Page 35 of The Last Viking

She’d drawn a sketch, from memory, of the talisman belt and its hidden “relic,” which she intended to fax first thing tomorrow morning to Jared, as well as Jillie and her parents. Perhaps they could do a little research on its background. Meredith was convinced that the unique object was more than a trinket. She prayed it wasn’t stolen from a museum collection.

Furthermore, Meredith was considering asking Mike to check with his buddies at the local police station to see if there was a missing-person alert for some escapee from an asylum. Or a con artist on the loose posing as a Viking shipbuilder. Geez, that second possibility sounded ludicrous, even to her.

The whole time these thoughts ran through her puzzled brain, the man in question watched her silently, like a hawk, his golden eyes smoldering. Having showered earlier, he wore a pristine white T-shirt tucked into a pair of his new jeans. A rubber band held his long hair back at the nape, exposing the strong line of his jaw and the graceful curve of his neck. His big, narrow feet were bare, and looked amazingly sexy. Not that he needed any help in the sexy department. Oh, Lordy, no.

As she approached, he clucked disapprovingly at the sheets and blankets she carried. “I take it that I am exiled to sleep alone tonight.”

A rush of heat filled her face. “That’s right. It wouldn’t be proper with Thea here. And, actually, you and I need a cooling-off period.”

Raising a brow in question, he pushed away from the fireplace. “And if I do not wish to cool off?” he asked huskily. “And if I wish to finish what we started earlier today?”

He moved only one step toward her, but Meredith panicked, dropping the linens and jerking backward, stepping behind the sofa. She needed to put some distance between them. Every time he got close, her brain short-circuited.

Geirolf stopped his advance, but not because of the wench’s measly protest. Every time he got close to the witch, he lost his ability to think clearly. And after all he’d seen and heard that day, more than anything he needed a clear head to figure out how to get back to his own time.

The wench thought to put him off by wearing loose braies and a matching oversized shirt of black silk—a type of sleeping apparel called pay-jam-hose. But he already knew what she hid beneath…by touch, if not yet by sight. When the time was right, she would share his bed furs—if he could find a bed fur in this godforsaken land—and she would wear the sleeping garment preferred by most Viking women…and men. Bare skin.

She would enoy the coupling with him, too. Geirolf had a sense about such matters, based on years of experience and a male instinct for a woman’s ripeness. Merry-Death pretended tartness and an inclination to molder on the vine, but he knew better. Her juices were rising and her soft flesh yearned to be plucked.

But not yet. Not tonight. Too much depended on the fate of his mission here. His father’s trust. The famine. His own honor. The warrior in him sensed danger brewing all around, and he had to be alert.

Still, the mating urge roiled his blood, and he fought to bank his appetite. Oh, he’d have the wench afore he returned to his world. But in his own good time. At his pleasure, not hers.

So, she was safe from his advances for now, shivering, foolish female that she was, cowering behind the low bed-structure called a couch. Hah! He’d vaulted many a castle wall and ship rail in his time. Did she really think such a paltry barrier could prevent his taking her?

Then, perversely, his pride rankled at her resistance to his charm. No, he couldn’t allow her to think she’d got the upper hand. Women should be put in their proper place from the start. “Why do you fight your woman needs?” he grumbled.

“Wh-what?”

“You want me.”

“I do not.”

He snorted a laugh at her lie. “Yea, you do. Oh, your female body doesn’t betray you in the same blatant manner as a man’s,” he said, waving downward at the joining of his thighs.

She gasped at his crude gesture.

Well, betimes a man had to be crude to make his point. Especially when the woman was stubborn. “And your arousal does not stick out from your body like a witless pole, but the signs are there for a discerning man to see. For example, the passion-mist in your eyes…”

She shuttered her lids.

He grinned wolfishly. “Your parted lips and heightened breathing…”

She clamped her mouth closed.

He grinned wider. “Your swollen nipples…”

She folded her arms across her chest. Too late. He’d already seen the evidence. And for just a moment he forgot why he was supposed to remain alert.

The woman was dangerous. He shook his head to clear it and dropped down to the couch. Patting the cushion next to him, he exhorted, “Come, sit beside me. You are safe from my lustful inclinations for tonight.”

She balked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Truly. Come. I must needs talk to you about the longship work. I want to start at first light, and there is much to discuss.”

“What’s your hurry?”

“The sooner I complete the boat, the sooner I can return the relic to its proper resting place. And the sooner I can return to my homeland. Time is of the essence.”