The Viking Wants Forever

by Koko Brown

  Reese wasn’t a beer drinker, equating the alcoholic beverage to dragon piss, but she couldn’t turn down a drink sporting the same name.

  As she picked up her glass, Mack handed Eirik a frosted mug. “Your mead, my lord.”

  Feeling all eyes were on her, Reese took a sip.

  “What do you think?” Bo asked.

  “Too sweet?” Mack offered.

  Eirik regarded her silently.

  “It’s actually...pretty good,” she admitted. “And I don’t like beer.”

  Both Mack and Bo perked up. Eyes twinkling, Reese could see the questions forming in their heads, and Eirik must have seen the storm brewing as well.

  “She’s not here to perfect our drafts.” He touched her lower back, gently nudging her away from the bar. “Let’s find someplace with less interruptions.”

  Instead of sitting at one of the tall pub tables in the back, he steered her around the bar to a side door. “We can talk on the terrace.” he hesitated on the bottom rung. “That’s if you feel comfortable.”

  “I rode on my first motorcycle. Accepted a drink from a stranger. Sort of late to be uncomfortable, don’t you think?”

  “Ladies first,” he answered with a seductive smile.

  But it wasn’t really ladies first as he took the stairs beside her. With each step, Reese could feel her nipples grow taut against the thin cotton of her white linen blouse and an unrelenting ache between her legs.

  “Watch that cape. We wouldn’t want you to fall!” Bo called. And then Reese heard another burst of laughter.

  Eirik seemed to take their teasing in stride. At the top of the landing, he unlocked a metal plated door, and then stepped back, allowing her to precede him into a narrow hallway. The same blond wood from below ran the length of the passageway. Recessed lighting illuminated the small corridor, and added warmth to the sparse white walls. Instead of stopping, they turned the corner, and climbed another flight. The third floor was a parallel image of the second.

  “More locked doors.” she asked when he slipped a key in the double door.

  “One of our patrons crawled into Bo’s bed...uninvited.”

  Poor girl, Reese empathized. After a couple drinks, crawling into Eirik’s bed seemed like a natural progression.

  He threw open the doors and Reese stood in the doorway a moment, taking it all in.

  “Home sweet home,” he said with pride, arms outstretched.

  The sun streamed through numerous windows, bathing the blond wood floors. Wood furniture with clean lines shared the open design with a multitude of Viking artifacts, arranged on shelves or hanging from the walls.

  “There isn’t a bad view in this place,” she said, turning slowly. To the east was a mouth- dropping view of the Indian River. To the south, west and north, downtown historic Eau Gallie.

  “We fought over the top floor.” He grinned. “I always win.”

  “I’m sure,” Reese said, her tone oddly hushed. “I can just imagine you leading a group of men into battle or a raid, cracking heads open along the way.”

  Looking startled by her statement, he murmured, “I’ve cracked my share.” He stared at her a moment, and then he shuttered his expression. “I need to change into something less comical.” He pointed at the sliding-glass door. “The terrace is there. You can hang out there until I return.”

  “Take your time,” Reese called after him. She’d use the time alone to reign in this awful case of nervousness and inexplicably acute, intense desire. For there was no explanation for the ravenous, toe-curling need he incited in her. She had very few experiences to measure this overwhelming craving to kiss him and much more.

  Reese nibbled on the pad of her thumb. Would this brief respite be enough to quench this tangible yearning biting at her belly? Probably not. More like a lifetime, she figured. Outside of her fleeting dreams, she’d never met a man like Eirik Sigurdsson.

  * * * * *

  Eirik tipped his head back and downed the contents of his mug, and then set it down on the nightstand. As soon as he changed clothes he would grab another bottle from the mini-cellar in the kitchen. His current buzz was barely noteworthy, and definitely not enough to ease the rise and ebb of emotions he’d suffered the moment he rolled from his bed this morning.

  In quick order, he ripped the cape from his shoulders and let it fall at his feet. The customized costume followed. Eyeing the rumpled material, Eirik shook his head. To think he’d worn the ridiculous get-up to impress her.

