A Viking For The Viscountess (3 page)

You will forget everything about him when I have finished with you,
came the man’s voice in a half-remembered language.

His words startled her. Was her dream man speaking of William? Juliana rather hoped so. She wanted to forget about her husband’s demanding nature and the way he’d visited her bed, expecting her to scream his name or some other nonsense. What was there to scream about?

Her imagination settled back, enjoying the skilled hands that caressed her breasts, drawing out an echo of sensation between her legs. She had never felt this way before, with arousing liquid desires that raced through her skin. She reached out, not knowing what was happening to her, but her phantom lover bent to her throat, his mouth kissing her pulse point while his hands threaded through her damp hair.

A warning resounded in her mind, something about the cool water. Something she should remember…

But she didn’t want to wake up from this dream. She wanted to see where it would lead and what her lover would do to her.

His mouth closed over her breast, wet and demanding. She arched hard, the exquisite pleasure tormenting her. He explored her flesh as if he wanted to taste every inch of her.

And God help her, she wanted him to. It had been six years since her husband had visited her bed, but William’s touches had been rough, never arousing like this. She kept her eyes closed, afraid this dream would vanish in the morning light, and all of it would end.

Juliana held his head to her breast as he suckled and teased, his other hand reaching over to caress her breast’s twin. Between her thighs, she grew wet, and was startled that it had happened so easily. On the nights William had come to her bed, she’d lain naked beneath the coverlet, struggling to feel something.

She’d even touched herself a time or two before his visit, hoping to arouse herself. Anything that would make the lovemaking more comfortable and prevent her husband from criticizing her. But this dream was breaking past her meager knowledge of sex, leading her into so much more.

Again, a part of her grew fearful. As if she had to awaken, right now.

The fur beneath her had grown so hot, perspiration beaded upon her skin. She struggled to pull off the outer coverlet, and felt instead the length of a male body. Conjured from her imagination, this man was firm, with taut muscles. Juliana traced his chest, her hands exploring by touch. Her lover was powerful, with broad shoulders that tapered down to a lean waist.

My, but her imagination had selected an excellent specimen.

His hips were hardened muscles, and she marveled as she learned his body in the darkness, moving her hands over his heavy thighs. His erection rested against her stomach, thick and hard. Out of curiosity, she took it in her hand, and he let out a low growl as if he liked it.

The dream shifted, and his mouth lowered from her breasts, down to her ribs. He tilted her hips up, kissing a path down to her intimate flesh.

She started to protest, for this was something she’d never imagined. She wasn’t at all sure he should—

Dear God above. His mouth feasted upon her, his tongue sliding within her moist entrance. Inside, her body shook with tremors, her breath seizing at the shocking sensations. She’d never imagined anything like this, and it took an effort to ignore the warnings in her mind.

She was shuddering, her fingers clenching at the fur while white-hot tendrils of desire drove her mad with need. He teased at the hooded flesh, provoking her toward the sensual pleasure she wanted so badly. And when she leaned into him, surrendering to her own needs, he suddenly pulled away.

Frustrated and upset, Juliana tried to bring him back, but instead, he replaced his mouth with the pressure of his fingers. The sensation was different, and when his mouth returned to her nipple, she felt the urgency roaring back.

Juliana leaned in, gripping his muscled shoulders as her body reveled in the glory of being touched this way. Instinctive tremors rocked her and she gripped his head as he forced her over the edge, a soaring heat of release pouring through her. Nothing in all the months of her marriage could have prepared her for the way her body craved his invasion.

Did Eyker touch you like this?
he demanded.

Who was Eyker? Juliana struggled to open her eyes. The dark warning inside her was gaining momentum, urging her to wake up. Something was wrong.

It would have been like this between us, if you had allowed it.

He moved against her throat, speaking words she didn’t understand. Between her legs, she felt his blunt erection probing. Her body was wet, aching to be filled by this man. She wanted to forget everything, to lose herself in a dream of pleasure. Abruptly, she gasped as his slick heat filled her. This was what she’d wanted from William. This desperate need to be taken and to shatter the boundaries between them.

Though she couldn’t understand how her mind had created this fantasy, she wasn’t about to lie quietly and let the dream disappear. No, she gripped him hard, meeting his thrusts while she arched her hips to receive him. There was nothing polite or quiet about the lovemaking—it was carnal lust, almost savage in nature. She grew molten as he sheathed himself. A part of her half-expected this lover to be barbaric, to thrust in a rhythm that would hurt.

But instead, he seemed to know when to quicken the tempo and when to slow down. She was frantic for another climax, desperate to make this man shatter in the way she had. The boat was moving, and the rocking motion echoed the surges of his hips against hers.

Within her, she sensed him seeking his own release, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, holding fast as he rode her. A cry ripped from her mouth as he held her bottom and penetrated over and over. She was coming apart, her body shuddering against the rhythmic pleasure, until the release shot through her in mindless lust. When her nails scored the man’s back, he let out his own groan, his hard body growing slack against hers.

Juliana kept her eyes closed, stunned that she’d created such a vision in her mind. No doubt once she awakened, she would find herself back at home in her bed, with no man to share it.

It was a dream, and when dawn came, it would end.

