Nordic Lessons Read Online Free PDF

patient with me, all right?”
    My eyes soften. She’s so damn sweet.
    “Yeah, babe, all right. Be ready in ten, yeah?”
    Her sculpted brows draw together. “Well … all right. What should I wear?”
    “Black. And you’ll be on my bike, so bring a jacket and a hair tie.”
    “Right then, well, make yourself comfortable.”
    “I’ll wait right here. Now move your sweet ass.”
    She liked what I said, because she’s trying in vain to hide a little smile that sneaks across her pink lips just before she turns and makes her way to a far room. When she closes the door, I whip out my black iPhone. I decide to use the extra time to text my best friend, Alreck. The smug bastard is living the life in California, totally hooked on his American girl, Vail. I saw him two months ago at the Sturgis Bike rally. He’s so fucking talented that he won the Goddamned worldwide custom design competition. His innovative bike taking first prize, hands down.
    Losing his genius-level talent has been a major hit for my business, setting my delivery times back by at least three months per job, but I can’t help being happy for him. Every time we speak, which is on a weekly basis, I notice that his normally stern tone is slowly becoming more pleasant. The edge is hardly there anymore. The move has been good for him. He should have found that woman years back. Still, I miss him. It was like losing an appendage.
    I use both thumbs to type in the message to him: What’s your latest design, motherfucker? You goin’ to work now in flip flops and surf gear or what? When should I look out for a wedding invite? Heading out to the club tonight. Will throw back a shot in your honor. –M.T.
    * * *
    I slide the little leather strip into the silver buckle adorning my black skirt and turn to assess my outfit in the silver, full-length bedroom mirror. Smoky, kohl-lined eyes stare back at me. Oh yes, this is about as wild as I’ve ever allowed myself to be. I hope he appreciates it! I’ve aimed for an overall impression of supremely wicked. It feels delicious.
    I adjust the shoulders of my little fitted, black silk Catherine Malandrino top. I adore the deep plunging ‘V’ neckline and the sweet hint of black lace trim at the neck and along the tiny cap sleeves. I’ve paired it with an ultra short, pleated schoolgirl miniskirt that has a lovely silver buckle closure at the right hip. I normally would only wear this with black tights but have decided to be daring tonight, flashing lots of skin. Why not? Knee-high black suede Salvatore Ferragamo sex-kitten boots with three-inch heels and a delicate silver zipper running all the way up the back complete my ‘take me down hard’ look.
    I walk to my mirrored dressing table to spritz on a touch of Yves Saint Laurent ‘Parisienne.’ I hope he likes the ultra feminine scent that’s a lovely combination of sandalwood and Damask roses. I reach for my small black Chloe ‘going out’ handbag, along with my smart, black suede fitted jacket, and excitedly reach for the handle of the door.
    With damp palms I think … Time to face him. Head high, shoulders back ….
    His golden eyes are consuming me the second I round the corner into my brother’s lavish, dimly lit sunken living room. I stop near the glass coffee table, my earlier confidence suddenly wavering under his devouring gaze.
    He is silent and remains stock-still.
    Just as I’m about to ask if the attire works for where we’re headed, his rich voice slices through the space.
    “Come to me, min skjønne .”
    The smoldering sexuality lacing his tone is undeniable.
    On trembling legs I cross the twenty feet to stand directly before him. Looking up, I ask quietly, nearly in a whisper, “Do you like it?”
    He tags my left hip, pulling me in close, and that wicked goatee framing his full lips lowers down slowly until I feel it brush lightly against my left ear.
    Warm breath caresses me as he murmurs deeply, “You’re so gorgeous that it’s