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‘There—there’s one more thing I can do for you,’ Brendan offered, his face turning crimson. ‘I—I could keep my brothers away for the rest of the afternoon. So that you and my sister can be alone.’
Caragh looked at her younger brother, aghast that he’d said such a thing. But his offer caused Styr to break into a laugh. He took her hand and called back, ‘I accept your offer, Brendan, and gladly.’
‘I can’t believe what my brother just said,’ Caragh murmured. She was holding a cup of cold water from the stream, and Styr accepted the cup, drinking deeply.
‘He’s more intelligent than I realised.’
A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek, and she reached out to touch it, drawing a line down his throat, to his chest. Heat flared through him, and Styr dropped the cup, dragging her inside.
He took her mouth, kissing her hard against the wall. Gods, but he would never get enough of the taste of her. Caragh’s arms came around him, and she pressed close. ‘If you finish the house today, we could wed this night.’ Her mouth was swollen, her eyes bright. ‘I’ve made a gown from the silk you brought me. I hope it pleases you.’
‘You could wear nothing at all, and it would please me,’ he gritted out. His hand moved up to the underside of her breast. ‘Though I would kill any man who looked upon your beauty,’ he murmured against her throat, caressing the hard nub of her nipple.
‘You’re not playing fair.’ She shuddered at the touch of his hands, gasping when he cupped her fully.
‘Not for something I want this badly.’ He kissed her hard, offering every promise of what was to come. She melted against him, opening while his tongue invaded her mouth. When she kissed him back, pulling him tightly against her, his arousal made her breathing quicken.
‘I don’t want to wait until tonight,’ she whispered. Her arms tightened around his waist, her face pressed against his heart. Styr gripped her hard, breathing in the scent of her hair.
When she raised her head, she stared hard at him. ‘A madness possesses me when I’m with you. I don’t understand it.’ She steadied herself, then ventured, ‘Was it like this with her?’
‘What happened with Elena is in the past,’ he said, not wanting to darken this day. But when he saw the look of worry pass over her, he realised she needed to know that he no longer held any feelings for his first wife.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It was never like this. Not in five years.’ Kissing her to force her not to speak, he murmured against her lips, ‘Elena is a good woman, and I wish her every happiness. But protecting her and being her husband was my duty.
‘We were friends,’ he admitted. ‘Lovers, even. But I never felt for her the way I feel for you now.’ He slid his hands beneath her skirts, touching her bare leg. ‘I love you.’
Caragh was watching him, her eyes gleaming with emotion. She reached up to touch his face, and he rested his forehead against hers. He brought his hands over her heart, down to her breast. ‘If any man took you from me, I’d destroy him.’
She gripped him hard, and he answered the embrace, his hands moving over her body. She was whispering words of endearment in her language, and a moment later, she touched his hose, reaching for his arousal. ‘I want you, Styr. This very moment.’
She started to raise her skirts, and he turned her to face the wall, bracing her hands on either side. He freed himself and palmed her bare legs, lifting her skirt to her waist. Stepping between her legs, he slid his arousal against her. She was already wet, and before he could say a word, she reached down and guided him inside her.
Scalding heat enveloped him as she pushed back, and he filled her, primal in his need. Their coupling was fierce, and she bent over, meeting him with every thrust. He took her hard, but she seemed to welcome the swiftness of their lovemaking as her breathing quickened.
And when she arched against him, trembling hard with the force of her release, he let go of his control, revelling in the way her body accepted him, squeezing hard against his length. He spasmed against her, holding tightly to her waist while he rested his head against her shoulder.
‘I can’t get enough of you, søtnos.’ Withdrawing from her, he lowered her skirts and turned her to face him. With a wry smile, he admitted, ‘You may not sleep tonight.’
She kissed him, resting her cheek against his. ‘There will be time enough for sleep later.’
He brought her over to a low bench to sit, pulling her on to his lap. Her cheeks were flushed, her arms around him. Then she drew his hand down to her womb. ‘Even if we never have children, Styr, having you at my side will be enough.’
‘You say that now, but—’
‘No. I know you’ve dreamed of going to those lands across the sea. We could go together,’ she offered.
‘Some of those places aren’t safe for women.’
She moved her hand over his shoulder. ‘You would protect me, wouldn’t you?’
‘I’d take a sword in the heart for you.’
Caragh moved her hand upon his chest. ‘I want to sit beside you and let the sails take us where they will.’ His dreams, of journeying to foreign places, mirrored her own. As long as he was with her.
‘What of your family?’
‘We will see them every summer,’ she said, ‘and spend our winters in the warmer lands, just as you said.’
He touched her cheek, guiding her into a kiss. ‘I always thought the gods had cursed me. I made sacrifices and raged against them.’
She saw in his eyes that he believed it. ‘You were never cursed.’
‘No. And neither was my first marriage a mistake. It led me here, to you. The greatest treasure I could ever have.’
They wed upon the sands, speaking their vows before friends and family. Caragh wore the crimson silk he had given her, the soft material clinging to her body. When they were married, Caragh took his hands in hers. ‘There is no woman on this earth who loves you as much as I do.’
He kissed her hard, and she welcomed the familiar warmth of his body pressed against her. ‘I am your prisoner, now and always.’
‘As I am yours,’ she whispered.
With a smile, he took her hand, walking with her towards the feast that awaited them.
As the last of the sun gleamed against the dark waters, she saw the outline of his ship…and knew their journey had only begun.
Enslaved by the Viking
Harper St. George
Before he had even quite realised he was doing it, his thumb was stroking over that plump lower lip and he was watching it tremble beneath his touch.
His breath came fast, matching the accelerated beat of his heart. It would be so easy to lose himself. The lust firing his blood wanted to claim her. It was that part that took charge as he leaned down to her.
His hand moved from her chin so his fingers stroked her neck, revelling in her heat and the rapid beat of her pulse under them. Her scent overpowered him. Just one taste of her, the demon within him urged. Just one taste and it would be enough. He breathed her in as his head lowered to her. His eyes fastened on her coral mouth.
When his lips were just a breath from touching hers she turned her head. He stopped just short of colliding with her cheek and paused, his breath harsh against her skin as he struggled for control.
HARPER ST GEORGE was raised in rural Alabama and along the tranquil coast of northwest Florida. It was this setting, filled with stories of the old days, that instilled in her a love of history, romance and adventure. At high school she discovered the romance novel, which combined all of those elements into one perfect package. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband and two young children. Visit her website: www.harperstgeorge.com
For my family.
Thank you to Kathryn Cheshire, my wonderful editor, for all of her insightful advice and her willingness to help guide me. I’d also like to thank Linda Fildew for her support. Thank you to my agent, Nicole Resciniti, for her enthusiasm and encouragement. A huge thank you to my amazing critique partners Erin Moore and Tara Wyatt. This story would not have been finished without them. Thank you to Jessica Brace, Andrea R. Cooper, Rachel Ezzo, Brandee Frost and Nathan Jerpe for reading, offering advice and commiserating with me!
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