Page 78 of The Blue Viking

In a rush, while Rurik was rummaging through his saddlebag on the bed, searching for some last-minute object, Maire began to peel off her garments. Every single one of them, including her hose and shoes. When she was done, and Rurik was about to put his sword in its scabbard at his hip, he asked churlishly, “Are you still here?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

“Because … because I haven’t thanked you for the amber necklet you gave me,” she said in a rush of words.

“I thought you had.”

“Not properly.”

He sighed. And still he would not make eye contact with her. God, the man was stubborn as a Saxon mule.

“Would you like to see how it looks?”

“Why? I already know how it looks.”

“Nay. You don’t.” She could be as stubborn as he if the occasion warranted … and this one did.

“Enough of your games, Maire! In your anger belowstairs you divulged your true sentiments, and mayhap that’s for the best because I will soon depart from these lands and—”

Rurik’s words trailed off as he pivoted and got his first good view of her amber necklet… framed as it was by her nude body. Eyes wide with astonishment, he muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Odin help me!”

His attention seemed particularly fixed on her breasts. No surprise there! Actually, there was a surprise there. When Maire peeked downward, just for a second, she saw that her nipples were distended with arousal. Oh, how mortifying! This must be how men felt when their staffs had a will of their own, waving in the wind at the least little provocation.

“Well, how do you like the necklet now?” she demanded as if that were the question paramount in her mind. It was becoming increasingly obvious who the lackbrain was in this chamber, and it wasn’t the one in battle gear. It was the one with hands placed brazenly on hips, tapping a bare foot with impatience.

Maire noticed the instant a transformation began in Rurik. Just before he drawled, “I like the necklet fine,” his posture relaxed and a slow smile emerged on his lips, which twitched with the effort to remain stern and unmoved. But he couldn’t fool her. He was moved. Maire could tell… even without examining that part of him which she knew to be highly movable.

Not giving herself, or him, a chance to think, Maire launched herself at him like a rock in a catapult, exclaiming in a long moan, “Ruuuur-iiiick!”

He had no choice but to catch her by opening his arms, then holding her up by the buttocks till she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Why are you doing this, Maire?” he rasped out, already backing up and sitting on the bed, with her straddling his lap.

Now he wants to talk? Is he demented? I cannot answer logical questions when my blood is nigh boiling and every fine hair on my body is practically dancing. Still, she mustered the strength of will to tell him, “Because there are things I need to talk about with you, and you kept ignoring me.”

Rurik was already undoing the waist laces of his trews and clumsily shoving the garment down his thighs, even though she had not moved from his lap. When he’d gotten them as far as his knees, he looked at her and smiled. Blessed Bones of St. Bartholomew! He has a fine, fine smile. “I could develop a fondness for your method of talking,” he drawled.

Who knew a drawl could be so … sexual? Was it a Viking trick, or did all men have this knack for twisting a woman into sensual knots with a mere lowering of the voice? “You wouldn’t pay attention to me,” she complained.

“I’m paying attention now.” The drawl was more pronounced than before. Without any preliminaries, he lifted her bottom up, then down, till she was filled with his rampant erection.

Aye, he was paying attention.

Maire closed her lids briefly, just in case her eyes were rolling. When she opened them, she saw that his teeth were gritted and cords were standing out in his neck. The man couldn’t drawl now if he tried, Maire would bet.

Sure enough, he finally grated out, “Do… not… dare … move.” He anchored her hips to make sure she complied. That created an overwhelming compulsion in Maire to do just the opposite of his bidding. In fact, if she did not move soon, she was certain the butterflies fluttering beneath her woman hair were going to burst free. So she tightened the inner walls of her body to hold them in.

Rurik’s member lurched, and he groaned, but he still held her firmly in her place. “So,” he said, once he appeared to be more in control, “talk.”

“Now?” she squealed.

“You said you came here to talk,” he reminded her. “Are you demented? I can’t talk now.”

“Why?”

“Why? Why? I’ll tell you why. Because I feel as if I’m sitting on a flagpole. That’s why. Mayhap you can do various things at one time, but simple woman that I am, I can concentrate on only one thing at a time.”