Page 19 of The Very Virile Viking

What if she was already wed? Mayhap even to Dare-All the Laugher? Nay, he could not countenance even the remote possibility. It was such a mismatch.

Was it really possible that he had had to go through four wives, six concubines, and numerous passing fancies before finding "the one" for him?

Did she feel their instant connection, too?

Would she be willing to live on a farm… assuming there were farms somewhere in this crowded land?

Better yet, would she return with him to the Norselands, if that was what he was called to do?

In essence, what did fate have in store for him now?

Chapter Four

The man was a tree…

Angela tried to calm her erratic breathing… such an odd reaction to a man who should be unattractive to her. It must be the heat, worry over her deal with Darrell Nolan, and this bizarre scenario taking place on one of his sets. It was not that she was attracted to this man. Definitely not.

Such a blatant display of pushiness—bypassing the usual audition route to garner attention for himself.

How arrogant! How egotistical! How like an actor!

He reminded her of her ex-husband. The Creep had always liked to be the center of attention,

demanding a better table when they ate out, insisting on Rodeo Drive labels for his "Hollywood"

wardrobe. Being naturally reticent, Angela cringed even now in memory.

This man was tall… at least six-foot-five. She was not short, being five-foot-seven, but standing before him was like standing before a tree. Even his arms and legs, which were exposed by the belted leather tunic he wore, resembled tree limbs. And he was a big man in bulk, too—probably two hundred and fifty pounds—with lean muscles everywhere.

Angela had never been a fan of muscle men… as evidenced by the fact that she'd donated the Creep's Nautilus equipment to Goodwill the moment he moved out. The act had been symbolic of her disdain for the Creep's obsession with physical fitness.

Back to the man before her. His light brown hair had sun-bleached streaks and thin, intricate braids hanging on either side of his face, which were intertwined with amber beads. Thick golden lashes framed whiskey-colored eyes. He wore ornately etched, wide silver bracelets on his upper arms. A gold brooch of writhing dragons was attached to a short shoulder mantle. God spare me from a man with a passion for jewelry. The only thing missing is the Las Vegas-style gold chains. Oops! There is a chain there… one holding a gold pendant. Jeesh !

And he carried a sword, for heaven's sake. How juvenile! Or rather, how like a man with his macho toys! The Creep had insisted on a loaded revolver in their bedside nightstand… even though they lived on the fourteenth floor of a high-security apartment building.

Worst of all was the numbers of children surrounding him, ranging from age sixteen or so to a toddler of little more than a year. And one of the little boys appeared to be lame. If all of them were his children, as he had proclaimed in his strange accent, then shame on him. Angela was not a rabid feminist, like her cousin Carmen, but some people just overpopulated the planet like rabbits, uncaring of the children's welfare or that of the environment. A man who felt the need to reproduce himself nine times over was a pig, pure and simple, in her opinion.

"Uh-oh, Father," the teenage boy said with a hoot of laughter. "Methinks your destiny is frowning at you.

Not a good sign. Best you pull out some of that far-famed expertise."

"Leave off, son," the big man replied in a deep, deep voice. The whole time he continued to stare at her in the most disarming manner. It was rude, actually.

Noticing the direction of the Viking's gaze, Darrell motioned her forward. Reluctantly she stepped up to the tree. That was the only way she could describe how he looked and felt next to her.

"Angela, I'd like to introduce you to Magnus Ericsson."

"Angel? You are an angel?" The tree asked with a mixture of horror and glee.

"No, I'm not an angel. And don't you dare call me that. 'Angel baby' won't work either. Believe me, 'angel' as a pickup line is not cool."

"Huh?" the tree said.

"The name is Angela."

"Oh."

Oh, God! Dumb as a…a… tree.