Loving on Borrowed Time - Lovers Leap 1

by Olivia Cunning

  They entered a long, wooden structure. Vikings apparently had a “thing” for all things long. Long boats, long swords, long houses. Long beards. Now, just what were they compensating for? She grinned at the thought, imagining Mr. Fondle would own a very expensive sports car if he’d lived in the future. Lara was carried to the rear of the building and dumped on the floor inside a small room.

  “Stay here. Punishment will not be kind if you disobey,” the warrior warned. Her look of fright must have assured him of her obedience, for he turned on his heel and strode away, closing the door behind him.

  Lara glanced around Reece’s “quarters”. Not much by way of furniture, but plenty of warm bed coverings. She dove into the pallet on the platform built into the wall and huddled beneath the blankets and hides, attempting to regain some body heat.

  Reece arrived some time later. She was certain he’d been busy doing his Vikingly duties. Whatever those might be.

  “Reece?” she called.

  “I thought you might be asleep,” he said, removing the wicked helmet from his head and running his hands through his dark brown hair. It was longer in the front than the back and had a habit of falling over his right eye. “Are you hungry? I think I’m expected at the party. You’ll probably have to serve me and keep me in mead. You think you can handle that?”

  “Reece, we have to do something to help those women escape.”

  He glanced at her and shook his head. He ground his teeth together and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “I’d like to, but we can’t risk it.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “We could change history forever. I know it seems cruel, but we can’t interfere with these events. It’s dangerous enough that we participate in them.”

  “So we just let them be used and abused by these horrible people.”

  “They aren’t so bad,” Reece told her, removing the fur that covered his shoulders and then the jacket underneath. The jacket was cloth, but had parallel rows of metal studs covering it. “Just doing what they must to survive. Now, slave girl, go find me some warm water so I can wash.”

  “What?”

  “Well, you don’t expect me to go get it, when I have a perfectly good slave to do my bidding,” he said, removing his undershirt now.

  She stared at his bare back, her mouth going dry. He turned to look at her. “Are you going to laze there in my bed all evening? If that’s the case, I might have to join you.”

  She crawled from the bed, heart thudding. “Well, I can’t have that!” she said. Her pants got tangled in the bedding which had tumbled to the floor. By the time she managed to free herself from the dastardly hides and blankets, her pants were at her ankles. Reece had the audacity to chuckle.

  “Get yourself a decent saucy-wench dress while you’re at it. I can’t have my gorgeous captive slave looking like a beggar.”

  She scowled at him.

  “You promised to play along,” he reminded her.

  “In public. We are not in public right now.”

  “We will be. The longer you stay in this room alone with me, the more obvious it will become that you are most certainly not a fair maiden.”

  He stalked across the room like a predator seeking his prey. He stopped before her and stared down at her hungrily. “On second thought, that’s exactly what I want them to think.”

  Lara squeaked when Reece’s arm circled her waist. He pulled her against him and leaned closer until she could see the green flecks in his hazel eyes. Her stupid body went limp, melting against his as she anticipated the kiss she craved. “You know if I kiss you now, I’m not going to stop,” he said. “Not until you call my name in that sexy way you do when you come really hard.”

  Her eyes ached as they widened to unnatural proportions. When she what? He didn’t really just say that did he? Heat crept up her neck and cheeks. She’d never been more embarrassed—or excited—in her entire life. How dare he speak to her like that?

  “I still remember how good it feels to be buried in your hot, tight pussy.” His tongue slid between his lips and brushed against her upper lip. She gasped, but didn’t move away. “Like a glove of warm, slick satin.”

  Pull away, she thought. Don’t let him talk to you like that. It’s indecent... And so sexy. Lara’s heart rate accelerated out of control and she knew she was panting but couldn’t help it. Nor could she help that her nipples were taut and her... pussy was hot, swollen and pulsating with need.

  “I’ll fuck you deep and hard, Lara,” he said, his voice low. “My fingers digging into your ass to hold you still so I can grind against your clit with each thrust.”