  Cosplay she’d called it. “You’ll be the object of my deepest desire,” she’d said, while palming his cock. “No other man could compare,” she’d whispered, working his responsive flesh. She’d almost succeeded in tempting him, but driven by ego he’d refused. He’d been a mighty jarl, playing dress up was for children. He’d lose the respect of his men. And today he’d worn a costume in front of hundreds of strangers. Chuckling, Eirik stepped into a pair of olive green cargo shorts. What a difference reincarnation and time travel can make.

  Eirik sat down on the bed. After two long years, and a fair share of trials and tribulations, she was finally in the other room. Freya gave him life and even deposited him within vicinity of her, in a place called Brevard County, Florida. Beyond that, she’d been hands off.

  As he slipped a Longship t-shirt over his head, Eirik remembered those first few months. He’d been like a babe thrust into a new world. Food and shelter had come easily. Freya had gifted him with half the treasure from his funeral pyre. The other half she kept as tribute.

  Too bad Freya hadn’t prepared him for how much the world had changed. Technology, not learning a new language nor attaining basic necessities, had proved to be the biggest challenge. Initially, unable to cope with a daily overload of information, he’d opted to live in the woods. Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one who’d checked out. During those weeks of self-imposed exile, he’d stumbled across several homeless camps. He used this interaction with other humans, in a seemingly sheltered environment, to become acclimated with his new world. Of course, there were still things that spooked him like TV, computers, cell phones and Twinkies. How did they get the cream inside?

  A quick study, he’d traded in a lean-to for a beachside studio apartment. He’d only had the keys a week when he finally spotted Reese at an outdoor cafe. Somewhat overzealous, he ran across a six-lane highway but wound up in the gutter. Eirik smiled at the memory. He’d been so frightened of losing her again, he’d demanded she hold his hand.

  Speaking of memories, Reese’s memory or lack thereof, was driving him mad. One moment, he thought she remembered him, and his heart soared. And the very next moment with nary a sign of recognition, she dashed his hopes. Still the rollercoaster ride, as Bo would call it, was better than the pain that shot through him when he’d lost her for what he’d believed forever that day in the cave. Now that he had a second chance, he would withstand anything to win her heart again.

  Eirik stood. No time like the present.

  He found her on the terrace, curled up in the hammock, nose in a book. He’d bought the swing hoping one day it would hold them both. Heart beating so loudly the sound hammered in his ears, he wanted to say, “Stay here with me always.” This image of her, the emotions she incited in him were so unique, so profound, and so raw they almost knocked him to his knees.

  Unable to let this moment pass, he said, “You’re in my favorite spot. Do you mind sharing?” Startled, she glanced up. He gazed into her golden brown eyes, and the compulsion to wrap his hand behind her neck, pull her close for a kiss was so strong he shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “Sort of hard to say no when I’ve pilfered your stuff,” she said, holding up a book.

  “Take my name, steal my books. You’re becoming even more indebted to me.”

  Her deep-throated laughter echoed around them, teased his senses like wind ruffling a ship’s sails. Balls tightening and needing to put some distance between them, Eirik eased onto the opposite end of the hammoc
k. When it dipped and swayed precariously, her eyes widened.

  “It won’t break?” she asked, her voice lilting with uncertainty.

  Eirik shook his head. “I made sure it would support two people.”

  “For entertaining the ladies?”

  “Only you,” he said with a grin, as if any woman could compare with her.

  Her brown eyes widened appreciably as if charmed by his confession, and then she chuckled. “You’re smooth...real smooth,” she conceded, waggling a finger at him. Eyes twinkling, she sat back, giving him a glimpse of the book in her hand: The Mighty Kings of Norway.

  “Is your next hero a king?”

  “More like villain. Cisco says we should up the ante.” Eirik noted the excitement in her voice. “He thinks we should pit Eirik against someone formidable but off the battlefield.” He also noticed she held her co-collaborator’s opinion in high regard. Was their partnership only professional? Had he taken too much time to find her? Had she given her heart to someone else? She’d said there was no one, but hadn’t another woman played him false?

