Page 51 of Viking Unchained

“It’s my baby face. Fools people all the time.”

“And works to your advantage, no doubt.”

“No doubt.” Geek waggled his eyebrows for emphasis. “More important, buddy, you have an ego the size of Baltimore. ”

“Ball-to-more? ”

“My hometown.”

“As for ego, seems to me all you SEALs have overblown opinions of yourselves.” As do Vikings.

“You could be right. Still, while you’re in training, there are a lot of bullshit orders that you have to obey, without question. And, frankly, there are a few asshole instructors that’re gonna make your life hell.”

“Dost think there are no asshole Vikings?”

Geek chuckled. “I would imagine there are more than a few.”

A short time later, Geek left, promising to return on the morrow when they would be discussing: one, table manners—apparently, polite men used forks and did not belch at the table; two, his swear words— Holy Thor! and Freyja’s Tits! were not modern enough; three, clothing— in particular, boxers or briefs, though he thought a codpiece would do as well; and four, weapons—what kind of soldier carried no sword?

He had spent more time with Geek than he’d expected, and still Lydia was not home.

But he had agreed to trust in her.

After Geek left, Finn took a metal container of mead . . . rather, beer . . . out of the ice box and went outside. His patience and trust were rewarded shortly.

“Finn,” she said, sticking her head out the glass door. “I’m back. Did you miss me?”

“For a certainty. I have a treat for you.”

“I’ve had enough of your treats, mister,” she said, but there was mirth in her voice. “Any more sex and they’ll be putting your dick in the Guinness Book of World Records.”

Thorfinn had no idea what she meant, but he suspected it was a compliment. “Not that kind of treat,” he said, tweaking her on the chin.

She arched her eyebrows with skepticism.

“I am going to let you chase me on the beach,” he informed her with a bright smile . . . well, bright for him. “And you will not even have to be naked.”

Chapter 10

’Twas the season for

gift-giving . . .

“Are you sure it’s not five miles yet?” Finn asked her as he dropped down to the blanket next to her, even though he was hardly panting.

“No, it’s only three miles. Get your butt in gear, buddy,” Lydia told him with a grin. For some reason, he’d set a goal of five miles of jogging for himself, but she’d never heard such a physically fit man complain about exercise so much. When he’d done a series of sit-ups and push-ups earlier, you would have thought he’d been plucking out his fingernails.

“It is insanity, that is what it is. Grown men running for no reason at all, just to develop muscles. I can grow more muscles by engaging in swordplay exercise. Or riding a destrier over a Saxon field. Or wrestling with one of my hirdsmen.”

Lydia just let him prattle on, admiring him as he stood above her, wearing nothing but nylon shorts and athletic shoes. Other than Dave, he was the most attractive man she’d ever met, and she couldn’t exactly say why.

His long hair was pulled back off his face, which was hard-planed and mostly somber. Well over six feet tall, he was broad-shouldered and by no means lean . . . not in terms of fat . . . no, he did not have much body fat, but he was big-boned, and, well, just big all over. He had a man’s body, with all its various scars. She’d have to ask about those later. And a man’s face, too, which showed his age with brackets about his eyes and mouth.

“Dost like what you see, wench?” he asked, giving her a rascally wink, which was unusual for him. Thus far, he had not been playful by nature.

“Too much,” she admitted.

He put up a halting hand. “Do not say I remind you of Dave again or I may heave the contents of my roiling stomach.”