The Viking Wants Forever (30 page)

“You visited me?” And just like that the shadow was gone as he grinned down at her.

How could a smile make him even more handsome?
Somewhat overwhelmed, she stammered, “y-you and your roommate already checked out a couple hours earlier.”

“That would be Bo’s fan club. He has a way of charming everyone. I was a bad patient, wanted nothing to do with the place. Now, I wish I’d stayed at least one more day.”

Even though her brown skin hid the blush now staining her cheeks, Reese dipped her head.

She was here.

After too many sleepless nights to count, and days filled with endless searches, she stood right in front of him. Taking a restraining breath, Eirik gripped his helmet. Less he crush her to him. Instead, his eyes devoured her.

Other than her hair, she hadn’t changed much during their separation. All curves and dipped in brown, she remained the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“What did you do to your hair?” he murmured. Forgetting himself, he reached out and swept her long dark hair over a rounded shoulder.

“Dominican blow out for the Con. After I take a shower,” she lifted her arms and formed a circle around her head. “It’ll be back to Sistah Soul proportions.”

Remembering the feel of her tight curls, his smile broadened. “I love it that way.”

She dipped her head again. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I—”

“I—”

“You first,” she acquiesced.

Eirik gulped. He hadn’t felt this awkward since he was a boy. “I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable.”

Her head came up. “It’s not that.”

“Is there someone else then? The man who guarded you in the expo hall?”

She rolled her eyes. “That was my best friend Allen. He took his job as my assistant a little too seriously.”

“There is no one else?”

“No.”

He held out his hand. “Then let me formally introduce myself, I’m—”

“Eirik Sigurdsson.” Her palm touched his and all his blood rushed to his loins. “You’re the hero in the
Asgard Chronicles
.”

“I was going to ask you about that.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded harsh. He was fighting his nature not to pull her into his arms and kiss her.

“The accident and the aftermath, you could say it left a mark on me. You’re not going to sue me, are you?”

“Sue?” Still learning the modern English language, Eirik had no reference for the term.

“Will you seek payment for unlawful use of name or likeness?”

She thought he wanted money. Little did she know he sought something much more valuable “I think we can come to terms. Let’s discuss them over a cold glass of pale ale.”

She scrunched her nose. “I’m not really a fan of beer.”

There was no way she was getting away from him now. “We have apple cider.”

R
eese allowed him to guide her through the gravel parking lot to the front of the three-story brick building. Situated on the corner of Pineapple Avenue and Eau Gallie Boulevard, traffic zipped by heading west from the beachside.

“Longship Brewery,” she said aloud, reading the boat-shaped sign over the entrance.

“We have eight signature microbrews and two ciders,” he proudly declared, unlocking the door. “We also make mead, a honey wine from a centuries-old recipe. It’s quite popular with women. They make up more than half our customers.”

Feeling the sting of jealousy, Reese doubted the mead was the only reason women were flocking to the Longboat Brewery. Eirik was a hunk, and so were the two guys taking inventory behind the bar. Dressed in green Brewery t-shirts, the pair obviously ate dumbbells for breakfast. Finally realizing they weren’t alone, they turned around.

“You actually did it. Well, pull my balls why don’t ‘cha.” The redhead, and taller of the two, whispered. Mouth slack, in disbelief, his eyes soaked up all of Eirik’s superhero glory.

“Pull mine too.” His companion said just as softly.

They glanced at each other and then burst out laughing.  

“Come. Allow me to introduce you.”

Like the rest of the tavern’s fixtures, the bar looked hand-carved. Whittled in the blond wood was a Viking ship, stripped sails unfurled, oars cutting through crashing waves. Drawn, Reese reached out. She traced the smooth lines of the boat’s hull. And like the gossamer wings of a dragonfly, a vague recollection teased her psyche. “This is beautiful,” she whispered.

“Don’t salivate over it too much.”

Reese glanced up and met the redhead’s laughing gray eyes. They were just as pretty as the rest of him. Classically handsome, he reminded Reese of the male models from the 80’s. Real men with masculine good looks who outweighed their female counterparts, not the wimpy wannabes with hips so narrowly thin they could squeeze into a thirteen year-old girl’s skinny jeans. Even his hair was drool-worthy. The mass of auburn hair was so lush and thick it almost seemed to have a life of its own.

