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  She’d watched him for what felt like hours. At another time in her life, she would have approached him and struck up a conversation that would have inevitably led to the nearest No-Tell Motel. But for once in her life, she was trying to be celibate. So she’d merely watched him the way a cat watches a mouse she’s too lazy to chase. He moved smoothly and gracefully for such a big man. As far as she could tell, he had no extra body fat. To her expert eye, he had to be an athlete. Too tall for soccer. Not quite lean enough for a swimmer. Too lean for a football player.

  She was mulling over various possible sports, bouncing one foot on the other, so preoccupied she didn’t notice that he’d moved to stand directly in front of her. Without warning, she found herself staring at the bulge in his jeans, which looked just as impressive as the rest of him. She lifted her eyes up the long stretch of his chest to his face. Intelligent blue-gray eyes gave her a level, assessing look. A broken nose provided the only flaw in his rough-hewn face. Judging by the lines around his eyes, he spent a lot of time in the sun.

  Diving? Ice hockey?

  She ruled out hockey when he finally opened his mouth and revealed a complete set of even, white teeth. And then she forgot every sport in creation at his next words.

  “Will it bother you if I take off my clothes?”

  “Excuse me?” Had she somehow expressed her appreciation of his body out loud? She looked around the deserted laundromat. Where had everyone gone? When she’d come in, it had been busy enough. Now it was just her and this Viking god who apparently wanted to strip.

  “I’m low on clothes. Traveling too much. If I wash these, I won’t have to do laundry again so soon. I promise I’ll keep my underwear on. I can wash those in the sink.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that on my account. I mean, you can take it all off if you want. I’m cool. Really. I’ve seen naked men before.”

  He chuckled, which made his face look about ten years younger. How old is he? Who cares? She smiled saucily.

  “I don’t want to break any laws. It’s late enough, I don’t think anyone else will come in. But I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t offend you.”

  “Oh. No. Not at all. Go for it.” A committed aficionado of the male form, she settled back to enjoy herself. Who knew that doing laundry in Minnesota would be so rewarding? Her eyes wandered down to the button fly of his jeans. Would he wear boxers or briefs? Would he have blond hair on his chest, or any freckles to speak of? Just how muscular would that spectacular body be? Her mouth watered. She shifted in her chair.

  After a moment, she realized he wasn’t taking off a stitch of clothing. “Well?”

  “I was kidding,” he said.

  Mortified, she felt blood rush to her face. “Oh. Because I was staring.”

  “A little.”

  “I was just playing a game. Guess the sport.”

  One eyebrow quirked in a way she would become familiar with before long. “If you mean my sport, I’ll bet you dinner that you’ll never guess.”

  Dinner. It was already almost ten at night. Well, if it was too late for dinner, she could always eat him up.

  “Deal.” Scolding herself for her naughty thoughts, which, come to think of it, were probably the natural consequence of her celibate state, she set herself to naming every sport she could think of.

  “Wrestling.”

  “No.” He lowered himself into the chair next to her. Her pulse skipped to double time.

  “Synchronized swimming.”

  He scowled.

  “Fine, more testosterone. Racecar driving.”

  “My sport burns no hydrocarbons.”

  An athlete with a vocabulary. He got sexier every second. “Skiing.”

  “Getting warmer.”

  Yes, it was. The laundromat seemed to have become an overheated locker room while she wasn’t looking. “That weird thing where the skiers jump off a giant diving board a thousand feet up in the air.”

  “Ski jumping. Getting hotter.”

  But try as she might, she never managed to guess biathlon, since she’d never heard of it. He explained it to her, using a mop as a stand-in for a rifle. She’d never forget the sight of him whirling and kneeling, sighting down the mop handle at the doorknob of the laundromat.

  Was that when she’d fallen in love with him?

  “I’m Katia Pollard,” she’d told him after she’d stopped laughing at the “Mop Olympics”.

  “Lars Nordegren.”

  “Is that Swedish or something?”

