Truly, Madly Viking

by Sandra Hill

  "What do you think you're doing?" Maggie gritted her teeth as she stomped over and confronted Joe.

  His head jerked up with surprise. "Mag-he! I thought you weren't going to be home till dinner time.

  "My meetings ended early."

  "We wanted to surprise you," he complained in a little-boy voice.

  She felt like spanking his behind, like a little boy deserved. What did one do to a misbehaving big boy? Whack him on the butt with a two-by-four? There were plenty of them lying around.

  "Surprise!" everyone yelled at once, belatedly. Maggie turned around to see the entire motley crew, including her two grimy daughters, gazing at her expectantly, as if they expected her to congratulate them.

  As if! "What is this mess?" she asked, turning back to Joe, who set his sledgehammer aside and was wiping his brow with the back of a forearm. She was trying hard to stifle her fury, for the sake of her daughters, who'd never seen their mother lose her cool. Yet.

  "Fireplace," Joe announced. "I'm building your daughters a fireplace."

  "Huh?" A fireplace? "What next? Igloos in Florida?"

  "Tsk-tsk! Dost think sarcasm is called for, Maghe?"

  Maggie gave her daughters her full attention now, and they had the good sense to step back a pace, sensing her disapproval.

  "We just mentioned to Joe that we've never had a fireplace," Suzy explained in the whimpery voice that usually meant tears were about to flow.

  "And we told him how every Christmas we have to hang our stockings on the living room archway, 'cause we don't have a fireplace," Beth added. Her voice was small and weepy, too.

  "Where did you get the money for all this?" she demanded of Joe. There had to be hundreds of dollars' worth of building materials scattered about her lawn, not to mention the rental of the backhoe. "I sold one of my arm rings to Martie."

  She looked at his upper arms. Sure enough, one of the bracelets was gone.

  "Martie?"

  "Yea. Martie Wilson. Remember, you told me one day that Dock-whore Sea-bold's lover—"

  She inhaled sharply with distress. "I never told you they were lovers."

  He waved a hand dismissively. "You told me that Dock-whore Sea-bold's woman-friend was a trader in antiquities. I called her shop, and she came over to make me an offer yestereve when you took the girls to choir practice. She wanted my sword, but I could not sell her that. A warrior's weapon is his boon companion."

  A headache the size of his boon companion hit Maggie like... like his sledgehammer.

  "Besides, in my world, jewelry is treated the same as coin. Why else would I be wearing arm rings? Do you think I am so vain I adorn myself when going into battle, or on a seafaring voyage to rescue my brother?"

  Maggie didn't know what to think. "You shouldn't have sold the arm ring, Joe. It was a prized possession."

  "Pfff! A mere object! 'Tis not as if I sold a limb, or anything so dire."

  "How much did she give you? Are you sure you got a fair price?"

  "Seventy-five thousand dollars."

  "S-seventy-five thousand dollars!" she said in a squeal.

  "Yea, and you are not to worry. Methinks Martie is an honest woman. Sometimes 'tis necessary to trust, don't you think?" His words obviously had a double meaning. "Are you not surprised?" he inquired then, proud of himself as he waved a hand in a wide sweep to encompass the horrendous hole in her house.

  The man is clueless.

  Then he plastered a slow grin on his face for good measure... the one he knew made her insides turn to mush.

  Well, maybe not so clueless.

  "Surprised doesn't begin to describe how I feel."

  She put a hand to her forehead and counted to ten. "Do you even know how to build a fireplace, Joe?"

  "Of course." He then ducked his head sheepishly. "Well, actually, I have ne'er built one afore, but how hard could it be? Besides, Steve said he helped his brother-by-marriage construct one twenty years ago."

  "Twenty years ago!"

  "And the man at the Home Station—"

  "Home Depot," Steve corrected.

  "The man at the Home Deep-oh," Joe amended, "gave us detailed diagrams."

  "I used to be a construction foreman," Fred added, puffing his chest out importantly.

  "You were?" they all exclaimed as one.

