Page 51 of The Very Virile Viking

But what Lida did was burst into a goofy smile and reach out her arms to the water.

Lida said, "Goo, goo, goo," as her father dunked her tush in and out of the water, and her brothers demanded more kisses.

Angela was about to walk out of the shallow water at the end of the pond, satisfied that another crisis had been averted, when Magnus put a hand on her arm. Tonight , he mouthed.

She didn't answer.

She couldn't.

The logical part of her brain said, No way !

The other side of her brain—the one with a mind of its own—said, Hmmmm .

Let's make a deal…

Angela approached the gazebo later that night. There was no hesitation in her step or her mind. She had made her decision, and it had been a surprisingly easy one. Especially since she'd downed two quick glasses of pinot noir to bolster her nerve.

The question was, would Magnus agree to her "terms"?

She entered the shadowy confines of the large, octagonal gazebo, where light from the full moon was filtered through the lattice walls. There was enough light for her to see that Magnus was already there, and— Oh, good heavens!—he was barefooted and bare-chested, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, low on his hips. The only thing showing was the edge of the waistband on his low-riding jockey briefs. She was pretty sure his belly button was exposed, but didn't dare look too closely for fear she would appear to be ogling. Water from a recent shower still dampened his hair and beaded on his shoulders. In fact, she could smell the Irish Spring soap and Old Spice deodorant from here.

In other words, he posed an extremely potent temptation.

As if she weren't already tempted.

"You came," Magnus said.

Not yet, she thought with a silent giggle, but didn't have the boldness to voice such an earthy sentiment aloud. Sex and the City gal, she was not. Instead she nodded, taking only one step inside before stopping. He was in the center… several yards away.

Opening his arms, he started to approach her.

She put up a halting hand. "Wait!"

He stopped and tilted his head in question.

"I want to make sure we understand each other before we do… uh, anything. Let's talk first."

"Talk?" His voice sounded raspy with disbelief. You'd think she had suggested they walk on hot coals as foreplay.

"Is that not just like a woman? They must talk every blessed thing to death. You want to talk? Now?

Before we do… anything ?"

"That's right." She put her hands on her hips to show she meant business.

He put his hands on his hips to show he meant business, too.

"First off, why did you invite me here?"

He said something so crude and blunt that she should have been offended. Instead her stomach dropped like a lead weight and settled between her legs. A hot, pulsing lead weight.

"That is not precisely accurate," he immediately corrected himself, watching her warily as she walked a slow circle around him, beyond the stretch of his arms, examining his body from every angle.

Boy, oh, boy, does he have angles!

"I invited you here because I want—nay, I need— to hold you, and kiss you, and touch you."

Who turned up the temperature? Why is it suddenly so hot out here? "And that's all?" she squeaked out. At the moment she was scrutinizing his backside in the form-hugging sweatpants. And a very nice backside it was, too. But— jeesh—the man really was like a tree. So tall and muscled and, well, just dam big.