All Fired Up

by Kristen Painter

  Calleigh answered for him. “He’ll have the same thing.”

  “Coming up.” The waitress sheathed her pen in her hair helmet and headed for the counter.

  Another sip of coffee and Calleigh started to feel human again. “Where are you from, exactly?”

  “I am a Norseman.” His face glowed with pride.

  “So you’re Norse? Doesn’t explain why you smell like cinnamon.” Did he taste like it, too?

  “What?” He canted his head to the side.

  “Never mind. So you’re Norwegian.” Who knew the Norse were such hotties?

  He shrugged. “Your history names my people as Vikings.”

  “You’re a Viking? Uh-huh. Sure, that makes sense. I’m having breakfast with a Viking. That’s perfectly normal.” No wonder he looked like he belonged on the cover of a romance novel. “Save the raping and pillaging until after we’re done eating, will you?”

  His eyes narrowed, his expression deadly serious. “I was chieftain of my clan as was my da before me. I am a man of honor.”

  “If you’re the chieftain, shouldn’t you be wearing one of those helmets with the horns?”

  Another scowl crossed his face. “I have never in my life worn such a thing.”

  By the way he clenched his fork, she decided to change the subject. “Forget the helmet. Explain this phoenix thing to me.”

  “This meal house is not the right place for such a conversation.”

  “Really? Top secret stuff, huh?” She fiddled with the paper napkin, twisting the edge into a little point.

  “You are jesting with me, but I am serious.”

  “All right, fine. We’ll talk about it later.” She sighed. “I take it you’ll be following me home?”

  “Aye.” He nodded, suddenly pleased. “You are smarter than a horse.”

  “If that’s supposed to be a compliment, you might want to rethink it.” Despite the odd remark, she liked that he was smiling again. His smile made her feel a little fluttery. Or maybe it was the hangover.

  A few minutes later, the waitress returned with two white china plates, heavy with greasy goodness. Calleigh’s mouth watered at the slightly burnt, oniony aroma of the fried potatoes.

  She dug into the home fries. Crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside and greasy all over, just the way she liked them.

  Alrik pointed at his plate. “Tell me this name again?”

  “That’s an omelet. Pretty basic, just eggs and cheese.”

  He took a small bite, then filled his fork for a second helping. “This is very good.”

  “Unless it’s overcooked, omelets are kind of hard to mess up.”

  “And these?” He pointed again.

  “Those are called home fries. Potatoes fried with onions.”

  He tasted them. “I have had potatoes. These are also good.”

  “Yeah, they are. They’re one of the reasons I come here, actually.”

  Spearing one half of his cream cheese smeared bagel on the tines of his fork, he rested an elbow on the table and studied the bread. “What is this?”

  She picked up her half with her fingers and planted her elbow on the table as well. “It’s called a bagel. This one has cinnamon and raisins in it. The white stuff is called cream cheese and you don’t eat it with a fork.”

  Taking a bite to demonstrate, she watched as he mimicked her. Cream cheese all over his mouth, his eyes went wide. He chewed with relish and finally swallowed. “This is the best thing I have ever eaten. This spiced bread is delicious.”

  The half was gone in three bites. He picked up the remaining half, about to devour it, then stopped. “You are not eating yours. I will eat it for you.”

  “Just ‘cause I’m not eating it right now doesn’t mean I’m not going to. Eat your own. I’ll buy some to take home.”

  “There is more of this round bread to be had?”

  “Tons. And these aren’t even the really good ones. You should try the ones from Zabar’s.”

  “We will go to this Zabar today and barter with him for more of these spiced breads.”

  “Um, one—we aren’t going anywhere else today, two—Zabar’s is a store not a man, and three—they’re bagels, not spiced breads.”

  “You are a difficult woman. Is that why you do not have a husband?”

  She almost choked on the home fries. “I am not difficult. And I don’t need a husband. I almost had one, but that’s none of your business.”

  “Perhaps that is why I am here.”

  “What? Why?” She put her fork down.

