Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 04] (6 page)

“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Nay, that’s not true. She’s the most desirable woman. Magnificent.”

“Huh?” his comrades said.

The woman had just noticed them. When her eyes connected with his in passing, they returned immediately, then widened with surprise. Yea, he was a good-looking man. An Arab princess had once told him that he exuded virility. Even bald, he would imagine he could turn a female head. He puffed his chest out and waited for her to approach.

Several of his fellow prisoners laughed. One of them asked, “What’s with the interest in the good doctor?”

All the others had opinions, too.

“That must have been some knock on the head.”

“The chief is going to make seal soup out of this bozo.”

“I’m taking bets she flattens him for looking at her like that.”

“I think he’s got a hard-on over frickin’ G.I. Jane.”

“No one has a hard-on after a fifteen-mile run.
His jock strap must be full of sand, just like the rest of us.”

“This is more fun than Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras.”

“Man oh man, I can’t decide whether I should go eat or stay to watch this fiasco unfold.”

They all stayed.

But Ragnor did not care about their teasing. He looked at the woman who strode toward them with fire in her eyes.

“It would seem I have regained my ‘enthusiasm,’ ” he murmured to himself. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, he smiled.

Can hormones cause brain meltdown? …

“A-TEN-HUT!” she yelled out when she came face to face with the idiot SEAL trainee.

At first he just gawked, but then he stood at attention, staring rigidly back at her, nothing improper in his posture, everything improper in his eyes. Her Grandma MacLean always said that some people had talking eyes; his were speaking a mile a minute and all of it sextalk.

When did that SEAL trainee get so handsome? Even wearing those god-awful SEAL issue swim trunks, dripping with sweat, dusted with sand, covered with bruises, reeking of body odor, he exuded a compelling masculinity.

Since when did she start to notice one man in this ocean of testosterone here at Coronado?

Since when did the heat in a man’s eyes make her melt a little bit inside? Not for five long years.

Since when did her eyes lower to a man’s middle and wonder … ?

I must be losing my mind.

“At ease.” With a whooshy exhale of disgust, she asked, “What are you doing here, Ensign Magnusson? I thought you were gone.”

He gave a whooshy exhale of disgust, too, resting his hands on his hips.

I am not looking at his hips. I am notnotnot. How could a man have such a narrow waist? Aaarrgh!

“That is the selfsame thing the chieftain said … your brutish brother, I think he is. I will give you the same reply I gave him. I, too, thought I was
gone
, but here I am.” He smiled widely at her, like she should be glad he was still here. His smile was pure rogue. And, Lordy, Lordy, he pushed the boundaries by referring to his team chief as brutish … even if Ian was just that, on occasion. “Is it not fortunate … for both of us … that I survived?”

“If that is a pickup line, it’s pathetic.” The goofball! Really, some of these SEALs were off-the-wall crazy with the stunts they pulled on a daily basis, but to walk out of a hospital bed back into the rigors of the elite SEALs training program … well, it defied belief. Not to mention flirting with his superior officer. If he was flirting.

He frowned in confusion. “I have always been good with languages. I am fluent in eight and can read and write two of them. But then, most countries in proximity to the Norselands speak mutually comprehensible languages, even the bloody damn English. I do not understand some of your words,
though, even in the context of surrounding words. Like ‘pickup line.’ ” As he rambled on, he continued to frown. Then his face brightened with understanding. “Oh, do you infer that I am being smooth of tongue? Deliberately insincere? If so, you say me wrong, milady. I can assure you that my attraction to you is honest and fierce. By your leave, milady, willst join me in my bed furs tonight?”

“Bed furs? Bed furs?” she sputtered out.
Don’t beat around the bush, buddy.
Alison had once gone on a blind date with a guy who announced before they’d even gotten into his car, “I have three condoms in my pocket, baby. What say we forgo the dinner-and-movie crap and burn some rubber?” Needless to say, they hadn’t burned any rubber … in his car or otherwise.