“Yeah, the big guy here tends to puff up over his handiwork.” Equally as handsome, the ginger’s companion, a dark-haired muscle head with a dimpled chin, leered at her across the bar.

Reese peeked at Eirik, and sure enough his broad chest had expanded exponentially.

“Protecting you from us. She’s a keeper,” the dark-haired one quipped.

“I don’t need protecting, and I’m working on it.” Did he just allude to a relationship?!  Her inner voice noted with a twinge of giddiness. “Reese Johnson allow me to introduce you to my partner, Bo Michaelson and our brewmaster—”

“Certified Beer Cicerone.”

Eirik ignored him. “That’s Mack Tyler.”

“Did you say Reese?” Without waiting for Eirik to answer, he continued, “then you’ve got to try our Reese IPA.”

Interest piqued, Reese rested her elbows on the bar. “Reese IPA?”

Bo grinned. As if carved into his skin, two deep dimples indented his cheeks. “Our Reese IPA has a creamy chocolate flavor with a bite of raspberry. The big cheese here christened the brew himself. Said it reminded him of someone.” Whistling, Bo picked up a pilsner glass. He sauntered over to the beer tower, and tugged the tap. “My treat,” he said, placing a glass and a cocktail napkin in front of her.

Reese wasn’t a beer drinker, equating the alcoholic beverage to dragon piss, but she couldn’t turn down a drink sporting the same name.

As she picked up her glass, Mack handed Eirik a frosted mug. “Your mead, my lord.”

Feeling all eyes were on her, Reese took a sip.

“What do you think?” Bo asked.

“Too sweet?” Mack offered.

Eirik regarded her silently.

“It’s actually...pretty good,” she admitted. “And I don’t like beer.”

Both Mack and Bo perked up. Eyes twinkling, Reese could see the questions forming in their heads, and Eirik must have seen the storm brewing as well.

“She’s not here to perfect our drafts.” He touched her lower back, gently nudging her away from the bar. “Let’s find someplace with less interruptions.”

Instead of sitting at one of the tall pub tables in the back, he steered her around the bar to a side door. “We can talk on the terrace.” he hesitated on the bottom rung. “That’s if you feel comfortable.”

“I rode on my first motorcycle. Accepted a drink from a stranger. Sort of late to be uncomfortable, don’t you think?”

“Ladies first,” he answered with a seductive smile.

But it wasn’t really ladies first as he took the stairs beside her. With each step, Reese could feel her nipples grow taut against the thin cotton of her white linen blouse and an unrelenting ache between her legs.

“Watch that cape. We wouldn’t want you to fall!” Bo called. And then Reese heard another burst of laughter.

Eirik seemed to take their teasing in stride. At the top of the landing, he unlocked a metal plated door, and then stepped back, allowing her to precede him into a narrow hallway. The same blond wood from below ran the length of the passageway. Recessed lighting illuminated the small corridor, and added warmth to the sparse white walls. Instead of stopping, they turned the corner, and climbed another flight. The third floor was a parallel image of the second.

“More locked doors.” she asked when he slipped a key in the double door.

“One of our patrons crawled into Bo’s bed...uninvited.”

Poor girl, Reese empathized. After a couple drinks, crawling into Eirik’s bed seemed like a natural progression.

He threw open the doors and Reese stood in the doorway a moment, taking it all in.

“Home sweet home,” he said with pride, arms outstretched.

The sun streamed through numerous windows, bathing the blond wood floors. Wood furniture with clean lines shared the open design with a multitude of Viking artifacts, arranged on shelves or hanging from the walls.

“There isn’t a bad view in this place,” she said, turning slowly. To the east was a mouth- dropping view of the Indian River. To the south, west and north, downtown historic Eau Gallie.

“We fought over the top floor.” He grinned. “I always win.”

“I’m sure,” Reese said, her tone oddly hushed. “I can just imagine you leading a group of men into battle or a raid, cracking heads open along the way.”

Looking startled by her statement, he murmured, “I’ve cracked my share.” He stared at her a moment, and then he shuttered his expression. “I need to change into something less comical.” He pointed at the sliding-glass door. “The terrace is there. You can hang out there until I return.”