  Every nerve ending in her body was alive with excitement. She didn’t understand any of this. She wasn’t the type of woman who got all stupid and excited over a man and a few vulgar words. It just wasn’t her. Was it?

  He grinned at her. “Don’t look so mortified, sweetheart. It took me months to figure out that you like dirty talk. It really turns you on, doesn’t it?”

  “Does not!” She shoved him away, too flustered to be angry about the knowing chuckle he emitted.

  “Why don’t you go see if someone has something you can wear?” he said, as he continued undressing. “If you keep dropping those pants, I can’t be held accountable for trying to get in them.”

  She scrambled out of the room, holding up her pants with one hand as she fled the room. She wasn’t going because he told her to. Or because she was so aroused that she’d probably let him get into her pants with no protest. Or that he was getting naked and she so wanted to ogle every inch of him. She was fleeing his presence because she wanted to. Yeah.

  She closed the door behind her and went to find someone who looked like they knew what was going on. A tired-looking, middle-aged woman stood near the center of the main room, stirring a pot of stew over the fire. Along the walls of the longhouse were bunks built into the wall. Situated in front of the bunks were long, wooden tables. Some of the men were sitting on the bunks talking amongst themselves and enjoying enormous mugs of what Lara decided was mead.

  As Lara passed one of the bunks, she heard a loud grunt. She caught sight of a large, blond man rhythmically thrusting into the flushed woman beneath him before he grunted again and collapsed on top of her. They were having sex right out there in the open! No one seemed to notice but Lara. Wide-eyed, Lara diverted her gaze and made a beeline for the woman standing over the fire.

  “The chieftain would like some warm water so he can wash,” Lara said in perfect Norse, surprising herself again.

  “Well, I ain’t about to get it. I’m cooking here, if you can’t tell.”

  “I will get it. I just need to know how.”

  Lara glanced down at the interesting stew bubbling over the fire. Various roots and chunks of meat floated to the top and sank beneath the rich broth again as the woman stirred. It didn’t look very appetizing, but it smelled edible. Lara’s stomach growled. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she last ate. They’d been offered no sustenance except for a bit of water on the boat ride here.

  “Well, fastest way would be to grab a pot of snow and melt it over the fire, now wouldn’t it?”

  Lara realized the woman was insulting her intelligence, but she had no choice but to ask. “So where do I find a pot.”

  The woman nodded towards a wall near one of the bunks.

  “Thank you,” Lara said, “My name is Helga.” She hadn’t meant to say Helga. She’d meant to say Lara. She tried again. “Helga, my name is Helga.” Every time she tried to say Lara, Helga came out instead. “Helga. Helga. My name—”

  “Your name is Helga, I understand.”

  “No, my name is,” Lara gritted her teeth, concentrating very hard to say her real name, “Helga.”

  The woman gave Lara a very strange look, which she definitely deserved. With a frustrated huff, Lara gave up on niceties and went to collect a pot from the wall. She hurried to the end of the long house, tripping over the ballooning legs of her
pants. She pushed the heavy door open and stepped outside. At once, she realized she was missing something important. Shoes! She’d taken them off soon after climbing into Reece’s bed. It was freezing. She did a high-stepped march to a bank of snow next to the cleared walking path, scooped snow into the pot and high stepped it back into the building. It had been a long day. She knew she had lost her reasoning ability, but walking barefoot through the snow seemed a tad over the top. But not nearly as ridiculous as being unable to say your own name.

  “Lara. Lara. Lara,” she repeated under her breath on her way back to the fire. People were staring at her as she passed. Not that she blamed them. She could do this. She could tell the cranky, tired lady her real name. She set the pot of snow next to the fire and stood up confidently. “Helga!” she announced loudly.

  The woman shook her head.

  “Damn it,” Lara cried. “I give up. I can’t say Lara no matter how hard I try.” She glanced up at the woman. “I said it.”

  “You said what?” She was obviously getting annoyed.

  “My name.”