  “King Haakon was a manipulating pig. So he’s perfect,” she crowed.

  “Excuse me, who did you say?” While struggling with the fervent desire to bash someone’s head in, he’d temporarily blocked her out.

  “King Haakon.” She placed the book between them. “Hated by his people, they refused to fight for him against an invasion by Olaf Tryggvason. With no support, and Olaf on his trail, Haakon hid in a pig sty with his slave, Tormod Kark. While in hiding, Tormod slit his throat.”

  “Just desserts,” Eirik whispered, barely glancing at the excerpt. He’d purposely bought the book several months ago to learn his half-brother’s fate. Remembering his personal library, he asked, “If you ever need to do any research on the era, I have a few books you might be interested in.”

  “If they’re anything like that museum in there,” she jabbed her thumb at the sliding doors, “then yes, I’m very interested.”

  Exhilarated he’d given her another reason to return, Eirik quickly disentangled himself from the hammock. In quick order, he helped her to her feet as well.

  “It’s not much,” he warned, when they stood in front of the pocket doors leading to his bedroom, “my collection is nowhere close to a library.”

  With her close on his heels, he pushed back the bedroom doors.

  Reese, mouth agape, padded into the room. She stopped briefly to examine one of the numerous piles of books stacked at the foot of his bed. “It’s not much,” she mocked, her fingers trailing over a worn cover. “It’s safe to say you have more than a passing curiosity for Viking history.” Hands on her hips, she eyed the four floor-to-ceiling bookcases framing his bed. Although he was happy she was impressed with his book collection, all Eirik could think about was her proximity to his bed.

  Cock hardening, Eirik thrust his hands in his pockets.

  “I—I’m looking for information on my family, particularly my...one of my ancestors, Thoren Sigurdsson,” he said softly. Even if Haakon had received his comeuppance, he still could’ve harmed his family for not marrying Ivar’s daughter. Even now he was waiting on a genealogist to return Bo’s inquiry.

  She plucked a book from the shelf. “I guess I will be indebted to you until the day I die.”

  “I’d like that,” he instantly replied.

  Her gaze swiveled to his, and her eyes held his for a hot instant. “At least you’re consistent,” she murmured as she re-shelved the book, breaking the moment between them.

  He walked toward her, continued to dog her steps when he said, “I would not be where I am today without being relentless in everything I pursue.”

  She swiveled around and he zeroed in on the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Remembering her chocolate-dipped nipples, and with the thought of their sweet taste etched in his memory, he stepped even closer. So close, her felt her warm breathy exhale against his chest.

  “Y—you’re in my personal space,” she gushed.

  Noting she didn’t out right reject him he spoke softly, “I want to be closer.”

  The blare of a car horn startled them both.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Talking about bad timing! Reese trekked back through Eirik’s apartment to the terrace.

  “Hey, Square Peg!” Allen called up to her. Riding shotgun, he was hanging out the passenger side window of Cisco’s SUV. His gaze suddenly narrowed, and she knew Eirik stood behind her.

  Before things turned ugly, Allen didn’t have a filter, she said, “I’ll be right down, guys.”

  Reese turned around and crashed into a wall of flesh. Her eyes traveled up and up, her mouth watering over the way his t-shirt hugged his body. She needed to put some distance between them or she’d end up doing something extremely slutty.

  “I would have taken you home.”

  “They were going crazy wondering where I was, and...and...they twisted my arm.” Why do I feel so guilty about leaving him?

  Hands in his pockets, he stepped back. “The library is always open to you.”

  Celeste blinked up at him. Why didn’t he stop her from leaving? She inwardly raged. The bigger question, why did she want him to? They were strangers and lest she forget, he kidnapped her.

  “It’s been awesome,” she said with very little enthusiasm. Knowing the way downstairs, she didn’t wait for a personal escort. He still provided one, shadowing her the entire way.

  Watching her through the side mirror, Allen jumped out of the SUV when they rounded the corner.

  “Maybe I’ll come by next week,” she remarked as a way of good-bye, and already looking forward to the encounter with anticipation.