“Take your time,” Reese called after him. She’d use the time alone to reign in this awful case of nervousness and inexplicably acute, intense desire. For there was no explanation for the ravenous, toe-curling need he incited in her. She had very few experiences to measure this overwhelming craving to kiss him and much more.

Reese nibbled on the pad of her thumb. Would this brief respite be enough to quench this tangible yearning biting at her belly? Probably not. More like a lifetime, she figured. Outside of her fleeting dreams, she’d never met a man like Eirik Sigurdsson. 

* * * * *

E
irik tipped his head back and downed the contents of his mug, and then set it down on the nightstand. As soon as he changed clothes he would grab another bottle from the mini-cellar in the kitchen. His current buzz was barely noteworthy, and definitely not enough to ease the rise and ebb of emotions he’d suffered the moment he rolled from his bed this morning.

In quick order, he ripped the cape from his shoulders and let it fall at his feet. The customized costume followed. Eyeing the rumpled material, Eirik shook his head. To think he’d worn the ridiculous get-up to impress her.

Cosplay she’d called it. “You’ll be the object of my deepest desire,” she’d said, while palming his cock. “No other man could compare,” she’d whispered, working his responsive flesh.  She’d almost succeeded in tempting him, but driven by ego he’d refused. He’d been a mighty
jarl
, playing dress up was for children. He’d lose the respect of his men. And today he’d worn a costume in front of hundreds of strangers. Chuckling, Eirik stepped into a pair of olive green cargo shorts. What a difference reincarnation and time travel can make.

Eirik sat down on the bed. After two long years, and a fair share of trials and tribulations, she was finally in the other room. Freya gave him life and even deposited him within vicinity of her, in a place called Brevard County, Florida. Beyond that, she’d been hands off.

As he slipped a Longship t-shirt over his head, Eirik remembered those first few months. He’d been like a babe thrust into a new world. Food and shelter had come easily. Freya had gifted him with half the treasure from his funeral pyre. The other half she kept as tribute.

Too bad Freya hadn’t prepared him for how much the world had changed. Technology, not learning a new language nor attaining basic necessities, had proved to be the biggest challenge. Initially, unable to cope with a daily overload of information, he’d opted to live in the woods. Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one who’d checked out. During those weeks of self-imposed exile, he’d stumbled across several homeless camps. He used this interaction with other humans, in a seemingly sheltered environment, to become acclimated with his new world. Of course, there were still things that spooked him like TV, computers, cell phones and Twinkies. How did they get the cream inside?

A quick study, he’d traded in a lean-to for a beachside studio apartment. He’d only had the keys a week when he finally spotted Reese at an outdoor cafe. Somewhat overzealous, he ran across a six-lane highway but wound up in the gutter. Eirik smiled at the memory. He’d been so frightened of losing her again, he’d demanded she hold his hand.

Speaking of memories, Reese’s memory or lack thereof, was driving him mad. One moment, he thought she remembered him, and his heart soared. And the very next moment with nary a sign of recognition, she dashed his hopes. Still the rollercoaster ride, as Bo would call it, was better than the pain that shot through him when he’d lost her for what he’d believed forever that day in the cave. Now that he had a second chance, he would withstand anything to win her heart again.

Eirik stood. No time like the present.

He found her on the terrace, curled up in the hammock, nose in a book. He’d bought the swing hoping one day it would hold them both. Heart beating so loudly the sound hammered in his ears, he wanted to say, “Stay here with me always.” This image of her, the emotions she incited in him were so unique, so profound, and so raw they almost knocked him to his knees.

Unable to let this moment pass, he said, “You’re in my favorite spot. Do you mind sharing?” Startled, she glanced up. He gazed into her golden brown eyes, and the compulsion to wrap his hand behind her neck, pull her close for a kiss was so strong he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Sort of hard to say no when I’ve pilfered your stuff,” she said, holding up a book.

“Take my name, steal my books. You’re becoming even more indebted to me.”

Her deep-throated laughter echoed around them, teased his senses like wind ruffling a ship’s sails. Balls tightening and needing to put some distance between them, Eirik eased onto the opposite end of the hammock. When it dipped and swayed precariously, her eyes widened.