  “Originally. My family left there and homesteaded in Alaska. What about you? You live here, or you just passing through?”

  The reminder of her own life cast a pall on her mood. “Passing through.”

  “From where to where?” His direct glance had a way of relaxing her and unnerving her simultaneously. It made her feel there was only one thing to do, tell him the truth. No evasions or flirtations or distractions would do.

  “From ‘What the Hell was I Thinking?’ to ‘Can’t be any Worse’.”

  Lars narrowed his eyes at her. Uh-oh. Her sarcastic style wouldn’t go over well with someone like him. Someone whose life was simple. Ski and shoot. Ski and shoot. Her life, on the other hand? Run and try something new. When that didn’t work out, run again. But as always, in those early days, she’d underestimated him.

  “That sounds like a story I need to hear over dinner. I believe it’s on you,” he said, standing and offering her a hand.

  “But my laundry—”

  “Your laundry’s been done since shortly after I got here. Maybe you’ve been distracted.” He gave her a slow wink that sent tingles straight to her toes.

  Celibacy be damned. Right then, she knew she was going to get the man into bed if it killed her.

  * * * * *

  Inside the truck, Lars put the heater on high. As the warmth stole into Katia’s body, she felt herself relax. She’d never been a cold-weather girl. Before she’d come to Alaska, she’d never experienced the delicious drugged feeling that came from warming up after a chill. It almost made it worth the cold. Almost.

  She kicked aside a box of batteries and a crumpled-up bag of stale muffins from the True North Bakery and stretched her legs out. Lars adjusted her seat so it leaned back.

  “Is that better? I’m sorry I kept you out there so long.”

  She sighed. “Your fans demanded it.”

  “You’re hilarious.”

  “Seriously, Lars. How come you’re so humble when you’re such a celebrity around here?”

  He adjusted the heater vents, looking uncomfortable. “You’re right. I should probably milk it more. Get laid every night. Walk around with a girl on each arm and three more fighting over my lunch pail.”

  She giggled. “Sorry, I’ve got dibs on the lunch pail.”

  “You’ve got dibs on the whole package, Katia. Question is, what do you intend to do with it?”

  She wanted to toss off another joke, but it died on her lips as he turned his suddenly serious gaze on her. Lars was like no one she’d ever met. No one she’d ever spent time with. No one she’d ever made love with. And that was saying a lot. This man was strong, kind, beautiful and he loved her. Not only that, he drove her mad in bed.

  So what was the matter with her? Why couldn’t she just say yes?

  She turned to him in a passion. “Why do we have to talk about it, Lars? Why can’t we just be? Just live, one moment to the next. Right now, right here, I want you. I love you and I want you.”

  “Right here?” Lars looked around the snowy street. People still clustered at the top of the hill. A man wandered down Spruce, hands in his coat pockets, earflaps flapping in the wind.

  “Here, there, now, later. I always want you. Don’t you know that?”

  Lars narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re tempting me.”

  She snuggled in the seat and danced her fingers up his arm. Lars’ arms were like two solid beams of muscle. In the biathlon, you had to ski your heart out, then stop
on a dime and aim a rifle at a target without your hands shaking the way any normal person’s would. Biathletes had to be incredibly fit, cool-headed and accurate. They didn’t have to be sexy as hell, Lars just threw that in as a bonus.

  He ran his hand up her inner thigh and across her mound. Even under all her layers, her body responded. “You aren’t serious, are you?”

  “I’m a serious kind of guy.” He found her waistband and slid his fingers under her snowpants. “You ought to know that by now.”

  “We’re right out in public.”

  “We’re in a truck. With the windows iced up. Besides, it’s Wild”—he unsnapped her pants—“Nights.” He pushed aside her long underwear. His fingertips reached her wet pussy and circled her clit. Pleasure flooded her. If Lars hadn’t been an athlete, he could have been a massage artist or a healer. Or a gigolo. His touch was so sensitive, so intuitive. She moved her legs farther apart.