  “To find you a husband. A woman of your age should be married by now.”

  Temper piqued, she stared at him. “Of my age? You are out of your ever-loving mind, you know that? To quote my mother, you are completely off your nut.”

  “What does this mean?”

  She glared at him. “I am no longer talking to you.”

  “But you just spoke.”

  “I meant after that.”

  “And yet, you speak again.”

  “Argh! Men!” Stabbing chunks of potato until her fork was full, she stuffed the food into her mouth and chewed. How dare he. He had no idea what had happened in her life. If Brad hadn’t worked at the law firm that had handled her parent’s estate, she wouldn’t even have met him. How was she supposed to have a social life when she had spent almost every waking moment keeping her sick mother company, paying her mother’s bills, taking care of her parent’s house, and trying to keep the dance studio going?

  The sooner she got rid of this male chauvinist Viking, the better.

  ***

  Alrik watched as Calleigh jammed the key into the lock, then shoved through the door to her home. She had yet to utter a word to him. Nothing like the women he had encountered in past centuries, this one had the spark of the Valkyrja in her. The thought sent sparks of a different kind skittering down his spine.

  He put the rain shield in the corner, along with the sack of clothes, and followed her into the kitchen. She threw the brown paper pouch of spiced bread onto the counter. Bagels, he reminded himself.

  She turned to leave and almost ran into him. He smiled, trying to think of ways to get her to speak. Glaring but still soundless, she swerved around him.

  The cat sat by a bowl, meowing. “Your animal is hungry.”

  Another lethal glare shot in his direction. She snatched something from a cabinet, tossed it at him then disappeared around the corner. He caught the squat tin and studied it. The picture of a cat on it did not resemble her cat. He frowned and set the tin on the counter.

  He took a bagel from the sack and broke off a piece, bending down as he offered it to the little animal. “Here, cat. Here is something good.” He shifted. The trousers she had bought him bound his loins in a most uncomfortable way.

  The cat sniffed the bread, licked it, then chomped down on the morsel and ran off.

  “What did you just feed him?” Calleigh peered around the wall, a fire in her eyes that warmed his belly.

  She was talking to him again. He stood up and smiled. “Spiced…I mean, bagel.”

  “You can’t give Snickers cinnamon raisin bagels. What do you think he is, a little kid in a cat costume? What was wrong with the food I gave you?”

  “What food?”

  “This!” She grabbed the tin off the counter and jabbed it into the air so that the animal was in front of his face.

  “That cat does not look like your cat.” Even he could see that. Did she think him simple?

  A slip of a smile turned the corners of her mouth and then it was gone. She struggled to stay angry.

  “It doesn’t have to be the same cat.” She rolled her eyes again, but her tone was softer.

  “You are speaking to me. Does that mean you are no longer angry with me?” Odin’s spear, she was fair. Thor would have traded his hammer for a lass this comely. Such thick locks to trail across his skin, such delicate hands made to please.

  His thoughts worsened the already
wretched fit of the trousers she insisted he wear. Shifting again, he tried to adjust the fabric’s rough restraints without her noticing. Valhalla’s halls must be ringing with Freya’s laughter.

  Calleigh’s anger disappeared like fruit loops at a toddler convention. “Yes, I’m done being mad at you. For now.”

  Alrik smiled, but not in Brad’s I-told-you-it-would-be-better-my-way kind of smile. The Viking’s smile was a gentle thank you.

  “I did not mean to feed your animal something wrong.” He pulled at his jeans, fidgeting with the waistband.

  “I know you didn’t. And his name is Snickers, like the candy bar. Anyway, you didn’t hurt him. I just try not to give him people food. He’s spoiled enough as it is.”

  “What is a candy bar?”

  “Heaven in a wrapper. It’s chocolate and nuts and caramel. Very yummy.”

  “You named your cat after a sweet?”

  “I have a weakness for chocolate, what can I say?” She shrugged.

  He nodded and started unbuttoning his jeans.