  His glance turned assessing, but when he spoke he offered no challenge. He said only, deep and hushed, “I’ll be here.”

  “What time is good for you?”

  His shoulder lifted in the minutest shrug, but his eyes were grave. “I’ll be here.”

  Unable to drag this out any longer, Reese moved to get into the SUV. She barely took a step. His touch, at the back of neck, froze her in her tracks.

  “I need a kiss to get me through until then.”

  “Hey, buddy,” Allen protested. Reese gave him the hand, wanting this kiss as much as the air filtering through her lungs, and he disappeared inside the truck.

  “After while crocodile,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with a suffocated intensity.

  His grin was the last thing Reese saw before she closed her eyes. He ate at her mouth as if craving her taste. Tightening his grip, he pulled her into him. Reese moaned. Rock hard and enormous against her belly, his unyielding passion was feverishly arousing. She felt a delirious heat burn through her body. She clung to him, wanting what he wanted.

  “I’ll be here,” he breathed, as his mouth lifted from hers.

  “You better,” Reese softly reproved. “You do not want to be on my bad side.”

  “I’ve experienced your bad side once and I swore to never go down that road again.” He spun her around and gave her a tiny nudge.

  “Who’s down for Redberry froyo?” Allen proposed as she climbed into the front seat.

  Reese adored Redberry. She maxed out her customer rewards card every thirty days. But right now frozen yogurt didn’t sound the least bit appealing. “Can you guys just drop me off at home? I think I’m coming down with an epic headache.”

  Before they could inundate her with 1,001 questions, she pulled the seat handle, leaned back and closed her eyes.

  * * * * *

  Either the migraine or her dream jostled her awake. Reese couldn’t quite pinpoint the culprit. All she knew she was up at one o’clock in the morning, and it had everything to do with Eirik Sigurdsson. After he’d kissed her, her head started to spin, the line between reality and fiction blurred, bombarding her with memories she only thought were dreams. Head throbbing, Reese flung her legs over the side of the bed. Neither aspirin nor a doctor could rectify her current condition.

/>   Bo’s eyes lit up when she walked into the brewery thirty minutes later.

  “Reese, you’re back!” Grinning from ear to ear, he set down four pilsner glasses on a nearby tabletop.

  Reese surveyed the milling array of bar patrons, in an attempt to discern a blond giant. No luck. The late night crush was a stark contrast to the lunch crowd. “Where’s Eirik?” she asked giving up.

  “He’s in the back playing darts with a few of the customers. I’ll go get —”

  Reese walked off before he could finish. Like a sheikh with his harem, she found Eirik surrounded by a bevy of female fans. Sycophants, they hung on his every word, held their breath with each throw of the dart. Reese eyeballed one particular redhead who couldn’t keep her hands to herself. Her manicured hands ran over his biceps, his taut torso. She could barely stomach it, but when they traveled lower, she lost it.

  “Eirik Sigurdsson,” she barked. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and an instant smile creased his tanned cheeks. “Reese, you’re back,” he parroted Bo. Without missing a beat, he released the dart in his hand, hitting the bullseye.

  “You kissed me and now I’m having migraines and the oddest—”

  “Sounds like my wife,” a loaf at a nearby tabletop cut her off, and a titter rippled among the surrounding tables.

  “You’re a liar, Viking.”

  Eirik turned around slowly. He stood very still for a moment, his pale gaze traveling over. “What did you call me?” he finally said.

  “A liar. Thoren Sigurdsson isn’t an ancestor. He’s your brother.” Rocked by another neural explosion, Reese clutched her head.

  His personal peanut gallery and the surrounding tabletops looked rightly confused, someone even suggested they call 911. Reese couldn’t blame them. Her behavior had weirdo spray painted in capital letters all over it.

  Obviously, Eirik didn’t mind crazy. Seemed to like it up close and personal because he stalked over, cupped her chin in the curve of his fingers, gently forcing her head back. And it suddenly seemed like she’d been waiting eons for the warmth of his kiss.