Read Online Sandra Hill by The Last Viking - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: The Last Viking
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heart and warmed her blood.
He was a stranger, but he was not.
She yearned to touch him and heal all his inner hurts, but she didn’t even know what they were.
As a teacher, she delighted in passing on knowledge to her students. Ironically, she sensed this primitive man could teach her much, much more.
He was sent to her for a purpose, she suspected. And right now, she didn’t care what the reason. She relished the gift of his presence in her life.
His bleak eyes held hers. “Make me feel alive, Merry-Death.”
She tilted her head in question, her pulse accelerating.
“I am so tired and weary of the struggle. Thaw the frost that threatens to freeze my soul, Merry-Death. Please.”
She nodded, unable to speak over the lump in her throat. Slowly she lowered her head, and, with her left hand still resting over his heart, she pressed her lips to his. Soft against firm. Warm against cold. He was so frozen and stiff, like death. But she would restore him, she vowed.
It was a decidedly unerotic kiss, meant to conveyonly caring. And, yet, it was extremely erotic, as evidenced by Rolf’s quick indrawn hiss.
“Will you be my heart-friend?” he murmured. His breath was a sweet kiss in itself against her lips.
At his words, Meredith reeled as some need, long hidden and denied in her deepest soul, began to open, like the petals of a fragile flower. Heart-friend? Was that like a soulmate? Or just a friend?
He parted his lips, inviting more. At the same time, his arms remained immobile at his sides, palms upward, in supplication.
He didn’t insist that she get naked with him. Or grab her with lusty intent. He didn’t make false promises, or swear undying love. He merely waited, letting her set the pace of this loving…or halt it, if she chose.
Meredith found the prospect oddly empowering…and unique. No man had ever let her lead in quite this way, not even Jeffrey. To make all the decisions, or none. She wasn’t sure what to do.
So, she deepened the kiss, testing, and he accommodated her with a slight shifting of his lips, which were no longer cool. From side to side, she moved her lips over his, exploring, till she found just the right position. Then she slipped her tongue inside his mouth, tentatively.
His heart jumped with excitement under her hand.
She smiled against his lips, and felt him smile back.
Encouraged, she pulled away and examined his face with her eyes and her fingertips: the angry bruise at his temple, which she kissed gently; the arch of his thick brows; his long, feathery, thick lashes; the sharp bones at his cheek and jaw lines; even his straight, arrogant nose.
She admired but didn’t touch his wide shoulders.Nor the ridges of veins that outlined his muscled arms. Nor the many scars, old and new, that covered his skin. Not even the enticing sweep of shadow and light that marked the well-toned planes of his chest and abdomen. Instead, she savored the anticipation of touching him in all those places, eventually.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.
“Yea,” he agreed, and crossed his eyes at her. For some reason, the gesture touched her deeply. Perhaps because the small sign of humor showed she was succeeding in her efforts to pull him from his despair.
“You’re not chilled anymore,” she remarked, running a palm up his chest to his neck, sweeping back down as far as his waist. Then stopping.
He inhaled sharply, and sucked in his stomach.
In resistance? Perhaps he’d expected her to go farther. Or perhaps he didn’t want her to go so far.
“Nay, I’m not cold anymore, sweetling, thanks to you. But I am bone weary and heart sick.”
Sweetling? What a lovely endearment!
Lifting his hands from their invisible bonds at his sides, he drew her into his arms and settled her against his chest. One hand wrapped around her shoulder, the other burrowed into her hair, drawing her head against him.
In seconds, with her face pressed against his warm chest, Meredith felt the slowing
He was a stranger, but he was not.
She yearned to touch him and heal all his inner hurts, but she didn’t even know what they were.
As a teacher, she delighted in passing on knowledge to her students. Ironically, she sensed this primitive man could teach her much, much more.
He was sent to her for a purpose, she suspected. And right now, she didn’t care what the reason. She relished the gift of his presence in her life.
His bleak eyes held hers. “Make me feel alive, Merry-Death.”
She tilted her head in question, her pulse accelerating.
“I am so tired and weary of the struggle. Thaw the frost that threatens to freeze my soul, Merry-Death. Please.”
She nodded, unable to speak over the lump in her throat. Slowly she lowered her head, and, with her left hand still resting over his heart, she pressed her lips to his. Soft against firm. Warm against cold. He was so frozen and stiff, like death. But she would restore him, she vowed.
It was a decidedly unerotic kiss, meant to conveyonly caring. And, yet, it was extremely erotic, as evidenced by Rolf’s quick indrawn hiss.
“Will you be my heart-friend?” he murmured. His breath was a sweet kiss in itself against her lips.
At his words, Meredith reeled as some need, long hidden and denied in her deepest soul, began to open, like the petals of a fragile flower. Heart-friend? Was that like a soulmate? Or just a friend?
He parted his lips, inviting more. At the same time, his arms remained immobile at his sides, palms upward, in supplication.
He didn’t insist that she get naked with him. Or grab her with lusty intent. He didn’t make false promises, or swear undying love. He merely waited, letting her set the pace of this loving…or halt it, if she chose.
Meredith found the prospect oddly empowering…and unique. No man had ever let her lead in quite this way, not even Jeffrey. To make all the decisions, or none. She wasn’t sure what to do.
So, she deepened the kiss, testing, and he accommodated her with a slight shifting of his lips, which were no longer cool. From side to side, she moved her lips over his, exploring, till she found just the right position. Then she slipped her tongue inside his mouth, tentatively.
His heart jumped with excitement under her hand.
She smiled against his lips, and felt him smile back.
Encouraged, she pulled away and examined his face with her eyes and her fingertips: the angry bruise at his temple, which she kissed gently; the arch of his thick brows; his long, feathery, thick lashes; the sharp bones at his cheek and jaw lines; even his straight, arrogant nose.
She admired but didn’t touch his wide shoulders.Nor the ridges of veins that outlined his muscled arms. Nor the many scars, old and new, that covered his skin. Not even the enticing sweep of shadow and light that marked the well-toned planes of his chest and abdomen. Instead, she savored the anticipation of touching him in all those places, eventually.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.
“Yea,” he agreed, and crossed his eyes at her. For some reason, the gesture touched her deeply. Perhaps because the small sign of humor showed she was succeeding in her efforts to pull him from his despair.
“You’re not chilled anymore,” she remarked, running a palm up his chest to his neck, sweeping back down as far as his waist. Then stopping.
He inhaled sharply, and sucked in his stomach.
In resistance? Perhaps he’d expected her to go farther. Or perhaps he didn’t want her to go so far.
“Nay, I’m not cold anymore, sweetling, thanks to you. But I am bone weary and heart sick.”
Sweetling? What a lovely endearment!
Lifting his hands from their invisible bonds at his sides, he drew her into his arms and settled her against his chest. One hand wrapped around her shoulder, the other burrowed into her hair, drawing her head against him.
In seconds, with her face pressed against his warm chest, Meredith felt the slowing
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