If he’d been capable of blushing, he would have blushed. How was he to face her? Twice now, he had stroked himself to an explosive release thanks to her. The first time when he’d heard her laugh, then the following morning when he had relived the exquisite moment in all its glory.
Torsten had promised himself he would find the woman who had inflamed his imagination, but now that he had, he wasn’t sure what to make of the revelation. Because it was useless. Aife was not someone he could be with in that way. They were friends, nothing more. She would most likely be horrified if she knew what he’d done, and rightly so.
Still, an irresistible force drew him to her. He had to find out more.
Ignoring the forge door, he walked over to her—which was when he saw who had caused her to laugh in that provocative way.
Sven. His bloody brother.
Everything crumpled inside Torsten. Of course, it had to be him. The man had the ability to send women mad with lust without even trying. But Aife couldn’t have fallen into that trap, surely? Having known him from birth, she should be not only impervious to his charm, but also well aware of his wayward reputation and his unwillingness to settle. Wasn’t he the last man she should allow near her? Not that Sven would hurt her, of course, but their relationship could lead nowhere.
Well, he reflected bitterly, perhaps she didn’t want it to lead anywhere. If she were only interested in a few nights of pleasure, then she had definitely gone to the right man. Personable and carefree, his younger brother had always been the charmer of the family. Steinar, the eldest, was the exact opposite, serious, reliable, married at a young age, and then too busy building a family to worry about other women. As to himself…
Torsten was like neither of them in temperament, nor did he look like a Norse deity. Alone out of Wolf’s four children, he had inherited their Saxon mother’s looks. His hair had a definite auburn tint to it, his eyes were not blue, but brown. Not quite as dark as Merewen’s, but still unusual for a Norseman. He was also the shortest of the three brothers, though not by much, and his physique was more lithe than powerful. If Sven and Steinar were sturdy oaks, he was a silver birch sapling.
How could he compete? The answer was simple: he couldn’t. Women did not flock to him in search of nights of passion or think him manly enough to be a protective husband.
Ever since the three of them had grown into men, he’d felt transparent, stuck between two striking men, and never had he felt more inadequate than in this moment, when he was forcedto watch the first ever woman who’d roused his desire try to lure his little brother into bed. What a fool he really was. He’d been aroused by her laugh, and it turned out that she had only used it to tempt another man—his own brother. She had not known he was only yards away, being coaxed into release by her sultry voice.
Not only that, but the mysterious woman he had sworn to find was one he had known all his life and the furthest thing from sultry he could imagine.
How humiliating.
“Torsten! Come, you’ll want to hear this,” Sven called out.
Should he refuse? Explain he’d come to see Magnus and disappear into to the forge? Yes, probably. And yet somehow his feet started moving of their own accord. A moment later he was coming to a halt in front of his smiling brother.
“Listen to this. Aife was telling me what Emma did the other day.”
Moon and Eyja’s daughter, Emma, was a little bundle of mischief. At any other time, Torsten would have delighted in hearing what she had done. Right now, though, he cared not a fig. Nevertheless, staying silent would only alert Sven and Aife to the fact that something was wrong, so he forced himself to ask the question.
“What did she do now?”
“She walked into Aife’s hut while she was making pottage. Our lovely niece decided to help by adding her own special ingredient to the pot.”
A pause. Torsten understood that he was expected to ask what that ingredient might be. But how could he behave naturally when his mind was buzzing with confusion and his lower body was throbbing with need? By the gods, but never had taking part in a conversation cost him more.
“What did she choose?” he managed to say. “A beetle?”
Aife giggled. Torsten’s chest tightened. Not for him, the sensual, throaty laugh she had used for his brother. For him, there was only the familiar, friendly giggle, the one everyone else got.
“No, even worse, as a beetle would easily have been retrieved and discarded. Sand!” Sven guffawed. “The imp threw a handful of sand into the pot of boiling water. Fortunately, Aife had yet to add the vegetables or the whole thing would have been ruined.”
Torsten smiled, wondering why he felt so hollow. He should have shared in the laughter. Instead, his mouth felt as if he’d been forced to eat a spoonful of the sandy pottage.
“Yes, that is fortunate,” he said automatically.
Sven arched a brow “Are you all right, brother?” he asked, laughing no longer.
“Of course.”
He was perfectly all right, if one forgot the hole expanding in his chest, the burning need to make Aife laugh in that sensual way, and the inexplicable, paralyzing urge to draw her into his arms and kiss her.
Kiss her? Torsten blinked. What the bloody hell was that about?
He rarely felt desire for a woman, and he never, most definitelyneverfantasized about kissing a friend. Of course he didn’t, it simply wasn’t done. What next? Would he start lusting after men?
An awkward silence settled between the three of them, then Sven spoke again, excitement in his voice. “If you will excuse me, I see Freydis over there. I wanted a word with her.”