  “Helga?”

  “No, my real name. It’s Helga.” Lara stomped her foot angrily. “Helga.” She huffed out an annoyed breath. Forget it! The snow was starting to melt. “Eirick…” She’d tried to say Reece, but Eirick came out instead. “Eirrrrrick…”

  “What about Eirick?” the woman asked.

  “Eirick told me to find appropriate clothing.”

  “Ingrid,” the woman called to a young girl. “Bring this daft woman a dress to wear. She looks about Olga’s size.”

  “Yes, mum!”

  So she was labeled as daft? Well, she supposed it was fitting, the way she’d carried on about her name. What kind of lunatic tells someone her name twenty times? A few minutes later, the young girl brought Lara a woolen gown of deep blue.

  “This will look very pretty with your blonde hair,” the girl said. She handed the gown to her and scampered away before Lara could thank her.

  “Blonde hair?” Lara murmured, perplexed. She had brown hair, some reddish highlights, but in no way was she a blonde. She used the bottom of her linen shirt as a potholder as she picked up the pot of melted snow and glanced down at her reflection. Instead of her own familiar face, some beautiful blonde woman stared back at her. Lara screamed. She seemed to be doing that a lot today.

  Chapter 4

  Reece, aka Eirick, stormed out of his chambers, long sword in one hand, the look of a crazed warrior on his face.

  “What happened? I heard a scream,” he said.

  Lara looked up at him. Her eyes felt like they were about to pop out of her head. “It isn’t me.”

  “It damn well was you,” cranky, tired lady said. “She’s the one screaming and carrying on like a crazy person. She might be easy on the eyes, son, but she’s about as smart as this spoon of mine.” She brandished the spoon at Reece. “I know I told you to bring back a wife, but I was hoping you’d be smart enough to go for more than looks, Eirick. Heavens, what kind of grandchildren can I expect out of this match.”

  “Ah mother,” Reece said with a devilish grin. “She’ll settle down. I’m certain of it.”

  He lowered his sword and approached Lara, wrapping an arm around her back.

  “It isn’t me,” she said, shaking her head, still unable to comprehend what she’d seen in the water’s reflection. “It isn’t me.”

  “Come,” he said gently.

  Eirick’s mother was shaking her head sadly. “Fool men,” she said under her breath. “They’re all alike. Even my own son.”

  Reece ushered Lara into his room and closed the door. He took the pot of water from her and set it on a table.

  “What happened, Lara?”

  “You mean Helga.”

  “Helga?”

  “Tell me, Reece. When you look at me, do you see a beautiful blonde Norsewoman, or do you see the real me?”

  “I see the real you, of course. You see me, right? Not this Eirick dude?”

  “I see you,” she said. “You should have warned me that everyone else was seeing someone else. I made a complete ass out of myself.”

  Reece chuckled. “No, sweetheart, you made a complete ass out of Helga.”

  That made her feel a little better. Just a tiny bit. She smiled, and then laughed.

  “Well, Helga didn’t make a very good impression on her future mother-in-law.”

  Reece chuckled. “There’s nothing unusual about that,” he said. “Do you mind if I wash up?”

  Her eyes drifted over his hard muscled chest, sprinkled with dark chest hair. The tips of her breasts tautened, imagining those course hairs brushing against her sensitive nipples. She blinked hard and her attention shifted to the narrow, strip of hair that ran between his washboard abs and disappeared into the waistband of his pants. The ache centered between her thighs caught her off guard. Oh geez, she was picturing him above her again. Those narrow hips between her thighs. The secret in his pants thrusting deep into her body.

  “Of course not,” she breathed, somehow working enough brain cells to remember his question. “If you smell half as bad as your bed, you could use a bath.”

  “You want me.” He grinned at her.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She turned her back to him and examined the woolen gown she’d been given. It was quite simple—an A-line, floor length number with an empress waist, long-sleeves, and a straight-lined bodice.

  “Don’t forget I know you, Lara. I know that look. And baby, let me assure you that it is so good between us. You don’t have to play coy with me.”