Sparse rays of sunlight speared his eyes, and Arik blinked at the brightness. Although the morning air was cool against his bare skin, the woman in his arms was warm. His shaft hardened instantly, and he reached between her legs to prepare her, wanting the honeyed wetness against his fingertips. But when he rolled her over, his hands stilled upon her flesh. It wasn’t Svala he’d taken last night. It was a woman he’d never seen before.

Uneasiness slid through him, and Arik wondered what was happening. Was she a slave girl, sent by Freya to tempt him? Was this a part of the afterlife? With his knuckles, he gently touched her skin. It prickled with gooseflesh, and she murmured something in her sleep. He didn’t understand her words, and from the shape of her face, he guessed she was Anglo-Saxon. Yet the language was still foreign to his ears.

“Awaken,” he commanded.

Her gray eyes flew open, and she let out a scream of terror. Gripping the furs to cover her nakedness, she looked horrified.

She started speaking words in a language he couldn’t grasp, flustered words of panic and embarrassment. Her cheeks turned bright red, as if she’d suddenly remembered her actions from the night before. Arik folded his arms across his chest, waiting for her to speak words that made sense. When she gave none, he demanded, “Who are you?”

Her eyes narrowed, as if she’d suddenly understood his question. “You’re…not English,” she whispered. Her face furrowed as she spoke.

He didn’t know what she was talking about, but he reached for his fallen clothing and covered himself. “I am called Arik Thorgrim, a
jarl
from the Ryger tribe.”

“A what?”

“A
jarl.
I have lands in Rogaland, and my brother has settlements in East Anglia and Dubh Linn.” He reached down and tossed her the discarded garment she’d worn the night before. It was a finely woven gown, one that spoke of her status. This woman was not a slave, but possibly a freewoman or a king’s daughter. And yet, she wore no jewelry, save a small gold ring upon one hand. There were no jeweled torques nor bracelets to show her rank. He frowned, trying to determine more about her.

“What is your name? And what happened to your ship?” he demanded. If her family was searching for her, he would see to it that she was returned to them.

“I am Juliana Arthur, the Viscountess Hawthorne,” she answered in his language, her eyes wide. “My father’s ship broke free of its moorings, and the wind carried me out to sea. It was my own fault for climbing inside the boat.”

“Then the gods did bring you to me.” He studied her. “Clothe yourself and then we will talk further.” Right now, he couldn’t grasp what had happened. Though she wasn’t Svala, her features were similar enough.

The sun had risen higher, casting light over the land nearby. It resembled the shores of East Anglia, but strange dwellings rested within the hills. He’d never seen anything like them, and more and more, he wondered if this was part of the afterlife.

There was no sign of Asgard, nor the Hall of Valhalla, as he’d expected. Arik sat upon one of the benches, resting his hands upon the oars. Was this a test? Since he’d been murdered instead of dying in battle, did he have to earn his place among the warriors?

Perhaps he truly
had
heard the words
not yet.
He didn’t understand any of it, and the gods weren’t known to explain themselves to mortals.

“Take me home,” Juliana pleaded. He turned and saw that her gray gown was still damp, the fabric outlining her slender body and rounded breasts. It reminded him of the night they’d spent together and the way she’d welcomed him into her arms.

She hadn’t been afraid of him then. He’d touched her, believing she was Svala. And though he didn’t know why this woman had allowed a stranger into her bed, nothing had been done against her will. He remembered the way she’d clenched his head, arching against him as he’d tasted her swollen flesh.

His body hardened at the memory, but he forced it back. Clearly, there were reasons why the woman had given herself but now held regrets.

She was shivering hard, the gown doing little to shield her from the wind. He returned to their sleeping place and brought out a heavy fur. When he advanced toward her, she took a step backward. He let her retreat, ignoring her fear as he wrapped the fur around her shoulders.

“You live there?” he questioned, pointing toward the land.

“Yes.” She held on to the edges of the fur, still staring at him.

“Then I will guide the ship to the shore. You will grant me food and shelter in return.”

Her gray eyes turned suspicious. “There’s no place for you at my house. I barely have a bed for my maid and my son.”

A tension pulled at him when she mentioned a boy. “Where is your husband?”

She reddened. “I haven’t seen him in six years. I think he’s dead.”

The traces of fear in her voice made him now understand her apprehension about the night they’d spent together. “And do you believe this?”

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know what to believe. But last night I was asleep… I never meant to—” Crestfallen, she stared at her feet, as if humiliated by what they’d done.

Arik took the fur covering with both hands, pulling her to stand closer to him. “I thought you were Svala, the woman who was promised as my bride.”

Guilt stained her cheeks, but she raised her eyes to his. “What I did was wrong, and it won’t happen again.”

In her voice, he heard the firm resolution, and it irritated him that she’d dismissed him like a mistake to be swept aside. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d brought her pleasure last night, and by the gods, he wasn’t without honor. He would never take a woman without her consent. But he wasn’t at all averse to tempting her.

“It might.” To remind her of it, he tilted her chin up and kissed her. It was a kiss of possession, to place a claim upon her. But when he tasted the softness of her lips, he gentled his mouth upon hers. Her hands dug into his shoulders, as if to protest. But he caught her against his chest, pulling her closer. And whether or not she wanted to kiss him, she yielded to him like a temptation she couldn’t have.

If her husband were alive, Arik would have understood her reluctance and honored it. But six years was too long to leave a woman like this behind. He had no doubt at all that her husband was dead.