The Very Virile Viking

by Sandra Hill

He shook his head, and his face flushed with some embarrassment. "I do not understand why he wants me to read this script thing. In truth, I am not proficient in reading your version of the English language. I have no trouble with Saxon English, but Ah-mare-ee-can English is vastly different. Oh, I can pick up words here and there, but it would take me a week to read those parchment pages he sent. I have better things to do, like learn grape growing."

  Darrell was not going to be pleased by this. Would he blame her? Would Magnus's reluctance jeopardize Darrell's deal with her? She'd better try to smooth this wrinkle out… and soon.

  "I could teach you to read English… our version of English." Really, though, wasn't the written English in Britain the same as in the United States… or nearly the same?

  "Maybe… if I have time," he conceded.

  "You don't have to work with Miguel, you know."

  "Yea, I do."

  "Why?"

  "Because, if for some reason I am unable to return to the Norselands, I must adapt to this country… learn new skills."

  What does he mean, "unable to return"? I wish he would stop playing games with me. "You could be a farmer here, too," she said, more testily than she had planned.

  "I could, but I am developing a taste for"—he gave her a hot look, which spoke volumes—"grapes."

  "Don't you dare jiggle your eyebrows at me."

  He jiggled his eyebrows at her some more, supposedly to appear lascivious, but actually charming her with his parody of himself.

  Time to change the subject. "You mentioned your brothers teasing you… tell me about your family back in Norway."

  He rolled over on his side, his head propped on one hand. "I have no family back in Norway… not to speak of anyway. Just my daughter Madrene, who is married, and running my farmstead. And my son Ragnor, who is sixteen and taking my place at my father's estate in Vestfold. My parents died a few years back. My sister, Katla, is long wed and lives in Norsemandy. My brothers, Geirolf and Jorund,"—his voice cracked— "they are missing… presumed dead."

  "You were close to your brothers, weren't you?"

  He nodded.

  "What happened?"

  "Geirolf went off on a quest… an important errand… for my father. He never returned. Then Jorund went off in search of Geirolf, and he never returned either."

  She understood suddenly. "That's why you and your children made this trip… you're looking for your brothers?"

  "That is part of the reason," he admitted, "though my instincts tell me it is hopeless. They have gone to the other world—that is my conclusion." He made his face a blank, as if he did not want to discuss it any more. "I would rather talk about you… rather, us," he said. "What are we going to do about us?"

  "Us?" she replied, suddenly breathless. "There is no us, Magnus."

  "Ah, yea, there is, sweetling." He put a fingertip to the mole beside her mouth and caressed it as if it were something special.

  Who knew a mole could be an erotic spot?

  Then he traced her lips with several fingers.

  I already knew lips were erotic spots. How could I not know, after last night?

  "I want you very much, Angela."

  Oh, my! Oh, my, my, my! That was certainly up-front and blunt enough. If my heart beats any faster, I'm going to blow a vein. "And your vow?" she managed to get out in a surprisingly calm voice.

  "The vow," he repeated with a long sigh. "I keep trying to forget it."

  This guy is so smooth. I'd better watch myself... or him. "Would you break it… for no reason other than you want to?"

  "I could not do that. I am honor-bound, but…" He stared at her for a long moment with a look of intense longing in his eyes, and said, "Meet me tonight… in the garden house." He motioned toward the gazebo on the far side of the pond with its open trelliswork and climbing roses. It had been her playhouse as a young girl with Barbie dolls and dreams. But she was no young girl now; the Barbies were long tucked away, and she had no dreams anymore.

  Did she?

  She was spared an answer because Jogeir screamed just then, "Lida!"

  All eyes turned to the little girl, who was about to waddle right into the pond.

  Magnus was up like a shot and running across the grass, with Angela right after him. The four boys in the water were rushing toward the bank, hoping to catch Lida. Jow was barking up a storm. All to no avail. She went under.

