Page 83 of Truly, Madly Viking

Maggie realized then, if she had not already, that this was not a modern man who did things according to politically correct rules. He was a Viking warrior with savage sexual appetites and barbarian ways of seduction. An uncivilized lover.

She would have him no other way.

This time a sated Maggie lay flat on her stomach on the floor, with Joe splayed top of her, laughing in her ear. "So what do you think of Viking lovemaking, m'lady?"

"I'm afraid to ask what you do for an encore," she said with a strangled laugh.

"Aaahhh, I am so glad you asked. Have I not told you about the famous Viking S-spot?"

It was midnight. They were lying nestled in each other's arms on the sofa bed in the den, watching a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show, which Joe adored, for some reason.

They were sated... for the moment, anyhow. One never knew about Joe. Just a little while ago, she had inquired of Mr. Homier-than-Thou, "Do Viking women walk around bowlegged all the time?"

He'd tilted his head at her, baffled by her question. Then he'd laughed. "Nay, just the lucky ones."

There were no lights on now, but the Christmas tree in the corner was twinkling brightly, and Joe had built a fire in the fireplace, even though there was enough heat in the room to fire a nuclear station. Sexual heat, that was.

Joe had carried her here after they had taken a shower together. Words didn't begin to describe that experience, involving hot water, liquid soap, and a loofah.

Afterward they had sat at the kitchen table in nothing but oversize bath towels, scarfing down beef Stroganoff over buttered noodles, and an entire half-gallon of orange juice. Joe had wanted a beer but she'd suggested o.j., as being more regenerative. Hah! Little did she know!

Then they had made love again, this time with her sitting on top of the vibrating dishwasher, and that was where she discovered the secret of the Viking S-spot. Holy cow! Joe could write a book about the phenomenon, if he stuck around this century long enough, and if he was unable to find a job as a warrior.

It certainly put the G-spot to shame. She knew for darn sure he'd be a hot ticket on the talk-show circuit.

Then again, no. Maggie didn't want to share this man with anyone else. That was selfish of her, of course, but she regarded him as her special secret.

Joe had then carried her to the den. Now she wondered why he was so quiet.

"What are you thinking, Joe?"

He chuckled. "Already you are back to the sigh-colic-jest questions."

She slapped him playfully on the chest, and he playfully winced as if she'd hurt him. When she tried to shrug out of his arms, he tucked her more closely into the cradle formed by his arm looped over her shoulder.

"I was thinking that I must be more virile than I thought if I can make a woman peak twenty-five times in a matter of"—he glanced over to the mantel clock—"four hours."

"Oh! That is such a lie. I never climaxed twenty-five times."

He lifted an eyebrow at her.

"Were you counting?" she accused.

"Are you daft, wench? I was too busy trying to catch my breath."

She buried her hot face against his chest as all her old insecurities slam-dunked into her brain. Was she a slut at heart? Too sensuous? Too uninhibited? "Was I too... too... ?"

Her words were muffled, spoken as they were against the warm skin of his bare chest, but he heard her.

Tipping her chin up with a forefinger so he could see her face, Joe finished for her, "... wanton?"

"Yes. Was I too wanton?"

"Oh, Mag-he! How can you ask such a question?" He threw his head back and laughed uproariously.

When she sliced him a glare, he gave her lips a quick, smacking kiss. "Your woman-joy is my man-pleasure, silly lady. I was teasing you, but in essence I was puffing my chest out with pride at my good fortune."

"Really?"