"Less often than I'd like." It was his turn to gaze out of the window. Sophie frowned, unsure what she'd said to make him close off. From the way he'd clammed up in the jet earlier and the way his face had hardened just now, she could tell that he didn't appreciate these kind of questions. What did he mean, not as often as he'd like? Did he have personal obligations here?
"Do you have clubs in Norway?"
"No."
Lucien pressed a button and the privacy glass between the driver and the rear of the limo slid into place.
"Stop asking questions and get over here." He pulled her onto his lap and glanced at his watch. "We have approximately fourteen minutes." His hand slid along her thigh. "I bet I can make you come within three."
Exactly fourteen minutes later the limo eased to a stop, and Sophie straightened her blouse before the driver opened her door. She stepped outside and stood beside Lucien, still throbbing from his ministrations.
Wow. They'd pulled into the driveway of a gorgeous, low-slung wooden lodge, the mother of all log cabins. The undulating timber facade and white-washed window frames were in perfect harmony with the surroundings, all the way up to the slopes of its grass-covered roof. It looked organic, as if it had grown from the earth around it rather than been crafted by man.
But however beautiful the building was, it paled in comparison with the scenery that surrounded it. Set on the shores of a glittering fjord, whose waters reflected the pale sunlight, the house stood against a backdrop of soaring granite mountains, their tips blanketed with snow. The whole vista exuded Nordic health and understated wealth, a luxury, boutique getaway for those lucky enough to be able to afford it.
Sophie scanned around for other people. There were none.
"Is it a hotel?" she asked, doubtfully.
"No. It's mine."
"Yours?" It shouldn't have come as a surprise, but it did. Lucien was such an urbanite; it seemed at odds with his lifestyle that he should choose to own a home here amongst these pristine, quiet mountains. Sophie realised she’d had the same kind of thought when she’d first seen his UK home. He refused to conform to easy stereotypes, she reflected, and he was all the more unreadable for it.
The car slunk away as Lucien led her through the main door directly into the living area of an airy, open plan lodge. Sophie slowed to a halt, drinking in the way nature blended with luxury to create a space just as breathtaking as Lucien's other home. It was very different, and yet it had similar nuances of clean style and elegance that made it uniquely, subtly, and totally Lucien Knight.
Soft wood juxtaposed with exposed stone complemented the soft white walls. Uncluttered but never stark, cool but not cold. One side of the sunken lounge area was almost entirely made up of glass; huge picture windows paid appropriate homage to the glorious views beyond. Sophie found herself drawn towards it, struck by the ambient warmth inside compared to the crisp freshness outside, as she laid a palm against the glass.
"You've surprised me," she said, and turned to face him.
Lucien rested his arm on the mantel of the massive stone fireplace. "Why so?"
"This place... the Arctic Circle... it's so, umm..." Sophie paused as she fished around for the right phrase. "So, well, unexpectedly wholesome," she finished eventually.
"I see." Lucien reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. "Wholesome."
He placed the object from his pocket in the centre of the wooden mantel and turned back to watch Sophie suck in a surprised breath. Sunlight glinted off the silver, acorn-shaped butt plug.
"Before nightfall, Ms. Black," Lucien promised. "You're blushing again." He sauntered over and admonished her with a tap on the end of her nose. "Let me show you around."
Notes of pride slid into his tone as he gave her the guided tour, and Sophie could well see why. The whole place had been engineered around the stunning mountain views, and each room flowed organically into the next. Dove-grey flagstones lined the floors underfoot, and soft suede fabrics and fur throws added warm, welcoming touches to sofas that begged to be lounged on. The whole place exuded comfort and warmth, and Sophie found herself utterly enchanted.
"Lunch?"
The normality of Lucien's question caught her unaware. It was disorienting to shift constantly from the plane of near-fantasy - this movie-star lifestyle, the ever-present undercurrents of desire - back to ordinary reality, but on reflection she found she was more than ready to eat.
He led her back through to the dining room, which on previous inspection had been empty. Not any more. An older woman dressed smartly in an understated black trouser suit looked up and smiled warmly at Lucien as she put the finishing touches to the feast she'd laid out on the dining table.
"Everything is ready for you, Mr. Knight." She spoke in lightly accented English and inclined her head towards Sophie to include her in the conversation. "Enjoy."
And they did. Sophie was blown away by the array of fresh seafood, some warm and some cold, all served with dips and bread. It was delicious, and she sampled a little of everything as Lucien explained how he'd had the lodge designed and built five years back.
"Why here?" she asked, as he topped up her wine glass with crisp, chilled Chablis. "Why Norway? It seems such an unusual choice."
"Where would you expect?"
Sophie shrugged. "I don't know. If I could choose anywhere, I’d probably go for somewhere with sunshine."
"We have sunshine in Norway." Lucien gestured towards the window and the undeniable gleam of sunlight off the fjord.
"We?"
Lucien paused momentarily. "We. They. What difference does it make?"
"Nothing, really... you just sounded… territorial."
Lucien swirled his wine around in his glass, and his downward glance felt like the curtain falling on the conversation. It was too late though. Sophie suddenly knew exactly why here, why Norway. This was more than a holiday home for Lucien. This was his homeland.
Lucien glanced at her empty plate and finished his wine. "Come on. I'll show you outside."
Sophie snuggled deeper into her coat, Lucien's black scarf wrapped around her neck as he took her hand and led her around the outside of the cabin. She was utterly smitten with the majesty of the mountains, and breathed in deeply to fill her lungs with invigorating air. Her earlier realisation about Lucien's heritage seemed so obvious in retrospect, he looked every inch a proud Norwegian now she'd made the connection.