Page 119 of The Caged Viking

“You’re giving me a tattoo?”

“No, I got a tattoo on my body, for you.”

He considered that for only a second before asking, “Where?”

She fluttered her lashes at him. “That’s for you to find out.”

He muttered something that might have been “Wench!” or “Witch!” before chugging down the entire split in two long swallows, despite her warning to only sip.

She arched her brows at him.

“In every battle, a point is reached where one side needs to make the assault. Enough of these pricking little attacks.”

“Do you consider this a war?”

“Don’t you?”

“And the end result?” she asked. “Winner takes all?”

“Or loser loses everything,” he said ominously.

* * *

Round three…

It was true. Hauk was tired of the games they seemed to be playing.

I love you. I hate you. I love-hate you.

Thrust and parry.

I want you. I don’t want you. Whatever (her favorite, most irksome word)!

Stab and retreat.

Bestir me. Betray me.

Feint and spin.

I’ll never leave you. Good-bye! Tra la la!

’Twas enough to drive a Viking into berserkness. If he wasn’t careful, he would be howling like a wolf and biting his shield.

Another animal! Aaarrgh! I am doing it now, too.

With a muttered curse, he stood and undid his belt, holding her gaze the entire time. He tried to view her as a combatant he was about to duel, but it was difficult when she did not even try to hide her smile of satisfaction. A good warrior did not react to the enemy’s taunts. So, he raised his chin and scowled her way.

Having taken that stand, he held her gaze as he lifted his tunic over his head and bared himself to the waist. He knew that she liked his body, and liked to look at it. She’d told him so many times. Bloody hell, he liked to look at her body, too.

She waved a hand, indicating that he should continue. As if she were the commander in this battle of wits…or witlessness, he was beginning to think.

Even so, he held her gaze as he shrugged out of his braies, and toed them off along with his half boots. Take that, wench! he thought as he brazenly exposed himself to her scrutiny.

With his hands on his hips, he continued to hold her gaze, or tried to hold her gaze, but it was difficult because her gaze kept flickering to his enthusiasm, which was standing out like a knight’s lance about to wage an assault. Embarrassing, really. Well, not really. Try as he might, it was difficult for a man to remain angry and seemingly unemotional when he was betrayed by his favorite body part.

“Do you want me to explain about the arm rings?” she asked.

Unbelievable! I present her with all my magnificence, and she wants to chatter. “Do not dare!”