  Magnus was the first to grab hold of her and yank her out of the water. After she'd sputtered and spit out water and swiped at her eyes with both hands, one of which still held a clump of wildflowers, Lida's little chin began to quiver. There was such a sad expression on the child's face that everyone began calling out her name and saying soothing things to her. Jow was still barking wildly.

  Lida looked from one to the other, her chin still quivering.

  Everyone waited with bated breath for the sure-to-come howl.

  But what Lida did was burst into a goofy smile and reach out her arms to the water.

  Lida said, "Goo, goo, goo," as her father dunked her tush in and out of the water, and her brothers demanded more kisses.

  Angela was about to walk out of the shallow water at the end of the pond, satisfied that another crisis had been averted, when Magnus put a hand on her arm. Tonight, he mouthed.

  She didn't answer.

  She couldn't.

  The logical part of her brain said, No way!

  The other side of her brain—the one with a mind of its own—said, Hmmmm.

  Let's make a deal…

  Angela approached the gazebo later that night. There was no hesitation in her step or her mind. She had made her decision, and it had been a surprisingly easy one. Especially since she'd downed two quick glasses of pinot noir to bolster her nerve.

  The question was, would Magnus agree to her "terms"?

  She entered the shadowy confines of the large, octagonal gazebo, where light from the full moon was filtered through the lattice walls. There was enough light for her to see that Magnus was already there, and—Oh, good heavens!—he was barefooted and bare-chested, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, low on his hips. The only thing showing was the edge of the waistband on his low-riding jockey briefs. She was pretty sure his belly button was exposed, but didn't dare look too closely for fear she would appear to be ogling. Water from a recent shower still dampened his hair and beaded on his shoulders. In fact, she could smell the Irish Spring soap and Old Spice deodorant from here.

  In other words, he posed an extremely potent temptation.

  As if she weren't already tempted.

  "You came," Magnus said.

  Not yet, she thought with a silent giggle, but didn't have the boldness to voice such an earthy sentiment aloud. Sex and the City gal, she was not. Instead she nodded, taking only one step inside before stopping. He was in the center… several yards away.

  Opening his arms, he started to approach her.

  She put up a halting hand. "Wait!"

  He stopped and tilted his head in question.

  "I want to make sure we understand each other before we do… uh, anything. Let's talk first."

  "Talk?" His voice sounded raspy with disbelief. You'd think she had suggested they walk on hot coals as foreplay.

  "Is that not just like a woman? They must talk every blessed thing to death. You want to talk? Now? Before we do… anything?"

  "That's right." She put her hands on her hips to show she meant business.

  He put his hands on his hips to show he meant business, too.

  "First off, why did you invite me here?"

  He said something so crude and blunt that she should have been offended. Instead her stomach dropped like a lead weight and settled between her legs. A hot, pulsing lead weight.

  "That is not precisely accurate," he immediately corrected himself, watching her warily as she walked a slow circle around him, beyond the stretch of his arms, examining his body from every angle.

  Boy, oh, boy, do
es he have angles!

  "I invited you here because I want—nay, I need— to hold you, and kiss you, and touch you."

  Who turned up the temperature? Why is it suddenly so hot out here? "And that's all?" she squeaked out. At the moment she was scrutinizing his backside in the form-hugging sweatpants. And a very nice backside it was, too. But—jeesh—the man really was like a tree. So tall and muscled and, well, just dam big.

  "There will be no consummation, if that is what you mean by 'all.' A dry tup is the best I can offer you," he replied.

  Is a dry tup what I think it is? "Because of the vow?"

  "The vow," he agreed. "I apologize for that, but I promise I will give you pleasure nonetheless."

  Oh, baby, you'd better. "Like last night."

  "Oh, nay, m'lady. Much more than that."

  More? Oh, geez! Am I in over my head, or what? Angela was afraid she was going to lose her cool; in fact, she was already very hot. But she had to make herself clear to this oversexed Viking—or whatever he was—before they started… anything. "Don't apologize for not being able to have intercourse. Actually, that fits in better with my plans."

