Page 26 of Viking Unchained

“I do.” She leaned up on tiptoe, placing her mouth a hairsbreadth from his. I’ll know if it’s him if I kiss him. No one kisses like Dave.

He hesitated only a second, then hauled her up tight into his embrace and kissed her as only Dave could.

A mind-blowing, hungry kiss that went on and on and on. Alternately gentle and fierce. Coaxing and demanding. Always hot.

All the frozen places inside her melted by degrees.

It’s him. Oh, my God! It’s Dave.

When they finally came up for a breath, he stared at her. Her belly was pressed against his erection, her breasts against his chest. The muscles in his shoulders bunched under her hands. They were both panting.

“Where is my son?” he asked, his face going harsh and angry.

“Mike? You know about Mike?”

“Of course I do. I was there when Miklof came out of your womb.”

“You were?” Lydia was lightheaded with wonder to know that Dave had been there in spirit throughout the hard labor. She had sensed his presence.

“Where is my son?” he repeated.

“On vacation. With our parents, actually.”

He frowned. “In Norsemandy?”

She shook her head. “No. Minnesota,” she told him hesitantly. Normandy? Maybe Dave had some kind of amnesia. That would explain a lot. “I’m going to pick him up in two weeks. They’re going to erect a statue in the town square to mark the fifth anniversary of your death. You’ll have to tell them to call it off.”

“All that damn tutoring, and I can scarce understand half of what she says.” He seemed to be speaking to himself, but then he looked down at her again. “What in bloody hell is going on here?”

“I have no idea. All I know is you’re back, and I love you.” She kept touching him. His face. His shoulders. His lips. His silly hair.

“I do not want your love. I want my son.”

“We’re a combined package, buster, as you well know. And stop kidding about not wanting my love.

You love my loving you.”

Ignoring her words, he ordered, “Take me to your keep where we can talk, in private.”

“Keep?”

“House. Dwelling.”

She nodded, bewildered and ecstatic at the same time.

As they walked out of the tavern, she put an arm around his waist and leaned her face against his chest, inhaling his delicious male scent. Dave’s scent. A knot rose in her throat.

It has to be Dave. It just has to be.

Even a Viking knows good sex

when it lands in his . . . um, lap

. . .

This was one of the strangest experiences of Thorfinn’s life, second only to the strange time-travel nonsense.

He was in a woman’s house . . . a woman who appeared to be Luta, but was not Luta. Or was she? He was not sure. There were similarities. Height. Facial features. But the hair color was wrong, and for a certainty this woman wanted him with a red-hot passion. She could not stop touching him, whereas Luta had merely tolerated his presence, never mind her initiating any intimacy. Mayhap she had had numerous lovers over the past five years and she had learned passion. That would be the least of her crimes.