Page 18 of Lord of Fire and Ice

Skin on skin. Heart to heart and groin to groin.

He pressed his cheek against hers. The stubble of his regrowing beard scraped her skin. Then he drew his open mouth over her sensitized flesh. He stopped shy of her lips, nostrils flared, a wild light in his eyes.

Katla swayed on her feet.

“You want my kiss,” he said, his voice liquid seduction, a low purring sound that went straight to her womb and made her throb in time with the slow rock of his hips against her pelvis. “Admit it. You want my touch on your skin. You want my cock between your legs.”

He was right, damn the man to the ninth circle of Hel. She was nearly incoherent with need. If she told him to kiss her, it wouldn’t stop there. Brandr Ulfson was ready to mount her. And she was ready to let him.

Almost.

If she did, it would mean he’d won. He’d seduced his mistress into letting him take her. She’d lose all control over this man if that happened.

That was no way to avenge her husband’s death.

She tamped down her longing and straightened her spine. She would be strong. She always had to be strong. A woman without a man had to be.

“You forget yourself, thrall. Step away from me.”

He didn’t move for the space of several heartbeats. Then a cold light burned in his eyes, and he released her. Anger and lust warred on his features, but he said nothing as he stepped back.

“Your tunic is still in the other room. It should be dry enough by now,” she said, trying to keep her tone even and failing miserably. “Go put it on.”

“Ja, princess. As you will.” He stomped toward the door to the main bath but stopped before putting his hand to the latch. His thick cock was still engorged, and the muscles beneath his skin twitched, ready for action; however the expression on his face was anything but a lover’s summons. The oil lamps seemed to flare brighter for a moment, but Katla dismissed it as a trick of light. “This is not over, you know.”

She lifted her chin. “It is if I say it is. Step lively, thrall. You will attend me at table this night.”

Brandr made a low growling noise in the back of his throat and left, slamming the door behind him. The lamps flickered hotly and then dimmed.

Must have been the blast of air from when he opened the door, she reasoned, though she didn’t remember ever seeing them vary so wildly before.

Katla sank onto the bench near the cooling barrels, afraid her legs wouldn’t hold her up any longer. She crossed her arms over her breasts, her body throbbing for the release Brandr would’ve given her.

But she couldn’t have done otherwise.

She would control him. Not the other way around. She still had to avenge Osvald.

She drew a ragged breath and tried to clear her head of the heart-stopping things he’d done to her. The things he’d made her wish he’d do. Her belly turned a slow backflip at the thought of his mouth on her.

His kiss. Everywhere.

No, Katla told herself sternly. She had no time for such dallying. Her brothers had brought another suitor for her to consider. Albrikt Gormson of Stord Island was no doubt waiting in her longhouse that very moment, wondering what was keeping her.

She didn’t need a lover. She might well have a husband before long. A man who wouldn’t play games, who wouldn’t have to be ordered to kiss her, and who most especially wouldn’t be the son of her enemy.

Katla stood and dressed in the tunic and overdress old Gerte had delivered to the bath house for her. She fastened her best brooches at her shoulders. After plaiting her hair, she twined the braid around her head and fitted the elaborate headdress over her wet hair.

Dressed in her best ensemble, she was the perfect picture of a high-ranking Norse matron. She had to be. If she was to give Gormson’s suit a fair hearing, she must present herself in a way that brought credit to her house.

Her body still craved Brandr, but the worst of the madness was passing. She sniffed the air, hoping she no longer smelled like a wanton. The stiff brocade overdress had been laid by with cedar chips, so the fresh scent of wood followed her out the bath house door. But before she reached the longhouse, she had to admit Brandr was right.

This was not over.

Chapter 6

Katla’s longhouse might not have been the largest structure in the islands, but it was undoubtedly the cleanest. She demanded her people respect their living space and one another by keeping their home spotless and sweet smelling.

Therefore, when she pushed through the big double doors, she was aghast to find the floor was slick with spilled food and slopped drink. Swirling scents of a rich feast combined with ale, beer, and mead fumes. They coalesced into a smoky fug that hovered in the high peak of the longhouse.