  His face turned bright red, even his balding head under the hard hat.

  "Well, why did you not say so afore?" Joe exhaled with disgust, and handed his sledgehammer to Fred, who almost dropped the heavy object, apparently not prepared for its excessive weight.

  So, by Sunday night, Maggie McBride and her two daughters had a stone fireplace in their den. And, though she hated to admit it to Joe, it was really pretty nice.

  Even though Christmas was still two weeks off, stockings had already been hung with care... four of them. Suzy and Beth had insisted that Maggie go down to the craft store and have one made with Joe's name on it, identical to the three they had already. Of course, there was a paw shaped stocking for Rita, too.

  She was still going to kill Joe the minute she caught him alone. He had been avoiding her like the plague. Smart man. But now she'd cornered him. He was alone in the den, basking in the glow of the fire and his newfound family.

  "Uh-oh," he said when he saw her. He pretended to cringe with fright. "Despite the warmth of my surroundings, I can feel the very coolness emanating from you, Mag-he."

  "You've been avoiding me all day," she accused. To her surprise, he nodded. "I am not a Viking for naught. I know when to stay out of a woman's path. Only a fool could fail to see the murderous gleam in your eyes. You would like naught more than to put a blood ring 'round my neck."

  "I couldn't have said it better myself. The fire place was a nice gesture, Joe, but you are never, ever to do anything like that again without my permission."

  "My brother Rolf advocated never asking for permission first. He said 'tis better to do the act, then apologize later, but he was probably talking about something involving sex."

  Maggie wagged a forefinger with exasperation. "Don't try to change the subject on me. Give me your word that this won't happen again."

  He gave her an amused, level stare, then agreed. "Whatever you say, dearling."

  But Maggie wasn't fooled, not one bit.

  Joe had other plans.

  Joe had a job.

  The takeover of the Rainbow Hospital by Medic-All had been finalized the week before. Thus far there were no visible changes in staff or policy, but Maggie knew they were sure to come after the New Year.

  Whether she would stay or not depended on how the experimental programs she'd initiated were handled. If they went, she went. Unlike some employees, she was fortunate to have a sizable nest egg that would allow her to live for an extended period without a paycheck, if need be. She hoped it wouldn't come to that.

  But the most surprising thing was that Jerome Johnson, president and CEO of Medic-All, had remembered Joe the Viking in a positive way. When he'd learned, last week, that Joe was no longer a patient, he had urged Rainbow to hire him to restructure its physical-fitness program. Apparently, when Jerome urged, everyone followed his wishes. So now Joe was about to start running the program three days a week, beginning today. And he was ordering everyone about as if he were a... well, a military leader.

  "Why can't we give fencing lessons?" he was asking Harry in the Monday-afternoon staff meeting.

  "Because this is a mental hospital, damnit," Harry snapped. "We don't give lethal weapons to patients. And that's final." Her boss usually didn't lose his temper, but Joe had already demanded new rowing machines, a running track, and bowling balls, which he referred to as catapult balls, and bowling lanes, which he referred to as huffing tracks. Amazingly, Harry had agreed, having been given a slightly higher budget from Medic All for this purpose.

  When the meeting was over, Harry gave her a meaningful glare, which she interpreted as, "Keep that man out of my way."

  "Hurry up, Mag-he,"
Joe urged as they walked down the corridor. "We have to pick up Sue-zee and Beth after school soon. You know that I promised the girls we would go out in the woods and chop down a Christmas tree today."

  She groaned, having forgotten. "I still say my artificial tree would serve just fine."

  The expression on his face said the issue was settled.

  "I don't suppose you will be angry if I tell you that I bought you a little gift." He spoke hesitantly as they approached the parking lot.

  "Joe, I already told you that I disapprove of your selling your arm ring. And I certainly don't want you buying me stuff with that money. Furthermore—Oh, no!" Maggie gawked, practically bug-eyed, at the parking lot. "You didn't. Please tell me you didn't."

  He smiled brightly at her. "How could we go yule-tree chopping with your piddling vehicle?"

  He had.