  "Your plans?" he said in a suffocated whisper.

  Angela did not have a lot of sexual experience, aside from the Creep. And she would never describe herself as a sensual woman. But, good grief, she felt like a goddess, knowing she could reduce this big man to a suffocated whisper. It was a heady, heady feeling.

  "Let's sit down," she suggested, pointing to the round wicker table in the center of the gazebo with its high-backed rattan chairs on four sides.

  "Why?" He seemed disappointed at the suggestion.

  Slow down, Magnus. It's going to be a long night. I hope. "Why not?" She slid into one of the chairs and tightened the belt of her full-length Chinese silk robe.

  "Why not? I will tell you why not. You mentioned 'plans,' and I assume you meant plans that involve something other than sitting at a table and blathering on and on till the cows come home. Are you teasing me? If so, my brother Geirolf had a name for such women. Or is it that this is the manner of seduction in your country? My brother Jorund has an even more colorful name for women like that." He plopped down heavily into the chair next to hers—not opposite her, as she had expected—and glowered at her.

  "You… you… you…" she sputtered, even in the midst of admiring him. She had to admit he looked just as good leaning back in the thronelike chair as he had standing up. It was all that bare chest and oozing masculinity, she supposed. He'd thrown too many outrageous accusations her way for her to reply immediately. That, and the bare chest and oozing masculinity. "I am not a tease," she declared finally. "And I wouldn't know how to seduce a man if my life depended on it. Furthermore, I'd like to give both your brothers a piece of my mind."

  He smiled, and she realized that he'd deliberately provoked a reaction from her.

  "I'm not liking your brothers very much."

  "They are much better-looking than I am. And more charming."

  I doubt that. "Fishing for compliments, are you, Magnus?"

  He shrugged; then, reaching out an arm, he touched a forefinger to the mole at the side of her mouth. "I love your beauty mark. I saw such on a desert houri one time, but hers was not real. Can I kiss it?"

  Yes, yes, yes! "No, you can't kiss it. At least, not yet… not till I discuss my… uh, terms." His fingertips were stroking the line of her jaw now. To say she was disconcerted would be like saying George Clooney was okay-looking—which would be a vast understatement, in her grandmother's book—and, frankly, hers, too. She swatted his hand away and, still seated, moved her chair several feet to the left.

  He grinned and slid his chair closer to hers, not about to allow that much space between them.

  "Terms, eh? I like the sound of that," he said in a deep, husky voice that implied he had his own idea of terms. Under the table, he stretched his leg over toward her leg and caressed her calf with his bare toes.

  She felt the zing all the way to her fingertips, the hardened nipples of her breasts, and all the erotic places in between. The man had to have the sexiest toes in the world. He would probably be great at toe sex, if there was such a thing. Maybe I should ask… later. Yeah, right. Only if I've had a few more glasses of pinot noir. "Behave yourself," she said. "I need to say what I have to say."

  "Then can I misbehave?"

  She had to laugh at the man's persistence. And he was adorable. He really was. "If we agree on terms, yes. In fact, I'm counting on it."

  He raised his hands in surrender and leaned back in his chair, waiting for her to explain.

  "I must admit to admiring a man who would take a vow such as you have," she started out, "and stick to it."

  "You admire celibacy vows?" He asked the question as if she were demented.

  "No, I admire your honor in taking a stand on something. Not that I understand what this particular stand is all about, but that's not important. What is important is that, much as you might like to do differently, you made a promise, and you will adhere to it."

  "Why is that so surprising?"

  "Most men I've known—except for my grandfather— would break a vow in an instant… if it became inconvenient."

  "I am feeling very inconvenienced at the moment."

  "But you won't break your vow, will you?"

  He tapped his chin with a forefinger, as if actually considering the possibility, then shook his head.

  "My ex-husband is the perfect example."

  "The Creep?" he inquired.

  She nodded. "He lied. He cheated. He made promises, which he broke over and over."

  "Pfff! Your husband was a nithing. Put him out of your mind."

