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“HALLO. I SORRY to bothering you,” the tall, astoundingly handsome man said in broken English. His deep, accented voice was sexy as hell. “Need to play. You help?”
Gawking at the towering presence filling her doorway, it took Delaney a long moment before she was capable of speech. His flowing mane of sandy hair fell just beneath his shoulders, glistening in the winter sunlight. A well-manicured mustache and beard highlighted his strong jaw.
Like a Viking warrior of long ago, the muscular man looked fierce, rugged and boldly masculine. Powerfully built arms, broad pecs, robust thighs, sun-bronzed skin, striking ice-blue eyes...
Oh my God...it was Varik the Bold, her childhood fantasy come to life!
“What?” she eked out breathlessly, doing her best to dismiss the alarm clanging inside her head—the one telling her she was in the throes of a complete mental collapse.
“English not so good, my pardon I beg. I be lock. Need to play.” He gestured to his skimpy Viking getup. “You help play?”
Delaney twisted the ring around her finger, unable to focus on his words because she was too busy worrying she’d end up in a straitjacket before morning.
The tall stranger had a sword sheathed across his back and carried a round shield. He was breathtaking and she was mesmerized.
Good God...she was actually salivating.
If she had to go crazy, this awesome hallucination wasn’t a bad way to do it.
Her fingers reached out, feathering a touch across the animal hides he wore. They weren’t fake, they were real. She glanced up to catch one of his eyebrows hiking at her familiarity.
Logic told her it was ludicrous to verbalize her inner thoughts because he wasn’t really there. He couldn’t be. He was just a fabrication of her sudden insanity...a magnificent illusion brought on by a second straight year of birthday chocolate deprivation. But Delaney couldn’t help herself.
“Is it you?” she whispered, just as she had each time she’d dreamed of her Viking. “My Viking? My Varik the Bold?”
The Viking cocked his head. “You knowing my name?”
She blinked hard. The guy’s name was Varik the Bold?
No. Uh-uh. Totally, completely, one-hundred-percent impossible...unless... The verdict was in. Delaney Malone had finally graduated from being a little squirrelly to full-blown nut case.
“There’s no other explanation,” she muttered. Unable to tear her gaze from his chiseled features, she said, “I don’t suppose you’re here to sell fundraiser chocolate?”
He gave her a clueless look.
“I didn’t think so.”
This wouldn’t do at all. She had to get a grip. Whether she was loony or not, drooling like a hormonal teenager over a perfect stranger could lead to...well, the guy could be an ax murderer for all she knew. Her gaze fell on his weapon. Or a sword murderer.
Maybe she wasn’t crazy. Maybe she’d died and gone to heaven without realizing it. The shock of chocolate withdrawal combined with the loss of her grandmother had been too much for her heart.
Or maybe it was Nordic magic and her dead grandmother had sent Delaney her promised Viking, straight from the great halls of Valhalla.
Grandma Bekka. Of course...that was it! Delaney wasn’t insane after all. Relief washing over her, she felt her dazed, dubious expression morph into a grin.
“I get it. My grandmother set this up, didn’t she?” The guy gazed at her with the same oblivious expression Thursday had when she spoke to him.
“No inner stand.”
Delaney’s features twisted. “What?”
“Eh...not inner stand.”
“You mean understand?”
Looking relieved, he smiled. “Ja, ja, not understand.” He clapped his hand against his chest. “Need to play.”
Delaney looked him up and down, uttering a throaty chuckle. “Oh, I just bet you do, big guy, but not with me you don’t.” She started to close the door, but the Viking’s hand caught it.
“Please. Help Varik play.”
His mouth was sensitive, his jaw sturdy. Lust, pure and potent, coiled deep in Delaney’s belly. She hadn’t felt anything like this since...well, ever. Unable to drag her gaze from his mesmerizing eyes, she was so turned on by this walking, talking embodiment of her fantasies she could barely breathe.
“Yes,” she said, trying to maintain her composure, “this would fit perfectly with Grandma Bekka’s romantic mindset. So my grandmother arranged for the executor of her estate to send a Viking to poor lonely Delaney for her Valentine birthday. Is that it? Well look, buster, I’m not that lonely. So—”
“Gratulerer med dagen!” The Viking’s smile was radiant as he wished her happy birthday. It was one of the few Norwegian phrases she knew.
She felt her cheeks heat.
