Page 39 of The Viking’s Captive

She felt like a cow herself next to the resplendent creature that he was.

“Were you waiting here for me?”

“I was not.”

“You did not join us for dinner.”

“I was not hungry,” she said, then immediately realized her mistake, for she had a pigeon in one hand and a hunk of bread lying in her lap.

He laughed.

“It wasn’t because of you.” Another mistake.

He laughed some more.

“You have grease on your lips,” he remarked in a tone that was oddly husky.

She licked her lips.

He exhaled with a whoosh.

“What does that mean?”

“What?”

“The whoosh?”

“It means that you affect me greatly, my lady warrior.”

“Oh,” she said, but what she thought was, Ooooh!

He reached out with a thumb. “You missed a spot.” He used his thumb to wipe a wide swath under her bottom lip, then put the thumb to his mouth and sucked. The whole time, he watched her, and she watched him.

For the love of a Valkyrie!Tyra had never seen a man do such an erotic thing in all her life. She felt the effects of the gesture right down to the tips of her tingling fingers and curling toes, and some unmentionable places in between.

“Do not play with me, Saxon.”

“I like playing with you, Viking.”

“Stop now, or—”

“Or what?”

She had no idea what … because the impertinent, arrogant born-to-be-a-libertine was lowering his mouth toward hers. And she was frozen in place. Mayhap it was because she had a pigeon in one hand and a ladle in the other, but more likely it was because her lips had somehow parted of their own volition. She wanted his kiss. She wanted it badly.

“Tyra,” he whispered against her mouth just before his lips claimed hers. The man was proving to be a master at a number of things. Medicine, for a certainty. And now, kissing. She did not allow herself to ponder what other areas of expertise he might have.

He pulled back slightly to look at her. His eyes devoured her, searching for what, she did not know.

“Well, that was … nice,” she choked out.

“Nice?” he sputtered.

“So, now you have your thank-you kiss-token.”

“Hardly,” he said, even as he bracketed her face with his hands and drew her down to the wide bench with him.

The water ladle dropped to the ground with a thud and the pigeon flew in another direction … she hoped not into the well.