  "I have, but I've learned a lesson from him… and other men I've known as well. A committed relationship isn't in the cards for me. Oh, don't go looking all sad on my behalf. Not everyone needs to be married and have a dozen kids."

  "Was that an insult directed at me?"

  "No. It was an assessment of my own life, and the future I want for myself."

  He frowned. "What has this to do with us… and tonight?"

  "I just wanted you to know that what you consider less than appealing—unconsummated sex—is rather appealing to me." She felt her face heat up and thanked God that Magnus could not see.

  "You are blushing," he accused.

  Darn right I am. Any normal woman would be. "How can you tell?"

  "Your body speaks to me. The tilt of your head. The shrug of your shoulders."

  Oooh, I like that.

  He added, "Are you saying that you do not enjoy the sex act… the complete sex act?"

  "No, no, no. I'm not making myself clear. Let's face it, Magnus, you are a very attractive man, and—"

  "Even with my big ears?"

  The man has an ear fixation. Well, most women have a rear fixation, so I guess that's okay. "Tsk, tsk, tsk!" she said at his interrupting her. "What I was saying is that I can't hide the fact that I'm attracted to you. And making love—really making love—would no doubt be spectacular… but there is also an appeal in just making out. It reminds me of high school days, kissing and petting for hours. In those days a guy did everything in his power to turn a girl on in order to convince her to go to bed with him. The whole exercise was about her… and her pleasure."

  "I do not understand all your words, like 'making out' and 'petting,' but if you are implying that your pleasure would not be foremost in my mind, whether the sex was consummated or unconsummated, then you have never made love with a Viking. And you have certainly never made love with me, m'lady, for if you had, you would not be impugning my lovemaking skills."

  Arousal rippled over Angela's skin like erotic fantasy fingertips. "That's all well and good, Magnus, but are you willing to accept that this is all there will ever be? You and I can use each other's bodies… for a while?"

  "Are you drukkin?"

  "Just a little tipsy," she admitted. "I drank two glasses of wine for fortifica
tion. Should I have brought some for you?"

  "Ha! I need no fortification. I am already a bit… what did you call it?… tipsy. Drukkin on you, that is what I am."

  What a nice thing to say! I wonder if it's just smooth talk, or if he really means it. I think he means it.

  He put a hand to his forehead to ease the furrows. "Seems to me that this is the kind of proposition most often made by a man. It is women who want marriage and commitment and lifetime promises."

  "Not this woman."

  He gazed at her as if trying to figure her out. "Methinks this is all about lust. Methinks you are as randy as a mare afore being mounted by her stallion."

  A full-body flush swept over her at his words. "There may be a little truth to that, but that's not all of it."

  "Ha! And do not dare be embarrassed. I am in the same condition. You could say I am randy as a springtime bull whose blood has been heating all winter long. And believe you me, it has been a long winter for me."

  How could she respond to such an earthy comparison… both on his part and her own? Magnus was different from any man she'd ever met, and that was a good thing.

  "Well, what's your answer?" she prodded.

  "You have discussed your terms. Now I will discuss mine. Do not look surprised, sweetling. Didst think I was so lustsome for you that my brain was too muddled to understand all the implications of what you offer? Well, actually, I am that lustsome, but that is neither here nor there."

  Uh-oh! Have I backed myself into a trap here? "Get to the point, Magnus."

  He grinned at her impatience. "I would love to engage in this half-lovemaking with you, and I will, but you must accept some things, as well."

  "Like?" she asked suspiciously.

  "Like you are my destiny." He put up a hand to stem her protests. "I have no idea why I am here in this country, but an inner voice keeps telling me that it is you who drew me. At the same time, I have no idea how long I will be here… mayhap a day, mayhap forever. So commitments are not within my promising power, anyway. And lastly, this buzzing in my ears… this breathlessness I feel… this speeding of my heart every time you are near… well, I have ne'er felt it afore with any other woman. It has to mean something, does it not?"