Read Online To Find a Viking Treasure (Norse Series Book 2) by Gina Conkle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gina Conkle
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it.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Never said I was.”
“You’re using my good manners against me,” she huffed.
“Everything’s a weapon for the mind smart enough to see the possibility.”
Sestra dipped her head and smoothed her cloak, wriggling lush curves barely contained in russet wool. Her lashes fanned freckled cheeks as though she worked a puzzle and didn’t want him to see it in her eyes. Their verbal sparring matches were like a battle over the same morsel. This time he had her right where he wanted her.
He breathed easy for the first time in a long while, lulled by the waterfall’s steady rush, and the companionship of a lively woman stretched out before him. If he guessed the lay of her mind, he’d say she gathered her resources, planning how to come at him with a new tactic.
“I can improve your odds.” Her voice broke the silence.
His spine straightened on the hard rock. Sestra’s lips curved as enticing as her words. She never disappointed him.
“And what are we wagering?” he asked carefully.
The green blade of grass tapped a smile of pure feminine satisfaction. “Ah, I see I have your full attention now.”
Already strained muscles tensed. She didn’t have to work hard to get his attention, but he’d be ten times a fool to admit that.
“I’ve gambled enough to know when to listen to a proposition.”
“About that. I’ve noticed you gamble much, yet have little coin to your name.” Sestra’s eyes were half-closed, her gaze measuring him. “For all your talk about spending on women, I’ve never seen it. Quite a riddle you are.”
“And your point is?”
“My point is you know a lot about me, and I know almost nothing about you. I don’t even know where you come from.”
“Is that your next question?”
She pushed higher up on her elbows, giving him a fine view of her cleavage. “I can’t believe you’re still counting my asking you to sit down as a question.”
“Another rule of gambling: no second chances,” he said, shaking his head. “Gives your opponent an opportunity.”
“And second chances are a bad thing?”
“Always. Only the weak need them.”
Sestra ripped the blade of grass in two and yanked up another. A pained light changed her eyes, turning the rich brown a paler shade. Their conversation struck new ground whether he wanted to or not. Sestra learned one of the hard truths he lived by, but they were here for the treasure, not friendship.
A fact his body resisted.
The richly embroidered hem of Sestra’s skirt slipped higher up her thigh, revealing pretty skin above her knee. Flesh the color of cream as it turns to butter showed between russet wool and the kid skin leather boots wrapped around her calves. Would the skin behind her knee be smooth to touch?
She followed the cant of his stare. “I see you’ve found something to your liking.”
He shrugged. “Caught me looking.”
Sestra tugged down her skirt, covering that fascinating strip of flesh where no freckles daubed her thigh. “You still owe me an answer to my second question.”
Her chin’s stubborn angle was noteworthy. So was the inward stony shield safeguarding his secrets.
“Where are you from? And don’t tell me one place,” she added. “I want to know everywhere you’ve lived from birth to finding your way here to Uppsala.”
“And here I thought you were going to improve my odds.”
She swished a new green blade of grass across her lips, her eyes intent. “Answer me first.”
He stared into the trees, the leaves and branches blurring. She was serious about this. Of all the questions Sestra could’ve asked, this one should be harmless.
It wasn’t.
The rock was hard at his back, a familiar resting place for men of his ilk. He stalled, not making eye contact. The answer formed in his head, truthful words carefully plotted to satisfy the red-haired Sif reclining in the sun. Surely the gods tested him today.
“Born in Trondheim. Left when I was a young boy
“That’s not fair.”
“Never said I was.”
“You’re using my good manners against me,” she huffed.
“Everything’s a weapon for the mind smart enough to see the possibility.”
Sestra dipped her head and smoothed her cloak, wriggling lush curves barely contained in russet wool. Her lashes fanned freckled cheeks as though she worked a puzzle and didn’t want him to see it in her eyes. Their verbal sparring matches were like a battle over the same morsel. This time he had her right where he wanted her.
He breathed easy for the first time in a long while, lulled by the waterfall’s steady rush, and the companionship of a lively woman stretched out before him. If he guessed the lay of her mind, he’d say she gathered her resources, planning how to come at him with a new tactic.
“I can improve your odds.” Her voice broke the silence.
His spine straightened on the hard rock. Sestra’s lips curved as enticing as her words. She never disappointed him.
“And what are we wagering?” he asked carefully.
The green blade of grass tapped a smile of pure feminine satisfaction. “Ah, I see I have your full attention now.”
Already strained muscles tensed. She didn’t have to work hard to get his attention, but he’d be ten times a fool to admit that.
“I’ve gambled enough to know when to listen to a proposition.”
“About that. I’ve noticed you gamble much, yet have little coin to your name.” Sestra’s eyes were half-closed, her gaze measuring him. “For all your talk about spending on women, I’ve never seen it. Quite a riddle you are.”
“And your point is?”
“My point is you know a lot about me, and I know almost nothing about you. I don’t even know where you come from.”
“Is that your next question?”
She pushed higher up on her elbows, giving him a fine view of her cleavage. “I can’t believe you’re still counting my asking you to sit down as a question.”
“Another rule of gambling: no second chances,” he said, shaking his head. “Gives your opponent an opportunity.”
“And second chances are a bad thing?”
“Always. Only the weak need them.”
Sestra ripped the blade of grass in two and yanked up another. A pained light changed her eyes, turning the rich brown a paler shade. Their conversation struck new ground whether he wanted to or not. Sestra learned one of the hard truths he lived by, but they were here for the treasure, not friendship.
A fact his body resisted.
The richly embroidered hem of Sestra’s skirt slipped higher up her thigh, revealing pretty skin above her knee. Flesh the color of cream as it turns to butter showed between russet wool and the kid skin leather boots wrapped around her calves. Would the skin behind her knee be smooth to touch?
She followed the cant of his stare. “I see you’ve found something to your liking.”
He shrugged. “Caught me looking.”
Sestra tugged down her skirt, covering that fascinating strip of flesh where no freckles daubed her thigh. “You still owe me an answer to my second question.”
Her chin’s stubborn angle was noteworthy. So was the inward stony shield safeguarding his secrets.
“Where are you from? And don’t tell me one place,” she added. “I want to know everywhere you’ve lived from birth to finding your way here to Uppsala.”
“And here I thought you were going to improve my odds.”
She swished a new green blade of grass across her lips, her eyes intent. “Answer me first.”
He stared into the trees, the leaves and branches blurring. She was serious about this. Of all the questions Sestra could’ve asked, this one should be harmless.
It wasn’t.
The rock was hard at his back, a familiar resting place for men of his ilk. He stalled, not making eye contact. The answer formed in his head, truthful words carefully plotted to satisfy the red-haired Sif reclining in the sun. Surely the gods tested him today.
“Born in Trondheim. Left when I was a young boy
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