Three Swedish Mountain Men: Chapter 5

I watch as Riven disappears, then slowly uncross my arms from over my chest. Maybe Cole’s right. Maybe I am acting like an idiot. But I don’t trust these guys yet. None of them seem to recognise me, but they might just be pretending. If they know who I am, I’m sure as Hell not letting them see my tits.

No matter how hot they are.

Seriously. I’ve heard about Swedes being good-looking, but this is unreal. Is it a national requirement to look like you’ve been chiselled from rock, or something? Between Riven’s wicked bone structure, Eli’s dimples, and Coal’s bright blue eyes, I feel like I’ve fallen into a modelling catalogue. It’s kind of intimidating.

Eli starts clattering around in the kitchen, and I relax slightly. At least one of them likes me. “I don’t think your friends want me here,” I say drily.

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about them. Cole’s been in a bad mood. For like, the last thirty years. And Riv has trust issues. But they’ll both come around.” He grins at me, sparking up the stove. “You’re not a vegetarian or anything, are you, babe?”

“No. I can eat everything.”

“Great.” He nods at the big sofa. “Go make yourself comfortable. This won’t take long.”

I obediently drop onto the coach. The fire crackles at my side, warming my skin as I glance around me. It looks like all of the furniture is handmade. The cushions strewn across the sofa are embroidered with brightly coloured thread. The coffee table is made of a thick, textured oak, and even the coasters spread across its surface look like carved leather. With nothing else to do, I pull my phone out of my pocket, turning it on with a wince. I’ve had it switched off for the last couple of days. I’m too scared of the texts and emails everybody will have sent me. God knows what awful things they’re saying. My screen lights up, and I wait for the slew of notifications—but there’s nothing. I glance up at the corner of the screen. No bars. “You don’t have any signal?”

“We do usually,” Eli says, pulling a packet out of the fridge. “It’ll be the storm.”

That news settles heavily in my stomach. Well, I guess this is what I wanted, when I came up here.

A few days ago, after I got fired, I tried to hide from the reporters by going to my parents’ house. They tossed me back out onto the pavement. As did every friend I tried to visit. Even worse, every single person I passed on the street recognised me. Brighton is a small city, and apparently, everybody had already read about me in the local news. As I trailed, crying, back to my flat, people started shouting at me across the road. Catcalling. Some even took photos. A gaggle of mums from the school I used to work at spotted me and practically chased me back to my flat, screaming about how they were going to sue me.

People even stared at me this morning in the airport. My story had hit some major UK news stations by then. When I walked down the plane aisle to find my seat, a teenage boy I passed moaned like he was having an orgasm, and I almost threw up on the spot.

That’s why I decided to travel up to Kiruna. It’s literally in the Arctic Circle. I wanted to be as off-the-grid as possible. I didn’t want anybody to be able to recognise me.

Well, now no one will be able to find my body, either.

Eli starts humming under his breath, a low, bass rumble. I watch him as he cooks. He’s taken off his jumper, and he’s wearing a tight grey t-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders. I watch his muscles roll under the thin fabric. I wonder if he’s an athlete. He’s very light on his feet, moving around the kitchen gracefully.

“What do you do up here?” I ask, picking up a pillow and squishing it to my chest.

“I’m a skiing instructor,” he says over his shoulder. “In skiing season, I work down in the resort a few miles from here.”

That explains that.

“I’m going to bend over now,” he adds. “Make sure you pay very close attention to my ass.”

I sputter. “I—what?”

He tosses me a dazzlingly white grin. “I can see you watching me in the window reflection. You gotta get better at perving, babe. If you were a guy, you’d have been slapped round the face by now.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “Um. I’m sorry.”

He waves me off. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed. Of course you want to look. You’re only human. I’m sure it’s not everyday you see a body so perfectly formed. So, please,” he grins again. “Enjoy.”

My face gets even hotter. “I thought you were bending over,” I mutter. “Get on with it, then.”

