Page 52 of The Very Virile Viking

"There will be no consummation, if that is what you mean by 'all.' A dry tup is the best I can offer you,"

he replied.

Is a dry tup what I think it is? "Because of the vow?"

"The vow," he agreed. "I apologize for that, but I promise I will give you pleasure nonetheless."

Oh, baby, you'd better. "Like last night."

"Oh, nay, m'lady. Much more than that."

More? Oh, geez! Am I in over my head, or what? Angela was afraid she was going to lose her cool; in fact, she was already very hot. But she had to make herself clear to this oversexed Viking—or whatever he was—before they started… anything . "Don't apologize for not being able to have intercourse.

Actually, that fits in better with my plans."

"Your plans?" he said in a suffocated whisper.

Angela did not have a lot of sexual experience, aside from the Creep. And she would never describe herself as a sensual woman. But, good grief, she felt like a goddess, knowing she could reduce this big man to a suffocated whisper. It was a heady, heady feeling.

"Let's sit down," she suggested, pointing to the round wicker table in the center of the gazebo with its high-backed rattan chairs on four sides.

"Why?" He seemed disappointed at the suggestion.

Slow down, Magnus. It's going to be a long night. I hope. "Why not?" She slid into one of the chairs and tightened the belt of her full-length Chinese silk robe.

"Why not? I will tell you why not. You mentioned 'plans,' and I assume you meant plans that involve something other than sitting at a table and blathering on and on till the cows come home. Are you teasing me? If so, my brother Geirolf had a name for such women. Or is it that this is the manner of seduction in your country? My brother Jorund has an even more colorful name for women like that." He plopped down heavily into the chair next to hers—not opposite her, as she had expected—and glowered at her.

"You… you… you…" she sputtered, even in the midst of admiring him. She had to admit he looked just as good leaning back in the thronelike chair as he had standing up. It was all that bare chest and oozing masculinity, she supposed. He'd thrown too many outrageous accusations her way for her to reply immediately. That, and the bare chest and oozing masculinity. "I am not a tease," she declared finally.

"And I wouldn't know how to seduce a man if my life depended on it. Furthermore, I'd like to give both your brothers a piece of my mind."

He smiled, and she realized that he'd deliberately provoked a reaction from her.

"I'm not liking your brothers very much."

"They are much better-looking than I am. And more charming."

I doubt that. "Fishing for compliments, are you, Magnus?"

He shrugged; then, reaching out an arm, he touched a forefinger to the mole at the side of her mouth. "I love your beauty mark. I saw such on a desert houri one time, but hers was not real. Can I kiss it?"

Yes, yes, yes! "No, you can't kiss it. At least, not yet… not till I discuss my… uh, terms." His fingertips were stroking the line of her jaw now. To say she was disconcerted would be like saying George Clooney was okay-looking—which would be a vast understatement, in her grandmother's book—and, frankly, hers, too. She swatted his hand away and, still seated, moved her chair several feet to the left.

He grinned and slid his chair closer to hers, not about to allow that much space between them.

"Terms, eh? I like the sound of that," he said in a deep, husky voice that implied he had his own idea of terms . Under the table, he stretched his leg over toward her leg and caressed her calf with his bare toes.

She felt the zing all the way to her fingertips, the hardened nipples of her breasts, and all the erotic places in between. The man had to have the sexiest toes in the world. He would probably be great at toe sex, if there was such a thing. Maybe I should ask… later. Yeah, right. Only if I've had a few more glasses of pinot noir . "Behave yourself," she said. "I need to say what I have to say."

"Then can I misbehave?"

She had to laugh at the man's persistence. And he was adorable. He really was. "If we agree on terms, yes. In fact, I'm counting on it."

He raised his hands in surrender and leaned back in his chair, waiting for her to explain.

"I must admit to admiring a man who would take a vow such as you have," she started out, "and stick to it."

"You admire celibacy vows?" He asked the question as if she were demented.