  “What are you doing?”

  “These trousers are binding me. They are not good. I will wear the blue fabric you gave me instead.”

  Based on the image blazing through her brain, she knew she must be blushing. “It’s partially my fault. I forgot to buy you underwear. Washing the jeans would probably help, too.”

  “What does this under-wear do?”

  Lovely. What’s next? The birds and the bees? “Underwear goes on between your…skin and your clothes. It would help make your jeans more comfortable.”

  He plucked at his pants. “These are jeans?”

  “Yes.”

  “I cannot wear these jeans any longer.” He unzipped them.

  “Stop!” She put her hands up and looked away. “You can’t just strip down in the kitchen.”

  “Then which room may I strip down in?”

  “That’s not what I meant. You can’t just take your clothes off and walk around naked.”

  One dark brow shot up. “Why not?”

  Yeah, why not? Her hands went to her hips. Time to focus. She looked him in the eyes. “Because you’re not two, that’s why. Listen, I’ll wash your stuff but you have to change in the bathroom and put the sweatpants back on, understand?”

  He gave her an amused look.

  “I know, I’m a difficult woman. Go change and then you can explain this phoenix thing, okay?”

  When he returned bare-chested in the too-tight sweats, conversation was the last thing on Calleigh’s mind. Mercy, the man infected her blood. Was it normal to salivate at the sight of bare skin? Her body usually reserved that reaction for something sugary. Although the idea of his skin and her mouth didn’t seem like a bad combination. Focus!

  She took the jeans and sweatshirt from him. They were still warm. “I’ll stick these in the washer and then we’ll talk.”

  “Aye.” He moved to let her by, but she stepped in the same direction, bringing them chest to chest.

  “I was…the washer…that way.” She pointed toward the laundry closet. His spicy scent muddled her thoughts.

  His large hands cupped the sides of her face, his fingers threading through her hair. She gasped at the unexpected touch. The warmth of his hands embroidered her skin with goose bumps.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, not really caring so long as he kept touching her.

  “I am looking at you, Calleigh lass.” His cinnamon-scented breath heated her cheeks.

  “Why?” The word came out as a sigh.

  “You are not such a difficult woman, I think.” He bent his head closer. His glacier blue eyes seemed to glow.

  She might sink to the floor and float to the ceiling all at the same time. Breathe, Cal, breathe. He’s just a man like any other.

  Yeah, right.

  Chapter Four

  His thumbpads grazed her cheekbones, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The thoughts rushing through her brain—he’s going to kiss me-he’s going to kiss me—burned away in a flood of heat that took her breath and melted her senses.

  Calleigh closed her eyes and waited for the first touch of his lips against hers. Would he taste like the cinnamon that scented his skin?

  His hands left her face, and he exhaled. “So now we talk.”

  What? No kiss? She opened her eyes and looked away before mumbling her reply. “Oh. Yeah, okay.”

  Cool air nipped at the warm skin where his hands had just been but did nothing to cool the flush of embarrassment now rising in her cheeks. Disappointment wrapped her like a well-worn shawl. Difficult or not, she wasn’t getting kissed. What had she done wrong? Had she totally misinterpreted that moment?

  Fool. Standing there with her head tipped back and her eyes closed. It’s no wonder she couldn’t keep a man. How had she gotten one in the first place? Over-eager didn’t rank as a big turn-on. The need to get away got her moving.

  She brushed past him and yanked open the bi-fold laundry doors. A lint brush tumbled off the shelf and clattered against the metal lid of the washer. She threw it back up on the shelf and set the wash cycle. She stuffed his clothes in the tub, added some detergent and slammed the lid. Maybe she was jinxed. Maybe there was some sort of Irish curse hanging over her. Maybe she was just destined to be the oldest living virgin in Brooklyn. Or New York. Or possibly the entire United States.

  With a groan of self-loathing, she plopped down onto the sofa. From beneath her lashes, she watched him settle into the leather club chair across from her. She started to tell him that was Snickers’ usual spot then stopped. So what if he got cat hair all over his butt.

