Page 82 of Viking Unchained

Remember the mare, he told himself. Nice and easy. “He is my son, Lydia. You know that,” he said in as gentle a voice as he could manage.

She turned. “I don’t know what I know at this point.”

He patted his chest, over his heart. “I know it here.”

“Maybe it’s just what you want to believe. We can have DNA tests done.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “You can do all the testing in the world. I know what I know.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Now that I have Miklof, I will never be separated from him again. “I am not certain, but you will be involved in whatever that final decision is.” As long as it fits with my plans.

“Thank you,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes.

Oh, gods, now come the tears. That is usually my cue to leave, but I cannot bear my Lydia crying.

Whoa! Whendid I start thinking of her as MY Lydia? “Do not weep. This is a joyous occasion.” He moved closer.

She backed up a bit.

Skittish, for sure. “I have not seen Cage today.” Another step closer.

“He’s over at the Dentons’.” She took another step backward and hit the barn wall. A nearby cow mooed its disapproval.

He stretched an arm out and pulled at the clip holding her hair back into a queue. Her black hair spilled over his hand like threads of silk. Leaning forward, he sniffed, relishing the flowery scent.

“Did Cage sleep here yestereve?” I will kill him if he did.

She frowned, whether at his question or the fact he was pressing against her, clearly aroused. “Why would Cage sleep here?”

Mayhap Cage will be spared . . . for now. “Why indeed? ” he murmured, running the backs of his fingers over her chest, watching with satisfaction as her nipples beaded. Her sap is rising just as mine is, he realized, but he recalled Torolf’s words of caution earlier today and was careful in choosing his next words. “Have you made love with Cage?” Holy Thor! My tongue has a life of its own. I did not intend to say that.

“Good heavens, no!”

Praise the gods and pass the mead! He smiled then, and without asking, “May I, please?” as Torolf the lackwit would no doubt advise, he had her shert off and over her head and her den-ham braies undone and down at her ankles. Only then did he allow himself to look at her. “Sweet Frigg! What is this?”

“Victoria’s Secret.”

“Whose secret?”

“Never mind. I bought it this morning at the mall when I knew you were coming.”

She wore a flesh-colored scrap of lacy material over her breasts, which seemed to be higher and squished together. Her matching undergarment barely covered her dark fleece, and left her arse cheeks almost totally uncovered. Slipping his fingers under the lace, far enough that his fingertips touched her pouting nipples, he said in a raw voice, “I like it.” Now that is an understatement if I ever heard one.

“I’m glad,” she whispered.

Cupping her bare buttocks in his hands, he lifted her ’til her woman’s channel rode his erection. Then he leaned down to kiss her, murmuring against her mouth, “I have missed you, wench.” More than you can possibly imagine.

She could not answer because he was plundering her mouth with his lips and tongue and teeth, his hunger like a wild wave through his body. But she moaned, low in her throat, and he took that to mean she had missed him, too.

“Let me take off your shirt,” she said, while he moved to her ears, feasting with his wet tongue and hot breath. “I need to feel your skin against mine.”

Ah! A woman with her own mind! And a like mind at that. How did I get so lucky? He held her up, still with his hands under her buttocks, but leaned back a bit so she could remove his shirt and the scrap of lace off her breasts. Then she brushed her breasts back and forth across his chest hairs. They both groaned then.

“Lydia,” he husked out. What was it my cousin said about not being crude? “Wouldst like to have me inside you, or wouldst like me to first give you . . . um, the most intimate kiss?”

“What? Where did you ever hear that term? Have you been reading romance novels?” She was laughing so hard her breasts were bouncing.