Page 105 of Viking Unchained

“I will give Lydia all the advice she needs about this wanton display.” Over my knees with her arse in the air. Betimes a good spanking is all that will do. With that he stomped out of the room.

Smiling, Hilda listened as Thorfinn stormed up to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. Then she called Lydia.

“It worked.”

The things a woman will do

for love . . .

Lydia was prepared for Finn when the doorbell rang the next night.

Mike was sleeping over at his friend’s.

She was wearing a red camisole with matching tap pants, and nothing else.

Nail polish was on the coffee table, where she had presumably been painting her toenails, listening to soft rock music.

The lights were dim.

Aromatherapy candles burned on the mantel.

“Finn!” she exclaimed on opening the door. “What a surprise! But Mike isn’t here.”

Finn just stood frozen in place, surveying her from head to toe. She thought he murmured, “Gods help me!” before he shook his head as if to clear it and asked, “Are you alone?”

“Of course I’m alone.” She was insulted that he would think she walked around like this with some man in the place. But wait . . . maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. “For now.”

“Can I come in?”

Of course, said the spider to the fly. She nodded and opened the door wider for him to pass through.

“Why is it so dark in here?”

Atmosphere, honey. Atmosphere. “It’s not dark. There are candles.”

“Is your electricity broken?”

“No.”

He went over to one of the candles and sniffed. “It smells. Like peaches. Why does your candle smell like peaches? And that one smells like lavender.”

Oh, crap! Now he’s obsessed with candles. “Forget the candles. Dammit.”

He arched his eyebrows at her, then waved the video in front of her face. “What in bloody hell are you thinking?”

That’s right, Mr. Gullible. Take the bait. “Oh, that! It’s just a little enterprise on the side to earn some extra money.”

“Are you short of coin?”

“No.” She sat down on the couch, put one foot on the coffee table, and began to give her toenails a second coat. He could probably see up her pant leg from where he stood. I must have an inner bimbo gene.

“Have you gone demented?”

“Why? Because I’m painting my toenails?” Or because I’m chasing you like a lovesick teenager?

“Nay, not because you are painting your toenails, though I see no sense in painting a part of the body that is covered most of the time.”

“Some men think it’s sexy.” She looked up at him through half-mast lashes to gauge his reaction.