  “Maybe you’d better tell me what the deal is with Wild Nights.”

  “I will. Answer me first. You want me?” His voice had gone husky.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How much?” He circled her clit with maddening deliberation. She pushed her hips against his hand but he wouldn’t let her have control.

  “Too damn much.”

  He chuckled. “Never too much, Katia. Never too much. Pull down your pants.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “I’m serious. Do it.” When he got that tone in his voice, she always scrambled to obey. After all, he was a world-class gunman.

  She lifted her hips and pushed down her layers of clothing. They bunched around her shins in an awkward way.

  “Ahh.” He ran both hands across her hips and thighs. “You’re so beautiful. Your skin is so pale, like milk.” He traced the indentation of her hipbones. The tender skin on her belly flinched. Katia knew her body was attractive. She’d worked as an artist’s model for a while, and even posed for some bondage photos once. But no one had ever made her feel as sensually desirable as Lars did.

  “Open your parka. I want to see you.” His thick voice made her breath come fast.

  She unzipped her bright red parka and inched her sweater up to her chin to expose her chest. No surprise, her nipples were hard and aching for his touch. Under his long look, they grew even more aroused. But he didn’t touch them. Instead he did something unexpected. He pulled her arms out of her sweater, then drew the hem over her head so she was plunged into darkness. She reached out with her hands only to find them caught in his. He tied them to the headrest with something soft and wooly. Her scarf, maybe.

  “Lars!” Her sweater muffled her voice.

  “I can hear you. Just relax, love. Let me do all the work.”

  “But someone might see!”

  “They probably will. Someone’s passing by right now.”

  She felt a blast of cold air and heard the scratchy sound of the window being rolled down.

  “Hey, Joe,” called Lars.

  She struggled to cover herself but couldn’t get her hands free. In her scrambling, she didn’t hear Joe’s response, and then the window was being rolled back up.

  “Who was…what was…what did he see?” she squeaked into the soft lambswool of her sweater. Normally she didn’t mind people seeing her. She knew herself well enough to know she had a streak of exhibitionism. Posing for artists and photographers had turned her on. She’d often ended up in bed afterward. But this was Lars’ hometown and Lars’ childhood friends. It didn’t seem right.

  “Hmm.” Lars ran a rough hand over her breasts. “Turned you on, didn’t it?”

  “No.” But her protest felt weak, and when he touched her nipples she knew they must be swollen to the point of obscenity. A shiver rocked her core.

  Then something else touched her nipple. Something cold and hard and clammy. She flinched back against the seat. Was it Joe reaching in from outside? But the windows were closed. The thing circled one nipple, leaving a wet trail on her skin. She gave a strangled gasp at the strange sensation, numbing yet tingling at the same time.

  “What…what…” Then wet warmth took the place of hard coldness. She gasped at the abrupt shift. “Oh my,” she moaned as Lars tongued her nipple. She felt quivers run all the way down her spine to her clit. Why had he left her sex so open and bare, so empty and lonely? She raised her hips and twisted them this way and that, looking for something hot and hard to press against.

  Then the cold hard thing touched her clit and an electric charge raced through her. Stars danced in the dark beneath the sweater. “Lars!” she croaked. “What the hell…”

  An icy finger blazed a slow trail from her clit along the soft skin of her belly to the underside of her breasts. There, it paused to circle both nipples while Katia’s body shuddered and shook. Then it went upward, along the vulnerable rise and fall of her throat. She swallowed convulsively as it passed under the neck of her sweater. It traced her chin, then pressed down her lower lip.

  “Taste,” said Lars in a voice that allowed no resistance. Slowly, cautiously, she stuck out her tongue until it touched the hard invader. Smooth and icy hard. Her tongue stuck to it for a second, and when she pulled it away it stung.

  She remembered the last time she’d stuck out her tongue. Trust Lars to get his revenge is such an imaginative, maddening way.

