Page 91 of The Last Viking

“That was just a skirmish. Don’t think you’ve won the whole campaign.”

“Hardly.”

“We’re not really married,” she snapped when he wouldn’t argue with her. “There isn’t any court in the world that would recognize it.” That was a mean thing to say. Shame on me. The ceremony felt very, very real to me.

“Ah, Merry-Death, you should not have said that.” His nostrils flared with anger.

“Why?”

“Because now I will have to prove to you that we are wed, as well as punish you for all your transgressions this day.”

He bent over and removed his boots, threw his cape, talisman belt, and fanny pack to the hard-packed dirt floor. He was in the process of lifting his tunic over his head.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

He tossed the tunic to the floor, giving her an eyeful of wide shoulders, ridged abdomen, and tendon-delineated arms. But that wasn’t all. Without hesitation, he released the ties at his waist and let the trousers fall to his ankles. Stepping on one foot, then another, he kicked them off his feet and away. Apparently, his wedding outfit went only so far. No codpiece, breechcloat, boxers, or jockey shorts in sight.

Meredith’s mouth went dry. She’d known he had a good body. She just hadn’t known how good. The firelight and the late-afternoon sun filtering through the window cast golden shadows on his tanned skin. And there was a lot of it. Narrow waist and hips. Flat stomach. Muscular legs and chest with their furring of brown hair. And…oh, my, my, my…Rolf had been justified in feeling overly confident about his physical endowments.

Slack-jawed, she repeated her earlier question in an embarrassingly squeaky voice. “Wh-what are you doing?”

He smiled then, a bone-melting, dazzling display of white teeth and raw sexual promise. He moved closer…so close she could feel his male heat. His answer came in a thick whisper against her parted lips. “Preparing for battle.”

Chapter Sixteen

“Battle? Ha, ha, ha!” A little shiver ran visibly over her. She wished Rolf would smile or do something to assure her he was just kidding.

He did smile, but he did it while kneeling in front of her. Oh, my God, she stood fully dressed and a naked man—a very aroused naked man—knelt at her feet. If she was a sexual fantasy kind of woman, this would rank as a real X-rated Kodak moment.

“Are you about to pray for my forgiveness?” she choked out.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you, wench? Best you fortify your ramparts, my lady of the running tongue. This warrior is about to lay siege to your every portal. And you have ne’er seen the likes of a Viking with the war fever, I wager.”

“Aren’t you being a little melodramatic?…Oh, no, stop that.” He’d lifted the hem of her gown, reached up and jerked the tap pants of her teddy all the way down and off.

She thought she heard him mutter, “There goes the moat.”

But who was paying attention? She was more interested in the fact that her gown remained hitched up to the waist, held by his hands on either side of her hips, leaving her bare to his view.

He moaned.

She moaned.

“Now you have done it, Merry-Death,” he gasped out.

“Me?” she squeaked.

“There should have been a prolonged bout of loveplay on our first nuptial bedding. You deserve gentle words and sweet caresses. But, bloody hell, you made me wait overlong,” he informed her in a guttural rush. “Too damn long!” He hoisted her by the waist, cupped her bottom, canted her hips outward, and plunged inside.

She screamed.

He stilled.

There wasn’t any real pain. She’d been ready for him since that blasted anointing exercise. But he was so big and she was so tight and she hadn’t expected his entry and, oh, God, it was Rolf, the man she loved who was filling her for the first time, and if he didn’t stir soon she was going to scream again.

His forehead, beaded with perspiration, pressed against hers. His eyes were closed, and he gulped for air. “Did you feel that? Oh, hell, did you feel that?”

“What?”