  Sitting next to her Volvo was a brand-new red pickup truck.

  It was going to be the best Christmas ever.

  Maggie was sitting beside Joe on the sofa in the den, where their newly decorated, wonderfully pungent, way-too-big Christmas tree held center stage, with the crackling fire in the new fireplace providing just the right ambience.

  Of course, the windows were open to offset the heat. She couldn't stay mad at the brazen brute when he'd given her—and her girls—such wonderful gifts for the season. Just the shine in Suzy's and Beth's eyes when she'd tucked them in a few moments ago... well, it made up for all the aggravation Joe gave her. And he could be aggravating, no doubt about that.

  "Thank you," she said.

  "You are welcome," he answered, not even bothering to ask what for. Putting an arm across the back of the couch, he snagged her by the shoulders and pulled her into the cradle of his arm. Nuzzling her hair, with a soft murmur of, "Lilacs, mmmmm," he added, "I expect you will give me thanks with more than words... in time."

  "In time," she emphasized. She didn't need to repeat to him her concern over Suzy and Beth.

  She'd told him enough times in the past few weeks that she wouldn't engage in an affair in the same house with her daughters.

  "I wonder if that time will ever come," he whispered against her ear.

  She bristled and tried to pull away-not because of his words, but because of what he knew how to do with her oversensitive ears. Lordy, lordy, the man could set her afire with just a few breaths and some whispered words of wicked things he'd like to do with her.

  "Will you take off your undergarments for me?" he suggested all of a sudden.

  "Wh-what?"

  "Now, do not go all atwitter on me. I am not suggesting we make love, precisely. I just want you to go into the bathing room and take off your undergarments. You said we could not make love with the girls in the house, and being a creative fellow, I have come up with a plan for having sexless sex."

  "That's some creativity." Her nervous giggle betrayed her interest.

  "Yea."

  "It sounds a little... perverted."

  "Yea," he concurred with a little smile.

  "Joe," she protested.

  "Now, sweetling, you can put your braies and sweat-her back on. But when you return, and sit here chattering about this and that, I will know you are naked for me beneath. You will be aware of me, and I of you. Perchance it will satisfy my baser instincts, for now. Do it."

  Maggie had never heard of such a thing before. Certainly no man had ever suggested anything so... well, erotic.

  To her surprise, she did as he asked, blushing even as she complied, alone, in the bathroom.

  When she returned, Joe was sitting in one of the wing-back chairs beside the fireplace. He motioned for her to sit in the chair opposite him.

  "Sit as I do," he directed in a husky voice. He moved his hands so that they clutched the wings at the top of the chair, and he spread his legs wide.

  She followed suit.

  Then he just stared at her for a long, long time. Under his intense, carnal scrutiny, the fine hairs rose to attention all over her body. Her nipples became hard, aching points, pressing against the suddenly heavy weight of her sweater.

  Between her legs, hot liquid pooled in the swelling folds. With just a look, Joe made her want him... more than she'd ever wanted any other man.

  A moan escaped her parted lips.

  He moaned, too, in reaction, a low, male sound of pure temptation.

  She thought he would smile then, his ego appeased that he had reduced her to this pathetic state with a mere stare... but he did not. Instead he held her gaze, communicating some seemingly serious message. Then he said, "I have wanted you from first time I set eyes on you."

  "Oh," was the only response she could come up with. What a perfect thing for him to say! Had he sensed her need to hear those words... to justify her hair-trigger arousal?

  "When I look at you, I want to make fierce love with you... to teach you with my callused hands and hard staff not to tease a fighting man."

  Merciful heavens! She was picturing all the wonderful things those rough palms could do to her soft skin... how his hardness would feel inside her. A thrum of stimulation rippled through her and lodged between her legs like a sweet burn.

  "I never teased—" she started to say.

  He shook his head to stop her protests. "At the same time that I yearn for savage bedplay with you, I yearn as well for gentler things. Your head upon my chest. Our fingers laced. Soft kisses. Whispered words."