He laughs, bending to pull some plates out of the cupboard. I figure, since he’s given me permission, I may as well enjoy the view. And it really is spectacular. His asscheeks are toned and sculpted, and his thighs—Holy shit. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy with such thick, hard thighs before.

I swallow as he straightens. “Alright. Show’s over, I’m afraid.” He comes and sits next to me, setting my plate on the coffee table. Sausages and mashed potato doused in gravy, with a big spoonful of what looks like jam on the side.

I point at it with my fork. “What is this?”

“Lingonberry. It’s a Swedish staple.” He slings his arm over the back of the sofa. Even though he’s sitting close enough for me to feel the heat coming off his skin, it’s not creepy. Just warm and comforting.

For the first few minutes, I’m completely focussed on wolfing down my food. I haven’t eaten anything since the roll and apple I nabbed before my flight this morning. Riven’s right; as I eat, the dizziness and fogginess in my brain start to dissipate.

Eli reaches over and rolls one of his sausages onto my plate. I look up at him, my mouth stuffed full. “Looks like you need it more than me,” he says, eyes twinkling.

I blush, forcing myself to slow down. “So,” I swallow my mouthful. “You’re a skiing instructor. Riven is a doctor. What about Cole? Is he a gym teacher? Drill sergeant? Fascist dictator?”

He huffs a laugh. “Not quite. He works in wildlife control.”

I frown. “Is he… like… a hunter?”

“Kind of the opposite. I guess you’d call him a ranger? He tries his best to keep the animals alive.” He stretches out his shoulders, making a soft noise that sends heat panging through my stomach. “People call him if a moose is standing in their driveway and won’t leave, or a mama bear gets too close to their house, or whatever.”

My eyes widen. “A bear?”

“Yeah, you get all sorts up here. Bears. Wolves. Lynxes. Mooses. It’s mostly mooses, though. They’re ballsy.”

I can’t help smiling at mooses. Both Eli and Riven speak such good English, it’s easy to forget that it’s not their first language. It’s kind of sweet.

“He has a lot of problems with tourists,” he continues. “A lot of them end up hitting animals with their cars. Or they try to go hunting and don’t kill the animals properly. Just leave them injured, running around the woods.”

“Which is why he was so pissed off at me,” I realise. “I could’ve killed the moose.”

He shrugs. “Ah, he’s just being a moody dick. Mooses walk on the road all the time. At least you didn’t hit it.” He whistles. “That’s a goddamn nightmare. You’ll be eating moose pie for weeks.” He turns to me. “So, what about you? What do you do?”

“I’m a teacher,” I say, then mentally slap myself. I shouldn’t have told him that. If he figures out where I used to work, he’ll be able to look me up. And then he’ll find the news articles about me, and I’ll be in a shitload of trouble. My heart starts to pound faster. I force myself to stay calm.

“Oh?” He says casually. “What do you teach?”

“You know. School.”

He smiles. “I meant, what class do you teach?”

“Oh, is that what you meant?”

He looks at me narrowly. I take a huge bite of mash to occupy my mouth.

“So you work in a high school?” He asks after a moment. “Or elementary?”

I shrug. “I move around some.”

“How old are the kids?”

I chase a lingonberry around my plate. “All different ages,” I say breezily.

“I’m not getting anything else out of you, am I?”

“Well spotted.”

He sighs. “Fair enough. How’s your neck feeling? Are the painkillers working?”

I nod, rolling it around. “It’s not as sore. It’s still really tight, though.”

“You know,” he sets his cutlery down. “I am a trained masseur.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yep. Got my license as an anniversary present for one of our exes.”

“Wow.” That’s one hell of an anniversary present. “Okay then. I guess.” I lay down my empty plate. “Have at it.”

He grins and settles himself behind me, pulling my hair gently over one shoulder. “You’ve got so much hair, Jesus.”

“Yeah, I…. wait.” I frown, replaying what he just said in my mind. “Did you say our?”

“What was that?” He rubs his hands together, warming them up.

“You said one of our exes. What does that mean?”

He hums. “I didn’t say that. It’s just my accent.”