But this jerk here in front of her was waiting with actual expectancy. Hah! If he hadn’t already sustained a blow to the head, she might just give him one. She gritted her teeth and counted to five—ten being beyond her limits at the moment. And, no, she was not going to think about the totally unacceptable ripple of pleasure that had gone through her at his outrageous bed invitation. “You were ordered to go home,” she said in as level a voice as she could manage.

“I was?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. I was there.”

“You were?”

“And stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you are seeing me without my clothes.”

“That I am.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Ensign!”

“Call me Max, like my fellow captives do. Or Ragnor.”

“Ragnor? Why would I call you Ragnor?”

“Max, then.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter either way to him. “Could we go somewhere private where we could … talk?” The mischievous gleam in his blue eyes could not be interpreted in any other way than man-to-woman sexual interest.

Blue eyes?
That observation stopped her short.
I thought his eyes were brown.

And that stubble of hair on his head … it appears black.
She frowned with confusion.
I could swear the Viking’s hair was blond.

Hah! I know only too well how vain some of these self-proclaimed studs are. He probably dyed his hair and wore contact lenses, just for vanity’s sake. Which is an infraction, of course … wearing contacts.

Like he would care. Case in point. Look at those arm rings back on his biceps again. Ian will kill him for that insubordination.

“We have nothing to talk about. And certainly nothing involving bed furs. Go home,” she said finally. Let the Navy handle all his other offenses; she didn’t need to add sexual harassment to the load. All she cared about was his health … although he did not look unhealthy at this moment. In fact, he looked very … healthy.
How come I never noticed those twelve-pack abs before? Or his sinfully flat stomach? Or the fullness of his lips? Or …

Holy smoke! Since when do I notice physical appearance? This place is overflowing with prime male flesh, most of it wrapped around egos the size of a Goodyear blimp. No big deal!

“I do not think I can,” he said.

Huh? Oh, he must be referring to my order that he go home.
“Why not?”

“Methinks the gods want me to be here.”

“The gods?” She barely suppressed a groan of frustration. SEALs and pilots were the most superstitious military men she’d ever met. She recalled how her fiancé used to insist on wearing his undershirts inside out whenever he left for a new mission. Ian wore a crucifix that had been a Christmas gift from Grandma MacLean. Her father had worn mismatched socks. She guessed “the gods” fit right in with that superstitious nonsense. So it was with forced patience that she inquired, “Why? Why would ‘the gods’ want you here?”

He shrugged. “I know not, but I have a suspicion that you may be involved. The moment I saw you, I felt some … connection.” He gave her a slow head-to-toe survey that left no doubt what connection she might have, if only she would give the nod.

“I beg your pardon,” she sputtered some more. Good Lord, he must have suffered a harder blow to the head than the X-rays had shown. Alison knew her physical limitations. She was no beauty and never had been. Besides, she’d met up with this guy numerous times over the past three months, and he’d never mentioned this “connection” before. “Does your head hurt?”

“My head? Hah! My whole body hurts. Didst know our captors made us run endlessly in the sand, after first trying to drown us?”

“Drown-proofing,” she said.

“Huh?”

“It was the routine drown-proofing exercise designed to show trainees how to survive in a field op involving a water insertion or extraction.”

“Huh?” he said again, then paused a moment
before inquiring slowly, “Are you on the enemy side or the prisoners’ side?”

She was about to answer his ridiculous question when she noticed his face go white and his eyes widen with shock.

“Oh!” he gasped. “For the love of Odin, where am I?”

“I knew it, I knew it. You are still in shock, sailor, and you have no business engaging in extreme physical activity. You probably shouldn’t even be out of sick bay.”

He didn’t hear her, she could tell. Instead, his head pivoted here and there as he seemed to notice the surroundings for the first time.

“What … what are they? Those metal boxes on wheels?” he asked, pointing to various jeeps, trucks, and cars moving around the periphery of the base.

“Transport vehicles. For carrying people and goods,” she answered hesitantly, as if speaking to a child. Actually, his question had been childlike. What kind of game was he playing now?

