindly, “Skedaddle, kiddo. There are grisly crime-scene photos in these files, and they’re police business anyway.”
She made a face at him. “I’ve probably seen worse on television.”
“Go!” He added darkly, “We’ll talk later.”
Astrid threw a sulky look at him and then turned her gaze on Ivo. He didn’t want to think about what kind of look that was she threw at his partner.
Jens sat down heavily at the kitchen table. “What’s the match?”
Ivo spread three files out on the table. “Each of the perpetrators tested positive for two drugs. Cocaine and pseudoephedrine.”
A powerful combination. People who mixed those two substances could be jacked up for a couple days at a stretch. He’d seen prisoners high on that cocktail stand in a cell and spin for three days straight, before passing out from dehydration and low blood sugar. People were known to die when their aortas, or even their hearts, ruptured from the strain of the intense stimulation.
So. All three perpetrators were high on powerful stimulants. Thing was, he’d never heard of that mix of drugs making people go psychotic. He asked his extremely book-wise partner, “Have you ever heard of coke and Sudafed causing violent psychotic episodes?”
Ivo shook his head. “It wires folks tight as hell and can make them a little nuts, but not this violent.” He waved his hand over the files of grisly photos. “Each of these killers was criminally insane at the time of the murders. And there’s one more thing, sir.”
“And that is?”
“The initial tests found something else in all three perpetrators.”
“Don’t make me beg. What was it?”
“The forensics folks have never seen it before. They’re going to run more detailed spectroscopic analysis. It’s a complex molecule, resides in fat cells, and bears a passing resemblance to LSD. But beyond that, they don’t know much. Oh, and none of the perps had much of it in their systems. It was just a trace amount. Our chemists think it might be a marker molecule they can use to track down a particular batch of drugs.”
Jens nodded. “That’s good news. How long until they know exactly what the chemical is?”
“Couple of days if they rush it.”
“They’ve rushed everything else. They’ll rush this. But Ivo. Don’t wake me up at 2:00 a.m. again to tell me what it is. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Northern Norway, March 4, 4:00 a.m.
Thankfully, Aleesha’s incoming targets turned out to be their Sami guides. They’d hung around the area just in case, God bless them. They ended up helping to haul Larson and the extra packs. Even better, they were thrilled to death to do it.
It was around five o’clock when the combination of frigid temperatures and sweat finally got the better of Karen. “Viper,” she said quietly, “If I don’t get my clothes off and dry out soon, I’m going to be in serious trouble.”
Vanessa nodded and turned to the other Medusas. “Any idea how we ask our guides if there’s somewhere nearby we could go to warm up and dry off a bit?” With Larson out cold, they’d lost their translator. And neither of their guides spoke a language a Medusa did.
Isabella spoke up. “Let me give it a try.”
Karen was impressed as Isabella said something in what sounded like passable Sami. Dang, that woman was a natural at languages! The Sami men said something back.
“I think they said there’s a shelter close by and something about building a fire.”
“Perfect,” Vanessa answered.
Isabella said something back to the Sami men, and they veered left toward a steep cliff face. The men weren’t kidding when they said shelter was close; it took them maybe ten minutes to reach an uneven crevasse in the stone wall. The men led the way inside the cave. The opening was too narrow to horse the skid and Larson through, so Karen half-carried, half-dragged him inside. He was going to owe her big when this was over. She’d almost gotten him over to the blackened circle on the cave floor that indicated where a fire would soon be when the golden boy himself mumbled something against her neck. Intense awareness of his mouth on her skin shot through her. He pulled weakly against her.
“Stop that, Anders,” she groused. “It’s hard enough dragging your heavy butt around as it is.” Not to mention the butterflies in her stomach were distracting.
He mumbled something unintelligible and, thank goodness, subsided.
She deposited him gently on the floor. The Samis already had a small fire going from a supply of reindeer chips stacked in one corner. Good idea, having a little spot like this out in the middle of the hunting grounds for just such an emergency.
“Aleesha,” Karen said worriedly, “he’s not awake yet.”