“You don’t really have much of an accent.”

“Thanks!” Before I can ask any more questions, he starts kneading my shoulders, and all the words die in my mouth. I gape like a fish as he rubs my sore muscles, loosening the day’s tension. It feels amazing.

He chuckles. “What? Did you think I was lying about the training?”

I can’t even speak. He keeps working on my shoulders for a bit, squeezing the tight muscles, then digs his thumbs into a harsh knot at the back of my neck. I gasp.

He stops immediately. “Too much?”

“Oh, fuck. No. No, no, it’s great,” I babble.

He hums and pushes into the muscle again, rubbing out the tension. I shudder all over. “There,” I mutter. “Harder, please. Fuck.”

He frowns. “Babe, you’re so tight. This must be really hurting you.” He keeps working on the knot until the muscle finally relaxes, and I’m a half-melted lump under his hands.

I sigh. “You’re a wizard.”

“It’s been said. Okay. Let me get the other side.”

I shuffle up, and he slides his hands across the other shoulder. “You know,” he says casually, kneading the muscle. “This would work a lot better if you took your shirt off.”

My mouth falls open. I jump up from the sofa, staggering back. “Oh my God! You’re just trying to get me topless!”

He has the grace to look sheepish. “Riven asked me to. He’s worried that you’re hiding an injury.”

Fury boils in my blood. “Don’t do that! Find something else to jack off to!”

He looks taken aback. “That wasn’t what I was planning on—”

I cut him off. “Listen to me. I don’t want to. What is wrong with you? Don’t try to trick me into taking off my clothes! If I say no, I mean it!”

He puts his hands up. “Hey, I’m sorry. Sorry. We just want to know if you’re hurt. Honestly.”

“Do I really look that fragile? Would you be hovering over Cole like this?”

He shrugs. “We know what we can handle. But you’re not from around here. And you’re so small. We don’t know what you can take.”

“Well, it’s shitty fucking behaviour,” I snap. “Don’t do it.”

He bites his lip. A reddish curl falls into his face. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “Really.”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. It suddenly sinks in just how vulnerable I am. I’m stuck here, with no one to call for help. The surge of panic that rises up in me overwhelms me. “I—do you have a bathroom?”

“Nope. We usually just piss in the snow.” He gives me a tentative smile. I stare at him flatly, and he sighs, standing up. “I’ll show you.”

I shuffle back. “No. Stay there. Don’t come with me.”

He swears under his breath and sits back down. “That corridor.” He points. “Second door on the left.”

I follow his directions, stumbling through the dark corridor and practically falling into the bathroom. I lock the door behind me, put down the toilet seat, and slump onto it, trying to reason with myself.

There’s no reason to be panicking. So far, the guys have saved me from a snowstorm, carried in my luggage, given me a check-up, and fed me. They even towed my car. If they wanted to hurt me, they would’ve done it by now. They’re more than big enough to force me to do anything they want, and they’ve had plenty of opportunities.

I need to calm down.

There’s a light tap on the door. “Are you okay in there?” Eli calls. “Are you trying to escape out of the window? The latch is a bit fiddly, you have to jiggle it.”

I stand shakily and open the door. I’m immediately hit with the mouthwatering scent of warm sugar and cinnamon. Eli takes a step back, giving me space, and offers me a plate. “I made you a cinnamon bun to say sorry?” He tries.

I look down at the pastry. It looks delicious. “You made it?”

“Well. I put it in the microwave. But I did it very apologetically.” He gives me a hopeful smile. “Look, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I promise mine and Riv’s intentions were honourable, but you’re right, it was shitty.” He ruffles a hand through his hair. “If you want to be alone, you can spend the night in my room, and I’ll take the couch, or—” He frowns. “Maybe… is that creepy, too? Um. We have a spare room I can drag a guest bed into, if you want to wait in the lounge? We don’t get a whole lot of guests, we’re kinda unprepared.”

He looks so earnest, and so genuinely upset that he’s scared me, that embarrassment blooms through me.

