Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 03]

by The Very Virile Viking

  Kirsten was with Grandma, pruning and spraying her prize collection of one hundred species of rosebushes. Grandma—God bless her soul!—had sneaked off to have a cigarette in the potting shed, but Kirsten had found her there and urged her to show her the roses. Grandma might kick the habit yet…and all because of these children.

  Torolf was having great fun mowing the lawns with a tractor, under Juan’s tutelage. The wildflowers that were permitted to grow in the grass got cut off in the process, which was a shame, but they would soon grow back.

  Njal and Hamr had been given the ignominious task of picking up Jow’s poop in the lawn with small trowels and buckets before Torolf’s mowing. Jow had helped them, running to each of the piles and barking loudly. The two rascals had been given that job as punishment because Magnus had caught them smoking one of Grandma’s cigarettes that afternoon.

  Now, the poop patrol completed, the two boys—along with Storvald and Jogeir—were playing in the shallow pond, doing more splashing than swimming.

  She eased off the swing and went over to stand beside Magnus. His hands were crossed behind his neck. His feet were bare and planted firmly in the grass, his knees raised. He wore a plain black T-shirt and blue jeans. His hair, which appeared dark blond today in the sun, was held back off his face with a rubber band.

  “Do you like what you see?” Magnus asked, turning his head on his hands to look at her.

  Oh, yeah! “I was just checking out your new duds. You’ve adapted to our attire already. Are you sure you haven’t worn jeans and T-shirts before?” She forced herself to look at his face, and not his tight jeans. All those muscles and bulges. Jeesh!

  He arched his eyebrows at her, not fooled by her diversionary tactics. “Are you staring at my big ears?”

  Nope. It’s that other big part that draws my attention, honey. “No, I’m not staring at your ears. For heaven’s sake, why would I?”

  “They are my one shortcoming,” he confessed dolefully.

  He was actually serious. The fool!

  “From the time I was a youthling, my brothers teased me about my big ears. Do you mind overmuch?”

  “Actually, I think they’re rather endearing.”

  “Endearing ears? I like that,” he said, and winked at her.

  Good Lord, is my heart really pumping so fast just because of a wink? Well, not any wink. I must remember how much I dislike this brute. I must, must, must.

  “Why do you have your hand over your heart?” he inquired in a too-silky voice.

  He knew. The brute knew what effect he had on her.

  Then she recalled something else he’d said. “Your big ears are your only shortcoming? My, my! You can’t say that you suffer a humility problem, can you?”

  “Are you making jest of me, m’lady?” he asked, and, quick as a wink, he grabbed her ankle and pulled her down beside him, hard on her rump, then flat on her back.

  “Good work, Father,” Hamr yelled from the pond.

  “Go dunk your head, Hamr,” his father yelled back.

  “Jogeir gave me a wedgie in the pond,” Njal complained.

  “What is a wedgie?” Magnus wanted to know.

  “I did not,” Jogeir said, and shoved Njal underwater, which caused Njal to pull him under, too. They both came up laughing.

  Shaking her head at all the unfamiliar commotion, Angela raised herself on her elbows. Lida noticed her just then and rushed up like a tiny Energizer bunny, gurgling, “Goo, goo, goo,” and handed her a bunch of dandelions mixed with pink daisies, all smushed together.

  “Oh, Lida, how pretty!” she cooed. “Can I give you a thank-you kiss?”

  The precious darling leaned her cheek forward for the thank-you kiss, a trick Magnus had been teaching her today—probably to remind Angela of his own thank-you kiss the night before.

  She gave him a quick sideways glance. Uh-oh! She saw the gleam in his eyes, the way his gaze lingered on her lips, then made a slow perusal of her body down to her breasts, then back to her lips again. Yep, he’s remembering the same thing I am.

  No way was she waiting for him to bring it up. “Darrell called a bit ago. He wants to know if you’ve had a chance to read the script he express-mailed to you today.”

  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, does 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 darn 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 say
ing 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.”