  Maggie's heart felt as if it were ballooning inside her, and would surely burst with the pure joy of his declaration. Did he realize just what he was saying?

  "These things frighten me, Mag-he," he confessed. "I am much more at ease with lust, you know."

  She nodded, understanding perfectly.

  "Arch your chest for me, Mag-he," he entreated.

  She did. Without glancing down, she knew that her nipples were hard pebbles, clearly delineated by the thin knit of her sweater. And she did not care. For once in her life she was glad—very glad—that these overt signs of her sensuality were there for his enjoyment.

  "Oh, Mag-he," he said with a long sigh. "Do you know how much I want to suckle you? I would take your breasts deep into my mouth and draw on your nipples till you cried out for release. I would worship your breasts for a long, long time."

  She moaned aloud and gripped the chair wings tighter, arching her breasts out even farther so that the throbbing tips were caressed by the coarse threads of her sweater.

  "Let us put an end to this delicious agony," he said in a voice choked with emotion. Maggie could see that he was as excited as she was. Joe took one hand off the back of his chair and laid it over the ridge in his pants. With a jerk of his head, he indicated that he wanted her to do the same.

  "Find the bud of your woman-pleasure and stroke it so," he instructed as he ran his fingertips up and down his erection.

  To her amazement, she did just as he wanted, and experienced no shame—just a glorious, spasming orgasm as she writhed on her chair under her own touch. As much satisfaction as she received, though, the greatest thing was watching Joe rear his head back, the cords in his neck standing out, and squeeze the chair arms with white knuckles as he rode his climax.

  As Maggie's senses floated back to earth, she discovered something new: it was possible to have sex without physical contact from a lover.

  And she could only wonder about something else: if this man could melt her bones and heat her blood and make her hormones hum with just this, what would it be like to actually make love with him?

  Love with a Viking was getting harder and harder to resist.

  On Friday night, Maggie had taken a bubble bath and donned her red silk robe.

  Barefooted, she rushed downstairs to turn off the warming oven. She'd prepared a nice dinner, which she didn't want to dry out.

  Joe still wasn't home. After working in the Rainbow facilities all afternoon, he had gone to a gym with Steve to experience something new to him: working out.

  Joe claimed
that everyday work for a Viking soldier was "working out." Still, he'd accepted Steve's invitation.

  Just then she heard a car pull up outside, then leave, followed by the sound of a key in the door. She went into the hallway, waiting.

  He entered and gazed at her for a long moment. As he hung his jacket in the closet, his movements slowed. He was clearly perplexed. "Where are the girls? I do not hear the Em-tee-vee blaring."

  "Their grandparents arrived suddenly this afternoon... Judd's mother and father. Since the girls won't be staying with them over Christmas this year, Jack and Martha wanted them to come back to the farm for a visit."

  "A visit?" he asked. "How long a visit?"

  "The weekend."

  "The weekend," he repeated. It took only an instant for understanding to dawn.

  "And you left me sitting in a gym, bi-sigh-cling myself to mind numbing boredom? Are you daft, lady?" Then the slow grin she loved so much began to creep across his lips. "What are you wearing under that wicked garment, wench?"

  "A belly-button ring."

  "And?"

  Then it was she who gave him a slow grin.

  She saw his Adam's apple move... once, twice, three times, as if he tried and was unable to swallow. Finally he said, "No."

  "No?" she gasped out.

  "No, you are not going to control this situation, as you have all others in your life." He continued to stare at her casually, as if she hadn't just offered herself to him, with a huge dollop of sexual promise.

  "You don't want... I thought you wanted to make love with me." Oh, how humiliating! She wished the slate tiles of the foyer would just open up and swallow her whole.

  With a tsk-tsk of disgust, he pulled his T-shirt out of his low-slung sweatpants, and over his hair, which hung in a single braid down his back, still damp from a shower at the gym. Then he tossed the shirt to the floor, slicing her with a disbelieving look. "Are you serious, wench? Of course I want you. I want you so much my teeth ache and my loins tremble. Thor's toenails! I can scarce breathe."