Page 61 of Viking in Love

“Then, I owe you,” she said, standing, and holding her hand out to him.

Caedmon stood, as well. It bothered him that a woman was coming to his bed out of obligation. But not enough to call it off.

One side of his brain said, Release her from the bargain.

The other side said, Why should I?

The good side said, Mayhap if I let her go, she will come to me willingly.

The baser side said, Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Wet and wild, medieval style…

Breanne had thought she had a fairly good idea what happened during the sex act. Holy Thor, how had she been so misguided?

Once she walked into Caedmon’s bedchamber and saw the dozen candles blazing, the cozy fire in the small hearth, and clean linens on the bedstead, she knew this would not be a quick, emotionless swiving. The lout had plans, and they did not call for her lying as stiff as a board, letting him do what he will.

“What is all this?” she snapped.

The door shut behind him, followed by the ominous click of the lock. “A setting.”

“For what?” She hated that her voice came out as a squeak.

He smiled. “Love play.”

She hated when he smiled. “Play? What kind of rutting involves play?”

“The best kind,” he said, chucking her under the chin as he walked past her and over to a large armed chair by the hearth. He toed off both boots, then sat back, legs extended casually.

“I was hoping we could get this over with quickly so I could go back to my bedchamber and get some sleep. I have been up since dawn preparing for my sisters’ departure. And, by the by, when exactly is…” Her words trailed off as she realized she was rambling, and he was just grinning at her obvious nervousness.

“Getting this over with is far removed from what I plan. I doubt either of us will sleep this night, but if you please me, I give you permission to sleep in the morn.”

“Permission? You lout! I do not need your permission to do anything.”

He shrugged and wagged his fingertips, beckoning her to come closer.

She balked.

“You come here, or I come there, and since you are closer to the bed—”

She moved to stand before him so fast that the fire flickered from the wind she created.

“Take off your clothes, Breanne. Slowly.”

She gasped. No preamble. No darkened room. No romantic words. “Dost mean to humiliate me?”

He shook his head. “I mean to make love to you, and that starts with you and I being naked. There is naught humiliating in two people enjoying each other’s bodies.”

Refusing would be futile. She had agreed to this bargain, and her word was bond. But, oh, she wished she could just fly away.

Despite her heated face, she removed her apron and gunna, standing before him in naught but her woolen hose.

“Beautiful,” he said in a sex-husky voice. “You are very beautiful, Breanne.”

She did not think so. “’Tis lust speaking.”

“Mayhap a little. Nay, I thought the same when I saw you naked afore.”