The team doctor crouched beside Anders. “Not good. I’m concerned that swelling’s developing around his brain.” She rummaged around in her med kit. “I’m gonna hit him with an anti-inflammatory.”
Karen watched Aleesha give Larson a hefty injection. “How long should that take to work?”
“If it’s going to help him, he should come around within an hour or two.”
“And if it doesn’t help?” Karen asked quietly.
“Then your boy’s in serious trouble. He’ll need a first-rate trauma center ASAP.”
Karen snorted. “And where’s the nearest one of those?”
Aleesha gave her a worried look. “Not nearly close enough.”
Karen looked down at Larson. “He’s strong. He’ll be okay.”
Aleesha put a commiserating hand on her shoulder. “From your lips to God’s ear,” she murmured.
Isabella had a quiet word with the Sami men, and both of them threw Karen an alarmed look and bolted from the cave.
Karen turned on her teammate, demanding, “What did you just tell those guys?”
Isabella grinned. “I think I told them you were going to take your clothes off and if they didn’t want to be enslaved forever by the sight of you, they might want to leave.”
Karen rolled her eyes while the other Medusas laughed. She had to put an end to this whole goddess thing as soon as they got back to camp. Nonetheless, she did strip off her clothes. Aleesha joined her, as did Isabella. All three of them had worked up sweats at some point in the evening’s fun.
While they were huddling around the fire, drying out, Karen asked Isabella, “How is it you speak so much Sami in one day?”
She shrugged. “It’s in the same language family as Finnish. And while I don’t actually speak much Finnish, I did a term paper on it in a linguistics class in college. Once you have the hang of the grammar structure, it’s pretty easy to plug in vocabulary. And, once you’ve got several hundred words, you’d be surprised how much you can express if you phrase things creatively.”
Karen shook her head in awe. “Thank goodness you’re on this team.” Of course, that was part of what made the Medusas effective. They pooled their skills and functioned as a single entity.
In a matter of fifteen or twenty minutes, all three women were dry and dressed again. Karen knelt beside Larson and felt the back of his neck. It was warm. It wasn’t a foolproof method of determining body temperature, but it was good for a rough estimate. If his neck was warm, then his core temperature wasn’t dangerously low. She gazed down at his unconscious face. Like this, he wasn’t nearly as intimidating. He actually looked like a nice guy.
“He mumbled and moved a bit when I was carrying him in here,” she told Aleesha, who’d knelt beside her.
The doctor nodded. “That’s a good sign. Don’t worry. I won’t let him do anything stupid like go and die.”
Karen said wryly, “He’s no fool. He’s nice and cozy wrapped in those Sami furs while we do all the work.”
Aleesha smiled. “He’d do the same for you.”
“Yeah, I know. And that’s why I’m doing it for him.”
“Good thing you were here. You’re stronger than any of the rest of us.” Aleesha shrugged. “Without you, I don’t know if we’d have gotten him out of there in one piece.”
Karen’s cheeks heated up. “It’s no big deal. You would have done what you had to and pulled him out.” Someday she had to learn how to take a compliment. But not today.
“Ready to go, ladies?” It was Vanessa. “I’m antsy being out here unarmed like this.”
Karen nodded. Yup, that had been a hell of a lesson for them all. Even in training, they needed to go ahead and suck up the extra weight of carrying actual ammo.
Larson mumbled some more when Karen carried him outside. But when they laid him down on the skid and tucked the Sami’s furs in around him again, he settled quickly. C’mon. Wake up already.
The remainder of the night passed in a blur. It was cold and dark, and heavy going. But eventually, they made it back to camp. Sleepy Sami women stirred the fires, and kettles of stew were put on to heat.
Aleesha and Karen lifted Larson onto a sleeping bag, and they stripped off most of his outer clothes. Karen couldn’t help but notice what a gorgeous body the guy had. As in gorgeous. Even Aleesha remarked, “Whoa. Nice specimen.”
Karen laughed. “Don’t let Michael hear you say that.”
Aleesha grinned back. “Girlie, when me stops lookin’, me be dead and pushin’ up daisies.” She dropped the accent. “Besides, Michael knows how I feel about him. He’s not worried.”
