Page 31 of Truly, Madly Viking

"So what kind of contract do you usually do?" he asked, not bothering to hide his chagrin.

"We do a mental-health diagnosis, which we discuss with the patient. Then we set up goals for how to overcome those mental problems and enter back into society as a productive member... though some of our patients still work with us after they've left the clinic."

"I could do that," he concluded enthusiastically.

"Wonderful."

He could tell she was about to conclude their meeting, which he wasn't prepared to do just yet.

"Wait," he said, stretching out a hand to encircle the nape of her neck. The short hairs were prickly and silky at the same time against his fingertips. "Do you not conclude contracts in a particular way, as they do in my country... especially when the contract is a man-woman one?"

"Wh-what do you mean?"

Jorund saw the small pulse leap in her throat, as if she enjoyed his touch, despite herself, and yearned for more. Well, she was about to get more, if he had his way.

"In my culture, a true Norseman likes to seal his bargains with"—he leaned forward "a kiss."

"Liar," she whispered.

The blood in Jorund's veins was pumping so wildly, he was in no condition to protest her insult.

His lips brushed hers then, back and forth, light as a feather, but the pleasure it evoked was so intense, he moaned against her lips. Or was it she who moaned into his mouth? He could not help himself then.

He deepened the kiss and slipped his tongue between her parted lips. Sweet, sweet, sweet, she was.

And hot!

He drew back sharply, and withdrew his hand. He stared at her, mesmerized.

She stared at him, mesmerized.

It was she who spoke first. He could tell that she was about to say that this shouldn't have happened, or that it wouldn't happen again, as women throughout the ages were wont to do after they had succumbed to temptation, but instead she surprised even herself by blurting out an irrelevancy.

"I thought you didn't like kisses," she whispered in that sexvoice that seeped under his skin and grabbed at his loins with a jolt.

At first he was unable to utter a word. When he did, it was in a choked growl.

"I changed my mind."

The next day...

Joe was about to begin his first group-therapy session, and Maggie was more than a little nervous. It had taken some convincing to have Harry agree to Joe's moving into therapy so quickly, but even he was impressed with the way the man, who still claimed to be a tenth-century Viking, was mixing in with the others. Not only had he signed the personal contract required by Rainbow, the rules of which must be obeyed or the patient would be expelled, but he had behaved himself at dinner the night before, and he'd taken to the workout room with great enthusiasm.

One of the aides reported to her this morning that Jorund had lifted weights like an Olympian, and had manned the rowing machine as if it were an actual boat. In fact, he'd given it a name... Fierce Wizard, or some such thing. In true leadership fashion, he had set two other patients, who had been lethargic about exercise thus far, to rowing in tandem. You'd think they were the potential crew members of a... well, a longship.

Still, it was good to see Joe being proactive about something, anything. So much progress in such a short time was hard for Maggie to comprehend, but she wasn't about to protest a good thing.

"Are you ready?" he asked on arrival at his new room, where he was waiting for her. This room was the same as the other, sans barred windows and two-way mirrors on the corridor wall. She was about to escort him to the terrace room where group-therapy sessions were held. It was a light, sunny place that everyone liked.

"I must be. We have only five more days to get my ship in shape." He jiggled his eyebrows at her with his little joke, which was really odd because he appeared to be a man little inclined to teasing.

It was adorable the way he deliberately misinterpreted words and phrases. At least, she assumed it was deliberate. The other possibility meant more hurdles for them to jump in his therapy. And actually, he was adorable, period. Today he was wearing a white Dallas Cowboys T-shirt tucked into a pair of tight-fitting jeans and hightop athletic shoes. His long blond hair was held back off his face with a rubber band.

"We're wearing matching braies," he commented as they strolled down the corridor.

She looked down, then over at him. Yes, they were both wearing denim braies, which appeared to be the word Joe used for pants. But Maggie wasn't wearing a sweater or T-shirt today, as she usually did for these sessions. Instead she wore a white cotton blouse and a blue blazer.

Group-therapy day was usually one on which she deliberately chose casual clothes to fit in with her patients. But today, she suspected, she hadn't wanted to be disconcerted by any hot looks toward any part of her anatomy... in particular, her breasts.