I hate that I’ve become this sensitive. A few months ago, if a man this hot had demanded I take my shirt off to check me for injuries, I would have whipped it off in seconds, and probably purred while he did it. I hate that I’ve gotten so scared of people. I hate it. It’s not me. I feel like a little rabbit, jumping at every sudden noise, looking at everybody like they’re a potential predator.

“No. No. It’s okay. Thanks. I… don’t want to be alone.” I take the plate, heading back to the lounge. “Sorry for snapping. It’s kind of a touchy subject for me, I guess.” I curl back into my spot on the sofa, nestling into the pillows.

He plops down next to me, concern crossing his face. “What? Why?” When I don’t say anything, his jaw goes tight. “Why?” He says again, his voice sharpening. “Did someone hurt you?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out.

He straightens. All of the lazy charm falls off him, and suddenly, he doesn’t look quite so harmless. I don’t doubt that this man could fuck someone up in a fight.

“No,” I say hurriedly. “No. Nothing like—whatever you’re thinking. I shouldn’t have said that.” I rub my eyes. “I’m just tired. I’m talking too much.”

He studies me for a few seconds, his face serious. I force myself to smile at him. For a second, I think he’s going to push it, but instead, his expression softens. He opens his arms. “Want a hug?”

I blink, surprised. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it. I feel an odd tugging in my chest. I do want a hug, I realise. I kind of need one very, very badly. I’ve just had the most Hellish week of my life. I put down my plate. “I—um. Yeah. Okay.”

He shuffles forward and wraps his strong arms around me. I don’t even think before I bury my face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of cinnamon sugar and pine trees. His t-shirt is soft and warm, and I can feel his heart beating steadily against my cheek. I melt into him.

I don’t remember the last time I had a hug. Everyone who used to care about me hates me, now. Even my own parents wouldn’t touch me with a bargepole.

Tears suddenly spring to my eyes. I try to swallow them down, but I can’t. One tear drips down my nose, and then another. Soon I’m crying softly into his shirt. I can’t stop.

Eli makes a sad noise. “Oh, sweetheart.” He pulls me closer. “Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay.” He starts rubbing my back soothingly. “You’re okay.”

I don’t know how long I cry for. It feels like forever. He holds me the whole time, murmuring softly into my hair. Eventually, I run out of tears and pull away, hiccuping. “G-god.” I wipe my face, embarrassed. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

He actually laughs, brushing a strand of hair away from my wet cheek. “Christ, what would it normally take you? A death in the family?”

“What?”

“You’re lost in a foreign country, you were just in a car crash, you’re injured, you barely missed freezing to death in a storm, and now you’re trapped in an unfamiliar place with no way to contact the outside world. Trust me. Most people would cry at any one of those things.” He squeezes me. “You’re just exhausted, babe. Don’t sweat it.”

“Thanks.” I snuffle. “It’s BS, but I appreciate it.”

“It’s not BS.” He wipes a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “I know you have no reason to trust me,” he says sincerely. “But you are safe here. I promise.”

I meet his gaze. The firelight flickers in his green eyes. His face is completely open and earnest. I can’t help but believe him. Slowly, I nod.

He strokes another tear-track away, and I realise he hasn’t let go of my face. I don’t actually mind. It’s nice to have his warm hands on me. His thumbs move up to my temples, and he starts rubbing circles, easing my headache.

“This okay?” He asks, his low voice rasping.

I nod, tipping into the touch. The fire crackles in the hearth. Outside, I can hear the muffled sounds of the storm. My breath gives a little hitch, still shaky from the crying, and he cups my cheek.

“You’re okay,” he says again, his voice low. I lean into his palm. I’m so tired. I let my eyes flutter shut, exhaustion slowly weighing down my body. I just want to curl up against him and disappear. Just for a bit.

Then, suddenly, he’s ripped away from me. I open my eyes, looking down in horror at him sprawled on the rug. Cole is standing over him, his snow-wet boot planted in the middle of his chest. His face is murderous.