“How’s his training going, anyway?”
“Jack said he’s having to work hard at the physical stuff but is sailing through the mental stuff.”
Karen snorted. “Everybody struggles to meet the physical standards.”
Aleesha smiled fondly. “I built a workout program for him before he went to Delta training to help him get in their kind of shape. He ignored it, of course.”
Given the blush staining Aleesha’s cheeks, Karen could guess what sort of workouts Michael had preferred. Must be nice to have that kind of relationship with a guy as great as Michael Somerset. Aloud, Karen commented, “Anders is one of the Olympic medalists from the Norwegian team.”
Aleesha nodded. “That explains it. Even for a Spec Ops guy, he’s ripped.”
“An unconscious Spec Ops guy. Why isn’t he awake yet?”
Aleesha laid a hand on his forehead in the age-old gesture of a healer. “He’s starting to move around and showing neurological activity. Give the anti-inflammatory a little more time.”
Karen sighed. “I’ll stay up and watch him. I couldn’t sleep anyway. You go get some rest.”
Aleesha replied. “I’ll take a quick nap and then come sit with him so you can get some sleep.”
“Take a decent nap. I’ll be okay for a while.”
Aleesha snorted. “You’ve had a tougher day than any of the rest of us. I’ll let you stay up for an hour or so, but then you’re going to bed. End of discussion. As for him, don’t worry. He’s tough. He’ll wake up any time now as grouchy as a bear and with nothing more than a headache.”
Karen nodded. She was starting to feel pretty rough around the edges. Hauling around a two-hundred-pound-plus man did catch up with a girl after a while. As Aleesha ducked out into the night, a blast of cold wind swirled in. The wind was kicking up again and the temperature was plummeting even more. This climate was simply not fit for human habitation. The Sami people were either the toughest people she’d ever met or just too plain stubborn to know better than to live here.
Karen pushed ashes up around the edges of the fire and added several reindeer chips to it, and then she pulled her sleeping bag around her shoulders.
As the fire gradually beat back the cold, she studied Larson’s features in the dim firelight. He sure was good-looking. Even out cold, his face was noble. It’d be real easy to fall for him. Not only was he cute, but he was tall and muscular enough that he didn’t make her feel like a giant freak when she was around him. There was something innately appealing about his Norwegian heritage. It was a solidness. A sense of being hardworking. Fundamentally decent.
He reminded her of the people she’d grown up with, mostly farmers and likewise salt-of-the-earth souls. Maybe she and he weren’t so very different after all. Even if he was a glamorous Olympic athlete and she was a pig farmer’s kid from Iowa.
Yeah, right. In her dreams.
If only she had the supernatural abilities the Samis gave her credit for. Then she could heal him. Maybe she could get him to fall in love with her, too.
The North Sea, off the coast of Norway, March 4, 6:00 a.m.
Isa screamed into the phone, “What the hell do you mean, you were attacked?”
“You heard me, boss. At least a dozen guys jumped us. Shot the shit out of us. Slit Ian’s throat.”
“Anyone else dead?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you didn’t get shot up that bad. How’s the lab?”
“Okay. They didn’t get inside. We fought them off.”
“And the stash?”
“Well, that’s the thing. The bastards shot up most of the barrels outside pretty good. The stuff that was stored inside the cabin is okay, though.”
Isa swore violently. “How much did we lose?” he snarled.
“’Bout half of it.”
Isa swore luridly under his breath. “We’re supposed to have six hundred kilos of this stuff ready to go in two weeks. Work around the clock. And send out patrols. Make sure no one else gets anywhere close to the lab. If anyone tries, blow his head off.”
“There aren’t enough of us to run the lab and trek up and down the mountainsides looking for intruders, too.”
Isa snapped, “Make it happen. The prophet has willed it so.” He thought fast. His ass was grass if he didn’t deliver on his promised six hundred kilos. God might be magnificently forgiving, but the prophet was not. “I’ll send some more men. They’ll join you in a couple of days. But in the meantime, keep that lab running at full steam. I’m not throwing off the whole goddamned global timetable because of this attack. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Northern Norway, March 4, 4:30 a.m.
