Page 91 of The Viking’s Captive

“What gauntlet? What challenge? Do you refer to our pact?”

“Our pact is a moot point. I gave my word. It will be done.” She waved the hand holding her now loosened belt high in the air. “Nay, this is about your insisting that I transport you back to England, against my will. This is about your saying I am less than a woman.”

She was reaching for the leather lacing at the neckline of her tunic.

Adam could scarce concentrate on her words when it appeared she was about to disrobe, without any fanfare. If it were up to him, there would be a blaze of trumpets aforehand … or at least a chance for him to take a gulping breath.

“Are you trying to shock me?” he asked.

“Are you shocked?”

To the bone, wench. To the bone.“Not a bit.”

She laughed, unconvinced.

“Tyra, slow down a moment. Let us talk first.”

“The time for talk is long past.” She tossed the leather lacing directly in his face. Luckily, he caught it or he might have been blinded. The last thing he wanted at this moment of revelation was to lose his sight.

But then her previous statement sank into his muddled brain. “I never said you were less than a woman.”

“Not in those exact words. But you implied it. I am here to prove you wrong, you lackbrain son of a Saxon bastard.”

Those last words of hers gave Adam a tiny inkling of just how angry she was under her seeming calm. “Do you hope to intimidate me by being the aggressor, Tyra? Well, think again, warrior wench, because I like aggressive women. I am not …” His words trailed off as she pulled her tunic up over her head and dropped it to the floor.

She was stark, gloriously naked.

He made a point of clicking his jaw shut, just in case he did something dimwitted, like drool.

The woman was magnificent when clothed … doubly magnificent when unclothed. She was big, of course, but perfectly proportioned, with sinfully full and high breasts. The rose tips were also big, to suit her size, and maybe her arousal. I can only hope! Her waist and hips were trim, her legs exceedingly long. And the nest of curls between her thighs, of the same blond color as the hair on her head, begged for a man’s touch. I can only hope! Most impressive were the muscles that delineated her arms and abdomen and thighs and calves … probably her buttocks, too. The muscles should have made her appear masculine, but instead they added beauty to her woman’s body. They made a man imagine how those muscles could be used to draw him into her woman-place, to ride him, to force him to give her pleasure. I can only hope. She was like a statue he’d seen once in the Roman lands … but better.

As an afterthought, she seemed to recall that her hair was still in braids. She released the ties of first one braid, then the other. Raising her arms, she finger-combed the braiding out of her hair with long, sweeping movements of her arms, which caused her already upraised breasts to rise and fall with her motions.

He felt each of those strokes over every inch of his sensitized skin and most especially on his fully engorged manpart. At first she just stood, staring at him through those clear blue eyes, arms at her sides, watching him watch her. But then she seemed uncomfortable with that posture and resumed her earlier battle stance, hands on hips and legs spread in a vee.

If only the woman knew what that pose did to him!

Her sexual turnabout backfired wonderfully…

Tyra knew how her belligerent pose affected the man. Even when she was clothed, his eyes glazed over and his mouth parted with arousal when she stood thus. Now she was as naked as a newborn babe, and Adam was as lustsome as any man could be, if that bulge in his breeches was any indication. Too bad she was shaking like a leaf inside … trembling so hard she was unable to appreciate the effectiveness of her deliberate game of turnabout. Tyra was not embarrassed to expose her body, but she was embarrassed by all her imperfections. She was too big, too muscular … too, too, too …

“Well?” she said finally.

“Well?” he choked back.

Good! Choking is good! This is a war we are waging here, and if there is anything I know, it is battle strategy. “Keep your enemy off guard” is the first rule a Viking soldier learns.“Methought we were supposed to both be naked in the bed furs. Correct me if I’m wrong, Saxon, but all I see is one nude body in this chamber.”

His eyes flashed at her sarcasm. Two can play this game was the silent message his eyes threw her way just before he toed off his right boot, flicked it high in the air, and watched as it sailed end over end and landed directly in front of her, toe facing her toes. He smirked, saying nothing.

“Lucky shot,” she remarked.

He arched his eyebrows at her challenge. The left boot followed suit, not just landing next to the other boot, but right in front of the toes of her other foot.

“Show-off!” she muttered.

He smiled at her, and the tight knot in her stomach clenched and unclenched in response. His smile was a lethal erotic weapon.

“What is your goal here? What would you have us do when we are both naked?” he drawled out as he ever so slowly removed his belt, then quickly lifted his tunic up and over his head.