Sandra Hill by The Last Viking

Author:The Last Viking [Viking, The Last]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“You love me?” Merry-Death choked out.

The scarlet flush of arousal on her face faded to pale cream, and her luminous eyes widened with anxiety. If her white-knuckled fingers clutched the tub’s edge any tighter, she might break through the porcelain.

Geirolf wasn’t offended. He understood her panic. Had he not fought the same urge to run like the wind when Jillian first suggested to him that he loved Merry-Death?

Regaining her composure, Merry-Death laughed. It was a false laugh, one of those unattractive sounds people make to cover their real emotions. “Ha-ha-ha,” Merry-Death said. “Great joke, Rolf, but you don’t have to give me that old line. I’ve already decided to have an affair with you. So you don’t—”

“You have?” Grinning at her from where he remained perched on a stool, chin propped on his steepled hands, he could scarce keep from jumping into the tub with her—tunic, boots, and all. But first, he had to make himself clear. “’Tis not a line, as you name it. ’Tis a statement of fact. I wish ’twere not so—we have so many obstacles in our path. I do not want to love you, Merry-Death, but there ’tis. I love you.”

She made a kittenish mewl of distress, and he couldn’t tell if she was pleased or not. Since he’d never uttered those three dreaded words to a woman afore, he had no experience to draw on.

“I’m telling you, Rolf, you don’t need to soft-soap me to get me in your bed. You won that battle days ago.”

He chuckled. “But I would much relish soft-soaping you, sweetling, if the exercise even remotely resembles drekking you.”

A smile twitched at the corners of her lips—lips that he anticipated kissing very soon and very thoroughly.

“Have I told you how much I enjoy the scent of your drek, almost as much as the flowery bath oil that permeates this bathing chamber? I will ne’er smell roses again without thinking of you.”

Merry-Death’s head snapped back, and she gave him an uneasy look. Why would she be surprised that he cherished the fragrances associated with her? But he had another question. “What is this ‘affair’ you have decided to have with me? Is it a perversion?” he asked hopefully. Meanwhile, he trailed his fingertips idly through the dissipating bubbles, giving him a murky vision of the glorious body beneath.

“You are outrageous,” Merry-Death proclaimed, but she didn’t seem sad about that. “An affair is a fling, a casual relationship that both parties know will end in a short time.”

Geirolf drew himself straight. “Nay, there is naught casual in my sentiments for you. Do not dismiss me in such a light manner, my lady. It demeans what I offer you.”

“And what, exactly, are you offering me?” she inquired tentatively.

“My heart.”

“Oh, Rolf.” Her eyes filled with tears…happy tears, he would wager. She started to say more, but then stopped. “Look, this isn’t the place to discuss this. Would you turn around so I can get out of the tub?”

He grinned. “You may certainly stand, but I’m not such a lackwit that I would turn away.

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