All of sudden, something grabbed Karen’s wrist and jolted her from her reverie of gazing into the fire. She gathered herself to fight when a voice murmured, “Relax. It’s only me.”
Larson. He was awake. Thank God. “How do you feel?” she mumbled as the adrenaline surge stood down, but didn’t entirely drain away.
“My head hurts.”
“Mamba said it would. Are you as grouchy as a bear, as she also predicted?”
He laughed, then winced and smiled painfully. “So far so good on that count.”
While he sat up gingerly, she tossed more dung on the fire and took a pull of water out of the water skin. His gray-and-white camo pants rode low on his hips and were sexy as hell if she did say so. He wore no shirt. He had just enough chest hair to be too sexy for his own good, but not so much that a girl would have to worry about fur on his back. And the guy had shoulders that did not quit.
The red glow of the embers took on a yellow, flickering cast as the new fuel caught fire. The light danced across his skin like an eager lover. “What happened?” he asked.
She blinked, jarred out of her musings about his attributes. “I beg your pardon?”
“How’d I end up here? How’d the fight end? Last thing I remember was three guys charging me, shooting like crazy, and the pile of barrels collapsing on you.”
She nodded and picked up the narrative. “You did the big-hero thing and shoved me out of the way. But in the process, you got knocked out by a barrel and buried under the pile. We convinced the bad guys they were about to die and they went back in the cabin. While Cobra held them at bay, the rest of us dug you out. Then we dragged you over the ridge and out of range of the cabin. From there, we built a sledge for you and hauled you out.”
“All the way back here?” He sounded impressed.
She shrugged. “Our two Sami guides caught up with us, and they helped pull you and haul the extra gear.”
He absorbed that one in silence. The look on his face morphed from surprised to definitely impressed to—if she wasn’t mistaken—respect.
“I thought you said you Medusas didn’t haul heavy things for long distances.”
“I said we didn’t like to. I didn’t say we couldn’t do it.”
“You must be sore. Any time I have to hump a hundred kilos for any length of time, I feel it the next day.”
Karen grinned. “I haven’t tried to move yet.”
He smiled in commiseration. “Roll over, I’ll give you a rubdown. Doing something will help take my mind off this headache.”
A rubdown? As in put his hands on her and touch her all over? As in learn where she was ticklish or sensitive or tender? “Uhh, that’s not necessary,” she replied, alarmed.
“It’s the least I can do. You saved my life.”
Well, wasn’t he just being Mr. Friendly all of a sudden? Of course, if someone had just saved her life, she’d probably be pretty well-disposed toward them, too. Maybe the Medusas had finally made their point with at least one of the Norwegians. “I didn’t save your life. I just carried you out.”
He skewered her with a laser-sharp look. “I’m an operator, too. Don’t bullshit me. You bloody well did save my hide.”
She grinned. “I can certainly see you learned your English from Special Forces guys.”
He snorted, unfazed by her attempt to distract him. “Those barrels were heavy. I tried to move a couple. And I remember enough of that fight to know we were in big trouble. Completely outgunned.”
“I’ll concede you that point. Our rubber dum-dums were no match for that gang’s AKs. And speaking of drug dealers, any chance you’ve got an operational radio with you?”
“No. Jack was afraid you ladies would steal it and use it.”
Karen grinned. “We would have.” Then she added, “Too bad. We were hoping you could call in an air strike and make a fireball out of that cabin.”
“Indeed. Whatever those men at the cabin were doing, it wasn’t legal. My men have radios. If we can find them, we can use theirs.”
Karen frowned. “Any idea where your guys are?”
“No.”
Was he being straight with her? Was it possible he didn’t want to give away his men’s location because he didn’t want the Medusas to show up his team? “Seriously. All training aside, do you have any idea at all where your men are?”
His eyes glittered with irritation. Didn’t like having his honesty questioned? In her book, that was a good thing. He replied evenly, “Seriously. I have no idea where they are.”
She nodded her acceptance of his answer. “Any informed guesses?”
