Page 20 of The Last Viking

He was sent to her for a purpose, she suspected. And right now, she didn’t care what the reason. She relished the gift of his presence in her life.

His bleak eyes held hers. “Make me feel alive, Merry-Death.”

She tilted her head in question, her pulse accelerating.

“I am so tired and weary of the struggle. Thaw the frost that threatens to freeze my soul, Merry-Death. Please.”

She nodded, unable to speak over the lump in her throat. Slowly she lowered her head, and, with her left hand still resting over his heart, she pressed her lips to his. Soft against firm. Warm against cold. He was so frozen and stiff, like death. But she would restore him, she vowed.

It was a decidedly unerotic kiss, meant to convey only caring. And, yet, it was extremely erotic, as evidenced by Rolf’s quick indrawn hiss.

“Will you be my heart-friend?” he murmured. His breath was a sweet kiss in itself against her lips.

At his words, Meredith reeled as some need, long hidden and denied in her deepest soul, began to open, like the petals of a fragile flower. Heart-friend? Was that like a soulmate? Or just a friend?

He parted his lips, inviting more. At the same time, his arms remained immobile at his sides, palms upward, in supplication.

He didn’t insist that she get naked with him. Or grab her with lusty intent. He didn’t make false promises, or swear undying love. He merely waited, letting her set the pace of this loving…or halt it, if she chose.

Meredith found the prospect oddly empowering…and unique. No man had ever let her lead in quite this way, not even Jeffrey. To make all the decisions, or none. She wasn’t sure what to do.

So, she deepened the kiss, testing, and he accommodated her with a slight shifting of his lips, which were no longer cool. From side to side, she moved her lips over his, exploring, till she found just the right position. Then she slipped her tongue inside his mouth, tentatively.

His heart jumped with excitement under her hand.

She smiled against his lips, and felt him smile back.

Encouraged, she pulled away and examined his face with her eyes and her fingertips: the angry bruise at his temple, which she kissed gently; the arch of his thick brows; his long, feathery, thick lashes; the sharp bones at his cheek and jaw lines; even his straight, arrogant nose.

She admired but didn’t touch his wide shoulders. Nor the ridges of veins that outlined his muscled arms. Nor the many scars, old and new, that covered his skin. Not even the enticing sweep of shadow and light that marked the well-toned planes of his chest and abdomen. Instead, she savored the anticipation of touching him in all those places, eventually.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.

“Yea,” he agreed, and crossed his eyes at her. For some reason, the gesture touched her deeply. Perhaps because the small sign of humor showed she was succeeding in her efforts to pull him from his despair.

“You’re not chilled anymore,” she remarked, running a palm up his chest to his neck, sweeping back down as far as his waist. Then stopping.

He inhaled sharply, and sucked in his stomach.

In resistance? Perhaps he’d expected her to go farther. Or perhaps he didn’t want her to go so far.

“Nay, I’m not cold anymore, sweetling, thanks to you. But I am bone weary and heart sick.”

Sweetling? What a lovely endearment!

Lifting his hands from their invisible bonds at his sides, he drew her into his arms and settled her against his chest. One hand wrapped around her shoulder, the other burrowed into her hair, drawing her head against him.

In seconds, with her face pressed against his warm chest, Meredith felt the slowing of Rolf’s heartbeat. Then the steady rise and fall of his chest. Just like that, he’d fallen into a deep sleep.

She wasn’t offended. In fact, she felt rewarded for her efforts to bring him peace.

But Meredith didn’t sleep. Nor did she feel much peace that night as slumber evaded her and troubling questions niggled at her brain. Toward dawn, she slipped out of bed and drew the quilt up to Rolf’s chest. One arm was thrown over his head, and a thick patch of oddly attractive masculine hair showed in his vulnerable armpit. The other arm lay across the pillow where he had been holding her only moments before.

Tears burned in her eyes as she gazed at him. Then she forced herself to turn away and went downstairs to her computer, where she intended to find some answers.

It was eight o’clock before Meredith heard Rolf awaken. Soon after, she heard the sound of the shower running. She’d left a pile of Jared’s old clothing for him, along with a pair of battered running shoes. They would probably be too tight.

Getting up from the computer, she went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. She would have to go to the supermarket soon. There wasn’t much in the fridge. Deciding on French toast, she broke an egg into a bowl with milk, hesitated, then added two more eggs, figuring Rolf’s appetite would probably be huge after his meager meal the night before.