Since the idea of time travel was ridiculous, the only other possibility was that she’d been abducted. She had to escape and find a phone.
She was drowning!
Choking, she bolted upright. She took a moment to note that she’d been lying on the table. She coughed, and then glared at him holding a jug of water he’d just poured out on her face.
If he were anyone else, she would have smacked the jug out of his hand and then slapped his face. But her captive was a big guy with broad shoulders clad in fur. His dark hair flowed past his shoulders, braided at the temples, and pulled away from his face. He looked deadly, in a beautifully, soulless kind of way. His face was scarred on both sides. Nothing hideous, but he’d definitely been sliced up. He had faint lines around his icy blue—no wait, were they pale green eyes? They changed when the firelight hit them a certain way and were the color of lagoons on a brochure of Fiji, but unlike the brochure—or the island, there was nothing inviting in them. He had a well-groomed mustache beneath his nose, with a bare space just above the dip of his bow-shaped upper lip. She forgot to breathe looking at him. Of course, this nut would have to be the best-looking guy she’d ever seen.
“I was praying you and this horrible place weren’t real,” she told him, clearing her eyes.
He knit his dark brows. “To which god do you pray?”
She knew what these Vikings believed. She’d watched the show. She held up her finger. “There’s only One.”
He didn’t argue. “But I am real. You are mad.”
“And you’re a real piece of—”
He stared at her, horrified. “What is the black liquid coming from your eyes? Are you possessed?”
“What?” She rubbed her fingers under her eyes. “Oh, it’s mascara. It’s not waterproof, sorry.”
His expression darkened and it was a frightening thing to see. “Wipe it off before someone sees you and thinks you are melting.”
She snatched the hand towel he offered her.
He snatched it back and seemed to grow right in front of her.
She hesitated, but only for a moment. No one ever treated her this way, and this bastard wasn’t about to start. She yanked it from his fingers and leaped from the table, wiping her face. He didn’t chase her or try to take it back.
“Are all the women in the next centuries as bold and willful as you?”
“You believe me?”
“No, of course not.” His lips tilted into a smirk. “Do I look like a fool to you?”
She tried not to stare at his lips. They were carved in the shape of a cupid’s bow on top, with a full, succulent lower lip. Both were perfectly accentuated by his facial hair.
“Please don’t make me answer that.” She smirked back.
“Why do you pretend not to fear me?” he asked, silkily.
“What would you like me to do? Beg you for mercy?”
He shook his head. “No. I prefer your trickery.”
“Really? I would have thought a guy like you would lavish in someone else’s fear.”
“Because I am a Dane?”
“Because you’re a misogynist, and probably a rapist.”
“No, I am not a rapist. I do not know what the other thing is, so I cannot agree or disagree.”
“Look, if you let me go, I promise not to say a word.”
“Where will you go?”
She shrugged. “Back home. I won’t go to the police, I promise.”