  A lock of hair fell into his eyes. He swept the offending strand out of his face. “You know I am a Phoenix and that I have three changes to grant you.”

  “Yes.” Her fingers curled. Was his hair as soft as it looked? Brad’s was so short there wasn’t much to run her fingers through. Not that he liked having his hair messed up anyway.

  “These changes are entirely up to you. You may tell me what your first change is as soon as you are ready. After I make the change, you have three days to decide if you want to keep the change or discard it.”

  “So I really only get one change, I just have three chances to make it right?” She rubbed her chin, considering all the screw-ups in her life she wanted to do over. Boy, that was a long list. On the other hand, she could ignore the mistakes and be happily married and have a house full of kids. The possibilities spun through her head.

  “Nay.” He tapped his fingers on the nail heads decorating the arms of the chair. “You may keep the first one and still make another. But you only have three and you must use them all.”

  “Okay, that’s pretty easy to understand.”

  He opened his mouth to speak but shut it, apparently changing his mind.

  “Let me guess, I’m smarter than a horse?” But not smart enough to figure out you weren’t trying to kiss me. She raised her eyebrows and waited for an answer.

  He smirked, and she guessed she’d at least partially read his mind. “I was not going to say that again.”

  She grinned despite the twinges of embarrassment still pricking her. He didn’t seem to be dwelling on it so why should she? “It’s okay. I think you meant it as a compliment.”

  He nodded, looking relieved. “I did. What else do you wish to know?”

  What you taste like. She twisted sideways and wiggled her toes into the space between the cushions. Stop it, Cal. He doesn’t want to kiss you. “I don’t really understand the whole Phoenix thing. I mean, if you’re a Viking, how are you also a Phoenix? How come I’ve never heard of Phoenixes except as mythical birds? Is there some head Phoenix you work for? Like some big Phoenix boss?”

  Sitting back, he didn’t respond immediately, but stared at the floor as if thinking.

  “I’m sorry for all the questions,” she said. “You must get sick of explaining this to every new person that comes across your talisman.”

  He lo
oked up. “Nay. In truth, the charge who does not know what I am about is rare. But then most do not summon me by fire. I am just searching for the right words, fair eyes.”

  Fair eyes. She could get used to that. Maybe he didn’t want to kiss her, but he must like her a little.

  He leaned forward with his forearms on his knees and his hands clasped. “I work for the goddess, Freya. She is the goddess of love but she also controls men’s destinies, to a certain point.”

  The goddess of love? This was getting good. “I thought Aphrodite was the goddess of love?” she asked.

  “Aphrodite, Venus, Ishtar.” He shrugged. “She is known by many names to many different people.”

  She untucked her feet from between the cushions. “But what does the goddess of love have to do with changing your life?”

  “There are many types of love. Love of money, love of power, love of self. She controls all these things.”

  “I take it you aren’t the only Phoenix. So why haven’t I heard about this before?”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Have you heard of Cupid?”

  “The fat little diapered cherub who flies around shooting people with arrows?” The mental image caused her to grin.

  Alrik laughed, his eyes sparkling. “He cares little for that description, I promise you. And he looks nothing like that. Eros, as he prefers, was the first Phoenix ever transformed.”

  “So you were transformed also?” She put her feet on the floor and scooted to the edge of the couch.

  “Aye, from chieftain to Phoenix. But in my heart,” he thumped his chest, “I will always be chieftain.”

  “Speaking of hearts, that’s the nastiest scar I’ve ever seen. How did you live through that?”

  He glanced down at the jagged furrow across his upper chest. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and his mouth took on a wretched twist.

  Calleigh tucked her feet back underneath her. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked.

  When he looked back at her, his eyes were cold and his voice exact. “I did not.”

  Calleigh straightened as a sudden frost settled over her. “But that means…”

  He shoved to his feet and walked to the front windows, staring out into the rainy afternoon. “Aye. It means what you think.”