“If I were in charge, I’d find a nice, dry cave to set up shop in. Or, if their scenario requires them to be more out in the open, I’d build igloos and camouflage the heck out of them. Trust me, they’ll be damned hard to find either way.”
“Do you know if the scenario includes them making radio transmissions?”
“I did see comm gear in their packs.”
Karen thought hard. “If we could get near even rudimentary civilization, we could probably get enough bits and pieces to rig up some sort of signal detector.”
He shrugged. “If we get that close to civilization, we can borrow a cell phone and call my headquarters.”
Karen laughed. “Well, there is that. I was still thinking in terms of pretending to be in hostile territory, I guess.”
He nailed her with a piercing look. “I don’t think being in hostile territory would slow down you Medusas much. The way you’re making friends with these Samis, you’d have the locals in any hostile territory—how do you say it—eating out of your hands in a matter of days, no matter how hostile they might be toward your government.”
He’d noticed, huh? Cool.
Larson continued. “The Samis have been treated pretty badly over the past couple of centuries. First, scientists came to study them like lab rats, and then a program of ‘Norwegianization’ was forced upon them that all but wiped out their culture. They tend to be extremely suspicious of outsiders. Yet, you ladies waltzed in here and had them volunteering to help you in a matter of hours. Extraordinary.”
Delta operators were renowned as masters of “going native.” But no matter how good their male counterparts were at it, the Medusas felt they had a special advantage in that department. Women were simply less intimidating than men.
Aloud, she said, “How soon after we make the call can your military blast that drug lab off the map?”
Larson frowned. “The Norwegian military doesn’t randomly blow up civilian structures. They’ll want verification that it’s a drug lab before they pop it.”
If an airstrike were, in fact, called in, it would do a little more than ‘pop’ the cabin. The building would be blown to kingdom come, and the largest piece left would be the size of a toothpick. In her experience, Spec Ops troops universally seemed to agree that if a thing needed killing, it was worth killing really dead.
Karen shrugged. “If you need verification, Mamba took samples of the powder from the barrels. As soon as we get somewhere with mail or courier service, we can fire it off to a lab and identify it.”
“Excellent.” Larson took a moment to stretch the kinks out of his back while Karen took a moment to gulp at the sight of him flexing his muscles. Dang, that man made her weak in the knees.
She cleared her throat. “So, we have two options. As soon as possible, we either head for civilization to mail the powder and get to a phone, or we go looking for your team and get access to their radios.”
“The weather will likely determine which one is more feasible. Up here you don’t fight Mother Nature, for you will surely lose.”
She nodded in agreement. “The good news is it’s the Medusas’ style to flow around obstacles, not try to brute-force through them.” Karen continued thinking through scenarios. Talking aloud helped her organize her thoughts. “If the Samis have weapons and ammunition, we could always pay another visit to the cabin.”
“And do what?” he asked in alarm.
“Make independent verification that it’s a drug lab. Then we torch it ourselves.”
Larson blinked at that one. “You don’t hesitate to take the initiative, do you?”
She blinked back in return. “Are you referring to the Medusas as a team or me personally?”
“Are they different?”
That gave her pause. Professionally, neither she nor the Medusas hesitated to seize the moment and go on the offensive. But personally? She was more the cautious type. At least when it came to matters of the heart. In fact, now that she thought about it, she was downright gun-shy about such things. Probably came from a lifetime of intimidated men making fun of her. It was damned hard to form a meaningful relationship with some guy who was scared you were going to hurt him.
“Roll over.”
Karen started. Dammit. She’d been hoping he’d forget about the back-rub thing.
She opened her mouth to decline again, but he cut her off. “Consider it an operational necessity. I need the distraction. And you need to be in top form. The next couple of days may be more strenuous than we originally planned. I promise I won’t get—how do you Americans say it?—fresh with you.”
Karen nodded reluctantly. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“So, don’t be a chicken. Lie down on your stomach.”
Okay, that did it. No hunky Norwegian operator was calling her a coward. She flopped down on her belly, bunching up the top part of her sleeping bag under her head for a pillow. Unfortunately, she’d taken off her bra when she stripped down earlier—while Larson was still out cold. Now she was stuck wearing only a far-too-revealing T-shirt and silk leggings. She hugged the sleeping bag a little closer.
