Page 72 of The Last Viking

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Damn, I’d better tell you some of what we did today before you hear it somewhere else and come after my butt.”

She folded her arms over her chest, waiting.

“Remember when Rolf tried to give you and me his silver arm rings in exchange for money and our help? Well, we both gave them back, but today Rolf insisted I take him to an upscale antiques dealer in Bangor.” He took a deep breath while he unconsciously rubbed Teddy’s back; then he informed her, “He sold one of them for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Meredith gasped. “That man is so stubborn. I told him not to do that. Over and over, I told him. But he doesn’t listen. I think he’s been eating too many Oreos. They’re eroding his brain and clogging his ears.”

Mike’s mouth twisted with amusement at her vehement response. “The dealer said he’d give him three hundred and fifty thousand for the pair, but he refused. And the dealer practically went into a drooling fit over the belt, which Rolf insisted was not for sale under any circumstances.”

“Oh, Mike, he probably could have gotten three hundred thousand for just one arm ring by putting it up for auction at Sotheby’s or Christie’s.”

“Rolf knows he was lowballed, but he said he didn’t have time to haggle. And, man, when it comes to making good use of time, that guy is a black belt shopper.”

“Exactly what did he buy today?” She already knew about the roses, but what else?

Mike waved a hand airily but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Let’s suffice it to say, we’ve been to jewelry stores, landscapers, car dealers, seamstress shops, furriers, a farm…”

She groaned, but had no time to press the issue because a loud noise diverted her attention to the side of the house—the side away from the shipbuilding enterprise. With the roar of a revving engine, a flatbed truck was backing up slowly, easing its way past the swimming pool, toward the longhouse.

“Oh, no! Please, don’t tell me—” She jerked around to address Mike and saw that he was already gone. The coward!

Turning back to the truck, she got her second shock of the day. Well, actually, her zillionth shock of the day. The driver of the truck was none other than Rolf. She braced an arm against the house for support.

The man was a thousand years old. He didn’t have a modern identity, except for the fake one Mike had obtained for him, let alone a motor vehicle license. Even so, he was driving a…well, practically a semi, for heaven’s sake. And it was loaded down with long rectangles of precut sod. Sod? Her eyes shot to the longhouse foundation.

He wouldn’t.

She gawked at Rolf behind the wheel of the truck.

He would.

Cutting the motor, he jumped down from the truck and sauntered over to her. If Meredith hadn’t been speechless before, she was now. Wearing Gucci loafers, a white Polo shirt, pleated Ralph Lauren slacks, and, of course, the talisman belt, he was so handsome he made her teeth hurt. A new addition was a small leather fanny pack, probably to hold all his loot. His hair was pulled off his face with a rubber band at the neck, which showed off his deep tan, especially when he favored her with one of his dazzling white smiles.

“Merry-Death.” He greeted her in a husky whisper before lowering his mouth to kiss her.

Hel-lo! Meredith said in her head. Is anybody home? I’m supposed to be resisting this guy. I’m supposed to be laying down the law. I’m supposed to…oh!

She averted her face at the last minute, and he kissed her neck instead, which didn’t bother him at all. Chuckling, he propelled her, body to body, up against the house and nibbled at the curve where a pulse began to thump against his warm lips.

Who knew the neck was an erogenous zone? Oh, my. “You are not building a longhouse, Rolf,” she protested on a whimper.

“Whate’er you say, dearling,” he agreed, and then grinned when he got a gander at the stretched neckline of her shirt, which left one shoulder bare. “You have the nicest garments, Merry-Death,” he drawled, fingering the edge of the neckline till it slipped even lower. “Will you wear this for me one day with your wanton hose? Or with those sheer pan-tease I bought for you at Victory’s Secret?” Meanwhile, his teeth were nipping the curve of her neck.

“Stop it!” she demanded. “There are people all around here.”

As usual, he heeded only what he wanted. “Was there a strong wind at the college today?” He’d just taken note of her half-up, half-down hair style, and he was smirking.

“No, I got a new hair stylist,” she snapped. “Mr. Ted.”

Over his shoulder she saw Mike, who’d returned after changing his clothes. He still wore jeans and the checkered sneakers but had donned a leather Viking tunic on top, belted at the waist. He was directing some college boys where to unload the sod.

The sod. Jolted back to the present, she shoved Rolf away. “I am not going to marry you, Rolf. So cut all these seductive moves. Are you listening? I…am…not…going…to…marry…you.” It had been a nonstop refrain of hers the past two days. He’d been unwilling to budge on his plans to leave her eventually; so, she’d been equally resolute in her refusal to marry him. She glared at him now.

“You are wearing your wanton hose today,” he observed, his eyes flashing appreciatively. “For me?”

She was wearing stockings, but she’d deliberately chosen a calf-length skirt and a sedate, short-sleeved cotton sweater. Definitely unwanton. She glared even harder at him. He was filtering her words again.