"Excuse me, but are you Scandinavian?" she asked him politely.

"You can tell by my accent?" he said with a little laugh. "I have studied the English language for ten years in school, but still I have an accent."

Jill was afraid she had insulted him. "Oh, no, you speak very good English," she reassured him. "I just wondered if you knew anything about Denmark. I'm going there to live for a year, you see."

"Let me welcome you to our little land," he smiled. I'm glad she's not just another tourist, he was thinking to himself. This girl's built like a bomb, and I'd like to know her better… much better. "Will you be staying in Copenhagen?"

"Yes, I'll be working with the university there," Jill replied.

"I'm also from Copenhagen – I've lived there all my life. By the way, my name's Erik Mortensen."

"I'm Jill Duncan," the curvaceous redhead said, dimpling and then smiling. "Please tell me about Copenhagen!"

Erik stared at her intently, taking particular note of the way her tailored blouse had become unbuttoned in her sleep to reveal two perfectly shaped breasts, their full white mounds thrusting up proudly from the tight-fitting white cotton brassiere. "First I will teach you the most important word in Danish," he smiled, raising his plastic cup of orange juice toward her.

"Skal!"

"Skal?" Diligent student that she was, Jill Duncan had bought Danish records and a language book when she learned that she had received a fellowship to study law in Copenhagen. But that word hadn't been in the lessons.

"Yes, it means 'cheers', and you must hold up your glass, touch it to mine, and look into my eyes," Erik instructed, staring deeply into the young girl's green eyes as she repeated, "Skal!"