Page 46 of The Blue Viking

It was the softest of sounds, accompanied by a whispery exhalation, but Rurik heard it, and he recognized it for what it was … the reluctant arousal of a woman on the edge of surrender. Inwardly, he smiled with satisfaction. He was a master of seduction. The signs were clear. Just the tiniest push and she would be his.

He beckoned her forward with his fingertips in the way of man with woman through the ages. And he gave her his most sultry look as an added incentive … the one involving hooded eyes and flared nostrils. ’Twas a favorite ploy that never failed to tempt even the most proper maids.

Unfortunately, Maire was apparently neither proper nor a maid. Instead of doing his bidding, the stubborn wench took a step backward—backward!—away from the bed where he still reclined, and said, “Rurik, I do not want to make love with you.”

Huh? Had he read the body signals wrong? Was she not interested in sharing the bed furs with him? Impossible! He jumped from the bed and stood directly in front of her before she had a chance to bunk… or run for the door.

He saw a single nervous twitch of her lips, though she immediately masked it by pressing her lips together and raising her chin bravely. She was obviously agitated by his closeness, which had to be a good omen. He would wager great odds that she was, indeed, interested in love play, despite her words to the contrary.

They were so close he could swear he smelled the feminine musk of her excitement. In truth, she was as skittish as a mare in heat… though he did not think she would relish that comparison … leastways, not at this stage of their relationship.

He put a hand to her chin and stroked his thumb across her closed lips. The twitch did not recur, but he could sense her tension at his mere touch.

“Explain yourself, m’lady.” His voice came out husky and low, betraying his own masculine need. His thumb was continuing its caress of her exceedingly luscious mouth.

“I do not want to make love with you,” she repeated.

“Liar!”

She appeared shocked by his accusation, at first. But Maire was at heart an honest woman, and so she amended her statement, “Making love with you is a bad idea.”

Bad idea! ’Tis the best idea I’ve ever had.

He merely arched a brow in question. But while he waited for her response, he moved his hand from her chin down to her neck and curled his fingers around the nape, under her heavy swath of hair, and drew her closer. As she gazed up at him, he felt her breasts under the thin shift press against his bare chest, and his shaft press into her flat stomach. Sexual awareness swirled between them… and for just a second an overpowering dizziness assailed him. Surely, she felt it, too.

She licked her lips—a gesture so innocently carnal that his member lurched against her belly.

A rush of scarlet stained her cheeks as she perceived what had happened, and what she’d done to provoke it.

She tried to explain her unwillingness to couple with him. “Rurik, I have lain with only two men in my life … you and my husband, Kenneth. Both of you betrayed me in one way or another.” She put a halting hand up to his mouth when he would have contradicted her. He nipped at her fingertips, but permitted her to go on. “I have too many responsibilities now to risk such illicit behavior for my own selfish needs. I need my wits about me, and—”

Ah! Illicit behavior? Selfish needs? So, she does want me.

“—groveling in self-pity when I am hurt once again could be the undoing of my clan, which needs my full attention.”

“Maire, I misdoubt you have ever groveled a day in your life. And as to being hurt… how can you feel great passion unless you risk pain?” That last statement sounded pompous even to his own ears.

“That’s just it. I don’t want any great passion. I’m content with my life the way it is. And furthermore, have you ever considered what would happen if I were to become pregnant?”

“There are ways to prevent the planting of a male seed in the female womb.”

Maire seemed surprised by that. “Ways? What ways?”

“It matters not. Just know that a swollen stomach need not be one of your concerns.”

“Did you employ these ways the other time we were together?” There was a churlish, disbelieving note to her voice that he did not care for.

“Probably not. I was young then, and more careless.”

She pondered his statement for several long moments, then tried a different approach. “Rurik, you do me disrespect in making me your wanton. Give a thought to what my people would say of a mistress who shares a bed with every wayfarer who passes through.”

“I am not every wayfarer,” he grumbled. God, he was tired of talking. Time for action. Bed action. “Besides, Old John practically offered you to me on a welcome platter, and I daresay he is representative of others in your clan.”

“He never did!”

“Yea, he did. As I recall, he compared me to the bulls in the fields, the rams in the hills, even the wee fishies in the burns, and said the urge for mating betwixt you and me was natural. In fact, he even implied that it’s all part of God’s plan.”

Maire clucked her tongue with disgust at words she recognized as coming from the Scotsman’s mouth. “He probably thinks you’re going to marry me.”