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“If you get up,” he says, raising the mugs. “You can have one of these. It’s coffee, it’s hot, and it’s strong.”
“Sold,” I say, about to step out of bed but then realize I kicked off my pajama pants in the middle of the night. I’m just in lace hip-huggers and a camisole. “Uh, maybe you could bring it over here, I’m not that decent.”
He gives me a wicked grin that causes some serious shivers down my back. “Oh really?”
And I know what he’s thinking—it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.
I give him a pointed look until he comes over, placing the mug in my hands. “You have five minutes to get ready. We get to eat breakfast after.”
I couldn’t even imagine eating right now anyway. I’m supposed to be asleep.
He leaves the room and I sit in bed for another minute, drinking as much as I can of the coffee without scalding myself, praying it will wake me up. Then I get dressed in a jiffy, slipping on jeans and several layers under a sweater. I can feel the cold against the single pane windows.
I finish the rest of the coffee and hurry down the stairs, noting that Lise and Astrid’s doors are closed, the lucky bitches probably sleeping soundly.
“I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says, standing in the kitchen and pouring coffee into a travel mug. “This is for the road.”
He strides out of the kitchen to the foyer and I follow him out into the morning.
I’m surprised at how bright it is outside, to the point I should have brought my sunglasses. The sun is already peeking over the tops of the mountains and shining on dew drops.
“Jesus,” I say, “what time does the sun rise here?”
“Four a.m.,” he says. “By the time June rolls around, it comes up at two.”
I shake my head. “That’s nuts. No wonder you Norwegians are crazy.”
He laughs. “That we are.” He hands me to the travel mug of coffee. “Come on. My Uncle’s tending to the lambs, so we’ve got the cows.”
We walk toward the barn, the morning air chilled. Birds sing from the pines at the corner of the property, and when I crane my neck back to stare at the shadowed mountains, I almost have to hold on to something. Their mass and height are so overwhelming, I’m slayed by vertigo.
“Ever been on a motorbike before?”
I look forward to see Anders standing by what looks like a dirt bike/motorcycle hybrid resting against the side of the red barn.
“Uh, what?” I ask, coming forward.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he affectionately pats the bike.
“This is how we round up the cows.”
He grabs the bike by the handles and pulls it forward before swinging his leg over it and turning it on. The engine roars and sputters loudly.
“You seriously expect me to get on that?” I ask. I’m reminded of my time in Capri. My friend Amber was dating a motorcycle racer (they’re now married) and I would often see them zipping all over the island. I have to admit, it did look like fun, but hanging onto some hot Italian guy while zipping past lemon groves and crystal clear coves is a lot different than hanging onto your ex-boyfriend while bouncing across a field dodging cow pies.
Not that Anders isn’t a hot Norwegian guy. I mean, as he’s straddling the bike, large tatted hands on the handles, staring up at me with a wicked glint in his stormy blue eyes, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a manlier, hotter specimen in my life. Which makes getting on the bike a no-brainer.
At least my hormones seem to think so.
I place the coffee mug by the barn and square my shoulders, giving him a cool look. “Make some room then,” I tell him.
He arches a brow and moves forward on the seat. I grab hold of his shoulder—holy hell, that’s a lot of muscle—and swing my leg on. Okay, I’m short so it’s less than elegant, but eventually I’m on.
“You better hold on,” he tells me, eyeing me over his shoulder. “If you fall off, you’re probably going to fall in shit.”
I rub my lips together anxiously for a moment before gingerly putting my hands around his stomach. His rock-hard, abs-for-days, stomach. My whole body starts to wake up, from my fingers to my toes, a slow burning starting at my core. It doesn’t help that my crotch is pressed against his ass.
“Ready?” he asks, and before I can answer, the bike jolts forward. I go from holding onto him gently to fully wrapping my arms around his abs of steel. My nose is against the back of his neck and I can smell his skin and soap and something fresh, like the meadows are permanently embedded in him.
