Page 45 of The Bewitched Viking

With another robust yawn, he began to remove his clothing. First, he hopped about on one foot, then another, as he unlaced his cross-gartered ankle boots. He thought he heard Alinor make a teeth-sucking noise of disgust at the ruckus he was making. No one else seemed to notice, though, apparently being fast asleep.

Alinor’s disapproval annoyed him, along with her constant complaints all the evening long…in fact, these past two sennights. What kind of captive was she that she felt free to berate her captors? What did that say about him as the captor?

He would turn the tables on her, he decided. He would undress in front of her, slowly, and imprint an image on her brain of him, naked, just as he had of her. That would show her.

He hoped.

But the witch defeated him by keeping her eyes scrunched tight. He was fairly certain she did not see his naked form—which was magnificent, if he did say so himself—because he watched her closely. She did not once blink or peek.

That annoyed him, too.

With a muttered curse, he slipped into the furs beside her. She squealed with outrage, unable to maintain her cool composure. Mayhap she had seen him after all, and was now swoony with concern over the size of his…form. Some women were missish in that regard, not realizing that the female body was made to accommodate any…form.

“Your toes are cold, you brute. Don’t touch me. Move your feet.”

Well, mayhap not so swoony…or missish.

She waggled her bare toes against his bare toes, and he experienced the shock of it all the way to the top of his scalp, the ends of his fingers and the very tip of his manhood. The last time he’d felt such an immediate jolt was when Bolthor, who weighed as much as a midsize horse, had stepped on his big toe. Blessed Freyja! He had seen stars then. But that had been different. This shock was painful, too, but in a most delicious way. Who would have thought toes could be such an erotic body part?

“Stop squirming,” he grumbled, trying to make himself comfortable, “lest you arouse me.” That last disclosure was an impulsive inspiration, for which he congratulated himself.

She stilled immediately. “You lecherous lout! Are you naked?”

“Of course I’m naked. ’Tis how most mortal men, and women, sleep. Aren’t you?” He reached out a hand to check, and encountered her underchemise. Helvtis, he thought, though why he should care, he could not say. Damn, damn, damn.

“No, I’m not naked,” she snapped, slapping his hand away. She rolled over to her side and turned to face the wall, taking most of the bed furs with her.

He grinned and pulled his half of the bed furs back. Then, risking bodily damage, he nestled against her, spoon-fashion. She had no place to go. Thank the gods!

“Stop pressing your knee into my backside,” she ordered in an icy voice, which, no doubt, had a chilling effect on her sheep. But none whatsoever on him.

He chuckled. “My knee is nowhere near your rump,” he told her. And it wasn’t.

When understanding dawned, she bolted up into a sitting position and tried to flee the bed furs. “You loathsome wretch!”

“Shhhh,” he cautioned, pushing her down so she lay on her back. “You’ll wake everyone.” With that, he rolled over onto his side and threw one leg over her thighs and an arm across her chest, thus imprisoning her.

But what he accomplished, instead, was a soul-searing blow to his senses. With his legs, through her night rail, he perceived the shapeliness of her thighs, causing the very hairs to stand up on his legs, and everywhere else. Under his forearm, the nipple of her breast budded, begging for his touch. The witch felt so damn good in his arms that the very breath seemed to stop in his lungs, and his heart skipped a beat.

She gasped, as if equally affected, and stopped struggling.

With a groan, he nuzzled her rose-scented hair and whispered, “You should stop using Eadyth’s hair ointment.”

“Why?” she whispered back.

He felt her breath against his cheek as she turned to speak to him. It was warm and fresh and dangerously enticing. “Because I like it too much,” he answered.

That gave her pause. The lady would not like him liking anything about her…not her naked body, not the smell of her hair, not her sweet breath and definitely not the imprint of her nipple on his flesh.

I am doomed, he thought. The witch has ensorcelled me with her spells. And I do not care. All I care about is—

“All you care about is your lustful impulses,” she charged, trying to shift out of his embrace. “You are just like every other man, thinking only of yourself.”

“I am like no other man,” he assured her, tightening his arm and leg across her.

“If I lie still, will you leave me alone?”

Smart woman! Knows when to fight and when to negotiate. “Mayhap.”