Page 51 of The Bewitched Viking

“Alinor…” he said tentatively.

“Nay.”

“Nay? I didn’t even ask the question yet.”

“The answer is still nay. Nay, nay, nay.”

He chuckled.

“Smirk all you want, lord of Lech.”

“Lord of Lech?” he gasped out.

“We are not going to resume those kissing games. You are not going to touch me. I am not going to touch you. I may have lost my senses there for a moment, but I have them back now. And this witch is not making love with yon troll.”

“Would yon troll be referring to me?” he said, choking with laughter.

“If the name fits, Viking.”

“The witch and the troll. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Aaarrgh!”

“You wanted me,” he pointed out. “Do not try to deny it.”

“’Twas just curiosity.”

He thought about that for a moment. “Wouldst there be any chance you are curious about how my staff would feel in—”

“Do not even think of suggesting such! I was curious, but now my curiosity has been satisfied. That is the end of it.”

“You are satisfied?” he inquired incredulously.

“I’m not talking to you anymore. So do not bother flapping your tongue at me.” She made much ado over the process of turning her back on him.

She wants me, too, he decided with a grin. He was a man well versed in female ways. He sensed when they were attracted to him. And when a woman protested this much, ’twas a sure sign she was weakening. Yea, ’twas only a matter of time till Alinor crept closer to his tempting form. He’d best make ready.

He arranged one arm under his head, striking a casual pose. With the other hand, he flipped the bed furs on his side down to his waist, exposing his shoulders and chest. Some women had told him, on more than one occasion, that he had an impressive upper body. Well, actually, many more of them had commented on his lower half, but he didn’t want to shock Alinor with that much male virility too soon. Not that she hadn’t seen it all already, but not from this close vantage point.

He should be thinking about the consequences of what he was about to do, but he couldn’t care right now. All reason was being directed by the organ between his thighs, not the organ between his ears. Which was not a bad thing, in his opinion. Still, he assured himself, making love with Alinor did not mean he was committed to her, or that he was responsible for her care beyond delivery to Anlaf. She would understand that before he dipped his sword in her sheath, that she would.

Odin’s breath! It’s cold in here. With his body half exposed to the night air, Tykir was beginning to shiver…and not from the bedlust. And speaking of breath, I can see my own breath. There will surely be frost on the oars come morn.

Then the most amazing thing happened. Well, amazing for Tykir, who prided himself on his allure to women. He heard a sound. A soft sound.

Alinor was snoring.

She had bloody well fallen asleep on him.

“Alinor,” he whispered.

Nothing.

Lightly, he touched her hair, which was the only thing showing above the furs.

Nothing.

He glared at her.