The Seducer (Viking Warriors)
~ Look for these titles from Jianne Carlo ~
Now Available:
Viking Warriors
Book 1: The Bear and the Bride
Book 2: The Dragon Slayer
Book 3: The Peacemaker
Book 4: The Destroyer
The Seducer
Jianne Carlo
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Published By:
Etopia Press
P.O. Box 66
Medford, OR 97501
The Seducer
Copyright © 2011 by Jianne Carlo
ISBN: 978-1-936751-80-8
Edited by Thalia S. Child
Cover by Mina Carter
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Etopia Press electronic publication: November 2011
~ Dedication ~
For all my Viking readers and, in particular,
Cristina Machado, who suggested that I reunite all my Viking Warriors at the end!
My sincere thanks to everyone.
Chapter One
Loki’s toes!
Jarvik stifled a string of curses and listened, trying to gauge the approaching danger. His weapons and clothes lay on the far bank. The heavy thud of booted feet trampling dried twigs and the low murmurs of male voices grew louder.
It had been foolish to stop and bathe in the pond. But he had kept a galloping pace for many days in the futile hopes of curbing his boiling temper, and the temptation of a cool swim had proved irresistible.
Tall pines and boulders surrounded the shallow pool. He swam into a narrow crevice and waited, sitting on the pebbles lining the pond’s bed. The morning sun blazed, and a swift breeze tossed pine needles across the high boulder to his right.
A maiden appeared on the stone’s ridge. He stopped breathing and drank in the view of her profiled form.
She began to disrobe, shedding wimple, half boots, and the drab brown
cyrtel
she wore. She removed a layer of thick padding wrapped from mid-thigh to just above her breasts. ’Twas all he could do to halt the growl erupting from his throat. A wad of similar cloths wrapped around her neck went next, then the thin chemise. In less than a bird’s morning song, she had transformed from a fat, sluggish caterpillar to a sleek, graceful butterfly. He stifled a snicker.
By Freya, he had never seen such beauty. And she was all his. Or would be within the week.
Legs of a filly, long, lean, and strong, led to a pert ass begging for sharp nips. His fingers itched to span the narrow waist, mold her to him, and fit his rod in the notch between her thighs. She inhaled and her luscious globes lifted. His cock, the lusty fellow, preened.
The stiff wind changed direction, whipping tresses the color of mahogany shot with rich burgundy away from her hips. Catching a glimpse of the tiny curls protecting the treasure he craved, Jarvik choked back a groan. Hunger ate at his groin. The rigid arousal bobbing in the chill water urged action. He stood, hands fisted, battling the urge to act the Viking and kidnap her there and then.
She closed her eyes, lifted her chin, threw her arms wide, and arched, stretching, rising on the tips of her toes as if to capture every ray of heat from the summer solstice. A butterfly newly emerged from its pupa, drying her wings, readying for flight.
When she lifted her palms together high above her head, he realized her intention and bellowed, “Nay! ’Tis shallow, lass!”
She half-turned to him. The jerky movement threw her off balance, and one foot slipped.
Jarvik plunged into the water, kicking and stroking, watching as she landed arse first on the rock.
“Mary have mercy,” she yelped. Her fingers scrambled for purchase, but found none on the smooth boulder.
He swam harder, faster, as she tumbled and bounced off the punishing hardness of the stone. His arms and legs drove through the icy water. By Odin, he would not lose her now.
The force of the next impact sent her into the air. Her hands flailed, and she dropped like a felled pheasant. Treading water ’neath her torso, he opened his arms and reached for her plummeting body.
She landed hard, her bottom hitting his shoulder, one knee glancing his nose. Her fingers twined in his hair and yanked. Pain burst across his scalp. She curled away from him and nigh slipped into the water. Jarvik adjusted his hold, cradling her back and knees. Her grasp on his locks tightened, and he choked back a curse. His cock cared naught for the sting lancing his head, but reacted to the silk of her skin, and steeled harder than his sword’s blade.
“Lass, will you strive not to pull all the hair from my head?” He feasted on the sight of his delicious bundle, savoring the high forehead, the arrogant nose, the bee-stung mouth, the stubborn set of her jaw. One dusky breast parted the wet strands of her tresses, and an impudent nipple furled into a taut peak, playing hide and seek with hair and water.
The temptation proved too enticing, and ’twas naught he could do but surrender. Afore his lips could close over the pouting bud, an arrow slashed the water on his left, followed by a slew more in rapid succession. Each new missile landed closer and closer to their bobbing bodies.
Paddling furiously, he turned so his back protected her. She struggled to see over his shoulder, and her nipples grazed his chest. His head shot up, as did his cock, twitching and jerking against her arse.
Her nails dug into his skin. She flinched, and her bottom flexed. “Desist. I want not your attentions, oaf.”
Oaf? He appeared to her an oaf?
Unperturbed, for he well knew who lay in his arms and who guarded her on the journey, Jarvik squinted at the far bank. He recognized the three giants who trained their bows on him.
“Let her go!” The bellow sent swallows and starlings into flight squawking and quarreling in furious protest. “Elaina. Can you swim to shore?”
Elaina. Village healer, concubine’s daughter, enemy of the new king of Strathclyde.
“Aye. If the lout will loosen his hold.” She scowled at him. Even pinched together, her brows proved alluring. “Stop playing with my backside, ruffian. And keep your eyes on the shore.”
Oaf? Lout? Ruffian? He gave her a little shake. Had she not noticed his golden hair? His ice-blue eyes? The breadth of his shoulders?
“Nay. Mayhap I will release you, but take my eyes from such sweetness? Never.” Jarvik flashed the smile that had won him the sighs of every woman he’d ever met.
Their eyes locked.
An arrow sang through the air, and he heard the familiar whizzing. But naught, not the long years spent on battlefield, not the instincts drilled into him day after day since he began his warrior training, not a feather grazing his back could drag his attention from eyes round and wide as marbles, the beguiling color akin to the dense pine thickets surrounding them. A halo of yellow lit the emerald hue. Desire seared across his groin, and his balls rammed taut against his flesh.
“Jarvik, you arse. The next arrow hits lower. Loose her now!” The roar sliced into the stupor of lust drugging his mind. He forced his focus to the shore. One of the Ferguson brothers tore off his tunic and perched on a boulder to unlace his boots.
“Cease,” Jarvik yelled before returning his attention to Elaina. “Can you swim?”
“Better than you.” She cuffed his arm, winced, and wriggled like a worm escaping a swallow’s prodding beak.
“Are you dizzy? Did your head hit the boulder?” He shifted, holding her with one arm while gently exploring her scalp with his free hand.
She stilled and shot him a frown, then touched his wrist. “I am unharmed.”
“Are you dizzy?”
Head cocked, she studied him, her eyes trailing from forehead to chin. “’Twas but a few nicks and scrapes. I am unharmed. Do I know you, warrior?”
That those slanted, green eyes showed no sign of fear did not surprise him. He had witnessed her courage and determination afore. But that she did not writhe and panic in his arms was a boon he had not expected. Mayhap she had not been raped or molested as he had feared.
“Let me go.” The words, spoken in a calm, quiet tone, belied the sudden shudder that racked her. She punched his chest and shoulders, her movements frantic, jerky.