Page 45 of The Last Viking

“Purported medieval belt clasp, Herbert.”

“That goes without saying, Lillian.” Her father sniffed.

They never even noticed when Meredith hung up the phone with a faint good-bye.

No sooner did she put the cordless phone on the table than it rang again. Meredith pressed a button engaging the answering machine. Enough was enough for one day.

“Hi, Mer. Jared here. I talked to Jillie tonight, and we agree you’ve got a live one there. Call me first thing in the morning. I have a million questions for you to grill this guy. He’s probably a fraud, but that belt is…well, if it’s what I think it is, it could be a missing link in an important segment of history. And the ship’s prow sounds equally fascinating. Be careful, though, sis. Archaeological theft has become an international problem. You don’t want to mess with criminals. Call me tomorrow. Oh, and did I tell you, I might be able to fly in next week? I’m due for a vacation anyway.”

Archaeological theft? Could Rolf be a criminal? No, she decided immediately. But what had Jared said in the end? He might be coming here, too? Oh, Lord!

She took a big swig of Pepto-Bismol before heading outside to talk to her criminal-in-residence. Wait till he learned about all the company that would soon be converging on them.

Better yet, wait till they found out a “blue-collar worker” was living with her.

“Rolf, why don’t you call it a night?” She walked up to Rolf where he worked industriously, sanding the bare-bones framework of a smaller longship that he’d already erected. The pungent odor of freshly cut wood drifted on the wind. “Mike will be here with the student workers by nine A.M. You’ve been up since before dawn. Come on to bed now.”

He stood in one lithe movement, dropping the sandpaper to the ground. “Is that an invitation?” He regarded her gravely as he swiped a forearm across his forehead. He wore only jogging pants and athletic shoes, and, of course, the talisman belt. But that was all. Despite the coolness of the spring air, perspiration glistened on his face and shoulders and the wide, enticing expanse of his chest. By the light of a full moon, she watched, captivated, as one bead drizzled from his chin down his breastbone, slowly, slowly, slowly toward the belt clasp.

“Well?” he prodded with a knowing chuckle.

Snapping to attention, she shoved a glass of cold iced tea into his hands. “No, that wasn’t an invitation. That’s an order. You need to rest, or you’ll be of no use to me.”

He grinned at her inadvertent double entendre as he took a small sip of the beverage, testing. Anything other than mead usually held no appeal to his taste buds. Finding the drink palatable, he tilted his head back and drank it down in several long gulps.

And Meredith got to admire the sleek lines of his profile. Strong nose and chin. Graceful neck. Full, wet lips.

“Love with a Warm Viking” was looking better and better.

Rolf placed the empty glass on the ship’s frame, and then leveled her with a hard glare. “An order, do you say? Hah! I take exception to your assertion of authority over me. In truth, my inclination is to do the opposite just to prove you cannot bend me to your will with mere words. Know this, my lady. Geirolf Ericsson takes orders from no one.”

“Now wait a minute. Somewhere along the line, you managed to convince yourself that you’re in charge of this project.”

“Oh?” His jaw went rigid, his voice decidedly tense.

“Maybe it was when you ‘led the charge’ at the mall. Maybe it was when you bought all those modern tools at the hardware store, against my orders. Maybe it was when you dismantled all my grandfather’s hard work, without permission. Maybe it was when you moved into my house big-as-you-Viking-well-please. But understand this, buster…I’m drawing a line in the sand. I’m the employer. You are the employee. And from now on you take my orders.”

Rolf shook his head with disbelief. “Have a caution, wench. You pass the bounds of bravery and enter into the realm of foolishness with your lackwit female prattle.”

She literally growled. “And stop calling me wench.”

“I’ll call you wench and much more, if I choose.” He leaned down so they were practically nose to nose. “You ask when I convinced myself of my greater authority. Well, I’ll tell you, wench.”

His warm breath feathered Meredith’s lips as he spoke. A shiver assaulted her, but she refused to back away. Actually, she couldn’t have moved if her life depended on it, so mesmerized was she by his nearness.

“Mayhap I took control because I am Geirolf Ericsson, son of Eric Tryggvason, high jarl of Hordaland, and I was born to lead,” he told her. “Mayhap it was when the gods led me through this hellish time hole to a willful lady whose tongue outruns her good sense. Mayhap it was when I saw the half-brain job done on the longship and knew I could correct the mistakes. Or mayhap—” he hesitated and ran his tongue over his upper lip with deliberate sexual innuendo. “or mayhap it was when I turned you into a mewling kitten of surrender in that wheeled box of yours yesterday. With a few mere kisses, at that.”

She gasped at his reference to her lapse in sanity. And how like a man to place undue importance on her indiscretion!

Rolf grazed her trembling lips with his knuckles as he straightened. With a laugh, he added, “Imagine how it will be when we finally couple, sweetling. Do you think then that you will lead the play? Hah! I think not. The man leads, the woman follows. ’Tis the way of nature and e’er has been.”

Meredith sputtered with outrage. Any warm feelings she’d had melted away at his chauvinistic words. “You…you overinflated macho pig. You arrogant, overbearing, Stone Age Neanderthal. I wouldn’t couple with you now if you were the hottest Viking in the world.”

“Oh, you will not say me nay forever,” he assured her with supreme self-confidence. “Your protests signify naught when your eyes blaze invitation.”

“They…do…not.”

“You think to gainsay me with peevish challenges of my every directive. You mistrust me when I tell of my past and how I got to your godforsaken land. Well, my lady, you are the false one. You lie to yourself when you say you don’t want me. You want me with a growing passion, on that I would wager my long sword. And you will have me and my other sword,” he said, gesturing crudely to his groin, “or you may not have me, if I choose.”