Big, warm hands settled on her shoulders. After the first shock of his touch, she managed to relax fractionally. But she was still stiff as a board. He didn’t comment on her tense, knotted muscles however. He just commenced kneading her shoulders and upper back. When her irrational fear that he might attempt something stupid didn’t pan out, she forced herself to relax enough to close her eyes.
“How do you like it?” he murmured.
Her eyes flew back open. The wooden pole frame of the wall with its sinew lashings and sod arched upward in front of her. “Excuse me?”
“Hard or soft?”
“Huh?” she mumbled, shocked at his bluntness.
“Do you like it deep or light?”
Ooo-kay. That called several completely inappropriate mental images to mind. Please, God, let him be talking about a back rub. “I dunno.”
“I’d recommend a deep-tissue massage to loosen up the lactic acid and then follow-up with a light massage to increase circulation and start carrying away the toxins from your muscles.”
Whew. He’d had her worried there, for a minute. “You’re the mega-athlete, massage guy. You do what you think is best to keep me operational.”
“Karen, I have my hands on your back. Trust me. You’re a mega-athlete, as well.”
He would bring that up. It was a big, fat mood killer to any boy-girl thoughts she might be having about him.
He worked on her back for a while in silence. She had to admit, he never did anything the whole time that was the slightest bit out of line. His hands never strayed anywhere that would make her even remotely nervous. Except, she was acutely…something. Maybe not uncomfortable. But certainly aware. The guy’s hands were all over her, for heaven’s sake.
After he’d kneaded her back into a boneless mass of jelly, he worked on her legs and then her arms—and it felt so good it surely couldn’t be legal. Her brain actually shifted into acceptance of the massage, and by degrees, finally shifted into outright enjoyment of it. In fact, she almost found herself getting annoyed that Anders was being so well-behaved. Couldn’t he maybe be just a little more…exploratory?
Whoa. Rewind. No explorations. The guy was working loose her muscles. Nothing more. No way did he find her attractive. This guy was just like Colonel Scatalone. The same colonel who called her: She-man, a manly-girl, Queen Kong.
It was decent of Larson to be polite. But she didn’t really think for a minute that he was truly attracted to her. Norway was full of willowy, sweet, gorgeous Nordic beauties. The guy was an Olympic athlete. In this ski-crazy country, he was no doubt a celebrity. He could have any woman he wanted.
She realized his hands had stopped moving and rested, warm and easy on the small of her back. “What is it?” he asked.
“What is what?” she replied cautiously.
“Your back just went rock-hard. What tightened you up like that? What are you thinking about?”
Yeah, right. Like she was going to tell him. “Uh, I’ve decided I’ve had enough of this whole pretending-I’m-a-goddess thing.”
He retorted dryly, “Don’t you like sharing a hut with your manservant?”
Well, there was that. A definite bennie to the whole misunderstanding. “No, no, that’s not it. I’m just uncomfortable with this whole adulation business. First thing in the morning, I’m telling these folks that I’m a plain old soldier. Nothing special.”
“Bull.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You are not a plain old soldier. Not even close.”
And suddenly the hut felt way too small and way too hot and way too private. A burning need to force the conversation into less dangerous waters overwhelmed her. “That’s kind of you to say, Anders. I’m glad the Medusas are making a good impression on you.”
His hands lifted away from her. She looked over her shoulder, pinning him with a look that dared him to say it aloud. To admit he hadn’t really meant the innuendo in his words. He sat back on his heels and frowned at her. Opened his mouth to say something. Frowned again. Shut his mouth.
Yeah, that was what she thought. When push came to shove, he couldn’t pretend he was actually attracted to her. He might flirt a little and make nice with her, but he couldn’t honestly say he liked her.
In a way, she respected Jack Scatalone’s attitude more. At least he’d look her in the eye and tell her what he thought of her.
Unfortunately, even that grim thought didn’t put a dent in her attraction to Anders Larson.
Dammit.