  “Ithicle,” she said, her tongue too cold to form the word properly.

  “Lick it.”

  She ran her tongue along its slick surface. The fresh scent of ice and arousal filled the warm space inside her sweater.

  A cold drip of water on her chest told her the icicle was starting to melt. A little icy rivulet ran down her throat and onto her chest. It tickled and made her squirm.

  He took the icicle away and rolled the window down. He must have tossed it out. He left the window open for a moment, and amazingly, the cold air felt good on her overheated body.

  “Oh, my little Katia-kitty, how I love to see you come apart like this. I’m going to make you come now. I don’t care who’s looking. It doesn’t matter. You’re going to come, and you’re going to forget your own name. All you’re going to remember is me. The one making you scream. The one making you spread your legs for more. The one making your nipples hard as hot little marbles.”

  “Okay, Lars, I will, I won’t, you’ll see, just don’t stop…” Her babblings made no real sense, but Lars didn’t seem to mind. He clamped a hand to her pussy.

  She nearly screamed.

  He pressed the heel of his hand against her clit. She was so aroused by the alternating sensations of cold and heat that right away she felt the blinding waves come faster and faster. She writhed under his determined touch. Little panting gasps flew from her lips. She bit down on her lip to keep from making too much noise.

  Outside the truck, she heard the tramp of muffled footsteps. People must be passing by. But Lars didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. Instead he bent his head to her nipple and wrenched a reluctant moan from her.

  He wanted her to make noise, damn him. But she was determined not to. Someone might see her mostly nude body as they passed the truck. They might see her shudder with desire. But the hell if they’d hear her scream.

  With every ounce of her will, she fought to stay quiet. Lars worked his clever hand inside her, one finger at a time, and still she clamped down on her unwilling moans. His tongue painted mad swirling patterns on her nipples. His fingers worked their way deep inside her until they found the spot that made her lose her mind.

  She bucked under his touch but managed to hold her tongue.

  But Lars wasn’t a world-class athlete for nothing. He always wanted to win. No matter the stakes. With his free hand, he lifted her ass and pressed his thumb in her rear hole. She felt the cool glide of lube.

  “Oh, oh, oh…”

  He wiggled that thumb farther inside her ass.

  “Oh god,” she moaned.

  His other hand, the one halfway up her pussy, picked up the pace.
Lars was a devil, that’s what he was, a cruel, relentless man with magic hands and the tongue of an angel. It was unfair, damn him, the power he had over her body. Her clit ached and throbbed with every move of his strong hand. Her nipples burned. And the frantic waves built inside until they overpowered every other thought in her head.

  “Lars,” she gasped to the roof of the truck. “Oh god, Lars! Yes, Yes!” She lurched against him, so out of control she nearly knocked his hands away. But Lars never lost his head. Not in competition, and not in sex. He held tight to her pussy, his fingers pressing, moving, spearing…

  “Go wild, Katia. Go wild with me.” His hot whispers made her even crazier. She worked her body against him until his fingers were so deep inside her they owned her. Then she had no more choice. With a helpless cry, she shot into a space beyond hearing, beyond seeing. In the blessed darkness behind her sweater, she soared and danced through the ether. Freedom. Pleasure. Bliss.

  As she came down from her high, she heard the echoes of her wild shouts. She must have been loud enough to wake the bears from hibernation. Why wasn’t Lars worried about his friends and neighbors overhearing?

  “Lars,” she ordered, breathless. “Tell me about Wild Nights. Right now.”

  Chapter Three

  “In a second.” With deep satisfaction, Lars watched Katia return to sanity. She was such an erotic sight with her nipples rising and falling to the rhythm of her quick breaths, and her long, slim thighs spread apart, her cleft glistening. No one gave herself over to lovemaking with the joyous intensity that Katia did. Nothing made him happier than watching her fierce orgasms. He was hard as a hammer, but his arousal didn’t matter at the moment. He wanted to prove a point to his stubborn love.