“But there are no horses pulling them.” Before she had a chance to comment on that ludicrous statement, he had another question. “And
that
?” he asked, pointing upward.

“A plane. And over there, a helicopter.”

“Do people go up in them?” His face was bloodless with seeming shock.

“Of course.”

He shuddered. “What a strange land this is!”

“Are you all right?”

He nodded.

“We’d better go back to the hospital so I can check you over.”

“And all these buildings. With glass, no less! Is glass not a precious commodity in your land? Where is the royal castle, by the by? Or the fortresses? All I see are square buildings, and so many people in the same attire walking about. White, brown, and that odd mixture of brown, black, and green. All identical. And not a one of them carrying a sword or battle-axe. Are they captors or captives?”

“Really, you’re pushing this game too far.”

“I wish I had Foe Fighter with me.”

“A musical group? You wish you had a musical group with you?” Alarm rippled through Alison as she wondered if she might need help to restrain this man. He was clearly delusional.

“What musical group?”

“Foo Fighters. The musical group that sang ‘My Hero.’ ”

“That is absurd. I was referring to my favorite sword, Foe Fighter. Although it did prove to be my hero on more than one occasion.”

He doesn’t look deranged. Maybe he’s just pulling my leg.
“I am not amused.”

“Hah! Neither am I amused. I thought at one point that I had died and gone to the other world—Nifhem or Muspell—especially when your brutish brother tried to drown me.”

Aaarrgh!
“He didn’t try to drown you. As I said before, that was a drown-proofing exercise, so that you could learn to stay underwater for a really long time.”

As if she’d never spoken, he went on, “I rejoiced when I walked onto land again.”

“That’s not unusual. Lots of trainees feel an immense relief after sustained punishment, which is what near-drowning must feel like.”

He cast her a look of incredulity, as if she were the one spouting nonsense. “Now I am beginning to believe once again that I did indeed die, and this is some strange region of afterdeath that the elders have never heard of.” He swept a hand in a half circle to indicate their surroundings. “Well, leastways there are no giants or trolls here. I feel weak as dragon piss at the moment and not at all up to fighting off monsters.”

“Are you hallucinating? Do you have a fever?”

“No fever, but I am hot.” He winked at her suggestively on that last word and took her by the upper arm. “Did you say something about a hospitium and checking me over? Dare I hope there are private rooms in your hospitium? There are? Good. I find that I am not too weak for that. Methinks I will like this ‘checking over.’ ”

Surely he can’t be implying …
“It’s just an examination, for heaven’s sake.”

“In the nude?”

He is!
“Maybe. Probably.”

He nodded his satisfaction at her answer. “Will there be bed furs involved? I assume those red blotches on your cheeks indicate ‘Nay.’ No matter. I must say, I have ever been partial to a midday swiving, especially when the enthusiasm is on a man … better than a midday repast, for a certainty, though I could use a horn of mead.”

I am not going to ask him what swiving is, or enthusiasm. I’m afraid I already know.
“Mead? Are you referring to beer? You know alcoholic beverages are not permitted on base.”
Nor is midday swiving.

As if she had not spoken, he said, “Is it not wonderful that I have regained my enthusiasm for the bed
sport … and all because of you?” He smiled widely at her.

Alison was speechless.

Let’s play doctor …

Ragnor followed the woman—Lieutenant Alison MacLean—into a building, presumably the hospitium, then down a narrow corridor, smiling the entire time.

He knew her name because of the small badge she wore on her
shert
front. As to his smile, well, there was something about the male body that defied nature. The man could be battered and bloody, he could be exhausted, he could be on his deathbed, for the love of Frey, but the sight of a female arse swaying from side to side in front of him could raise the sap of even the deadest tree. Especially when that arse filled form-fitting
braies
.

And there were three things to keep in mind here:

—Alison had a very fine arse, as outlined by said white
braies
.

—He was far from dead.

—His enthusiasm was back with a vengeance, and this female would do well to avoid Vikings in the heat of enthusiasm, unless she shared the enthusiasm … may the gods be so inclined.