  “Who’s playing? I don’t want you, okay?”

  “I also know all your spots,” he added.

  “I don’t have spots,” she said testily.

  He chuckled again. “Oh Reece,” he gasped, mocking her higher pitched voice. “Oh, yes. Right there. Don’t stop. Oh, faster, Reece. Faster. Oh, yes, that’s the spot. Yes. Yes!”

  “Stop that!” she demanded, turning her head to glare at him. “I know you’re making it up, because I never call out like that during sex.”

  “You do when you’re with me.”

  “Whatever!” She huffed and turned away again. He’s such a liar! She would never give herself over to passion so freely that she’d cry out like that. Her previous experiences with men had all been less than satisfying. If it weren’t for her trusty vibrator, she wouldn’t have known what an orgasm felt like.

  Lara pulled the baggie shirt off over her head and hurriedly slid into her new dress. She kicked the hideous pants off and smoothed her hands over the gown. It was a little itchy, but beat that ugly outfit she’d been wearing by a mile. She heard some splashing as Reece busied himself with washing. Rather than stand there and torture herself with imaginings of his wet skin, she headed for the door.

  “I think I should go help, um… your mother,” she said. “Try to repair some of the damage I’ve done to poor Helga’s reputation.”

  She chanced a glance at him. A mistake. He raked his fingers through his damp hair, tucking the unruly strands behind his ears. His eyes, usually covered by one stray lock or another bore into her intensely, hitting her with the force of a battering ram. Her knees wobbled.

  “You’re a knockout in that dress, Lara. I thank God those Vikings can’t see the real you. I’d have to bring Axe Junior to dinner to keep them at bay.”

  She was pleased with his compliment, but refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how he affected her. Good thing he wasn’t looking at her feet, or he would have seen her toes curl under.

  “Axe Junior?” she questioned.

  He pointed to the smaller of two axes hanging on the wall among a group of weapons, which included the long sword he’d brandished in the main hall. “Axe Junior. Axe Senior is too unwieldy to carry in polite company.” He pointed to the two handed axe below the small hand-axe.

  “No problems there, then. I don’t think these Vikings do…” she finger quoted do “…po
lite.”

  “You might be surprised. They’re rugged, but not barbaric.”

  “I saw two of them having sex, right out there in the open.”

  “Is that what has you so hot and bothered, sweetheart? Or was it because I made you wet by talking dirty to you.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Screw you, Jericho.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, you know I am.” He winked at her.

  She opened the door, refusing to look at him, least she get lost in his intense stare again. “You’re impossible.”

  She left the room, slamming the door halfway through his laugh. Lara spotted cranky, tired mother-in-law-to-be still standing over the fire in the center of the room. She was ladling out stew to a line of women each holding one or more empty bowls. The long house was very full now. All of the bunks were occupied by two or more Vikings. Women were seated among the men. Wives, she presumed. The slave women would drop off filled bowls of stew to those in attendance and collect more bowls before getting back in line. Lara followed their example. She retrieved two bowls from a table near the exit door and moved to the end of the line. She recognized the woman in front of her as the one who had been next to her on the long boat. She had an ugly bruise on her right cheek and kept her eyes downcast. Lara reminded herself of Reece’s warning about changing the past, but that didn’t make it any easier to see this. Maybe Helga had somehow helped her people escape and that was the fate of these mistreated women. Lara wanted to believe that with all her heart.

  The line moved quickly. When it was Lara’s turn, cranky, tired, mother-in-law-to-be paused. “I need a break,” she said, handing the spoon to Lara. “You take over.” She took the bowls out of Lara’s hands and stood waiting for Lara to serve the stew. Lara was very careful in ladling the stew into the bowls. She worked hard at ignoring her rumbling stomach. Even though this stew looked more like a pot of grease with some chunks of meat and what might be vegetables or roots or sticks thrown in, Lara was willing to forgo her rule about only eating things she could readily identify.