“Glad Valentinsdag bursdag!” the Viking amended.
“You-you just wished me happy Valentine’s birthday...in Norwegian.”
“Ja. Happy Valentine birthday.” The Viking’s head bobbed and Delaney could have sworn she saw his ocean-blue eyes sparkle, just like in a Saturday morning cartoon.
Along with a sigh, the words “Thank you” escaped her lips. She was unused to a man who actually recognized the holiday, much less her birthday. His words and engaging expression warmed her heart. How sweet. How endearing. How utterly...
And then reality dawned.
Well of course the big pretend Viking knew how to wish her happy Valentine’s birthday in Norwegian—just the way her grandmother had taught her friends at the café. After all, he’d been paid to say just the right words upon delivery, hadn’t he? The muscled, near-naked idol of her girlish dreams stood there smiling across her threshold, having the audacity to look abnormally perfect.
Model perfect.
Movie star perfect.
Paid uptown gigolo perfect.
Her eyebrows knitted. The impossibly perfect guy was schmoozing her, doing his damnedest to charm the pants off her with fake Norwegian charm. All because her misguided grandma thought her lonely granddaughter needed a fantasy roll in the hay on her birthday.
Delaney drew in a breath to stave off impending tears.
Presenting what she hoped was an aloof, confident air, she told the man in no uncertain terms, “As I was saying, I’m not that lonely. So you can take your phony accent and your animal pelts and your horned helmet and your big sword...”
For some ungodly reason Delaney chose that particular moment to drop her gaze to the man’s crotch. She sucked in a deep breath.
“And, and, and...and you can just get out of here,” she finally managed, making a shooing gesture with her hand. “The last thing I need in my life now is some big, overgrown muscled—”
Varik touched her cheek and Delaney gasped. He cupped her chin. And, like an idiot, she just stood there letting him.
“Why lonely?” he asked. “You so beauty.”
He looked so caring, so hot and gorgeous as he spoke, that she wanted to rip those pelts off him with her teeth and feast on him. Her hand flew to her forehead, where she expected to feel evidence of a raging fever. What other explanation could there be for her excessively lusty reaction to a total stranger? She should slam the door in his face. She should call the cops. She should...
His thumb stroked her cheek.
Everything inside Delaney went melty and gooey. She yearned to rush into his arms, wailing like a baby against his broad chest about how unfair life had been and how it sucked to be without someone to love and how she was thankful for her four-speed vibrator but felt sure it couldn’t compare to a flesh and blood Viking. And she wanted Varik the Bold to respond by uttering a manly grunt before mercilessly ravaging her.
She swallowed hard. Dear God it was true...she really had lost her marbles.
“Help Varik to play, please.”
“Oh that’s really good.” Delaney eyed him. “You sound so sincere. Plus you’ve mastered the look of a pleading puppy dog.”
Locking gazes with her, he shook his head from side to side. “Not inner...eh, understand.”
Absently fingering the ring, her thoughts raced. Nothing about the guy in the authentic-looking Viking costume gave the impression of being cheap or sleazy. His appearance, manner and accent were impeccable. The man on her doorstep was clearly a high-class male escort—which was a nice name for prostitute—hired by her late grandmother’s executor.
Apparently, Varik the Bold here was Bekka’s final parting gift to her granddaughter, to keep her from feeling alone and abandoned on her birthday.
Delaney appraised the hunk of prime beef, amazed at his accurate portrayal. It was as if Rebekka Eriksen had the power to see what was in her granddaughter’s mind and then custom ordered a perfect replica. Her heart skipped a beat as she took in the Viking’s sensuous lips, the glimmer in his eyes.
Lord, she was so tired of being good, of being proper. She’d been a good girl her entire life, always doing the right thing, always putting others first. She’d been a good daughter, a good sister, and a good loyal wife, who’d never considered cheating on her husband. And what did all that goodness get her? Not even a lousy bar of fundraiser chocolate—just a great big bagful of heartache and grief.
Now here he was, standing half-naked on her doorstep. Her chance to finally shed her good girl image...to do something bad, something frivolous and naughty and exciting in real life instead of just in her private fantasies.
“Why not?” Delaney said just above a whisper, shrugging one shoulder as he smiled down at her. “What could it hurt? Who would know?”
“So...yes? You help? Play?”
He was the perfect incarnation of her lifelong Viking dreams. How many people got a chance to experience, to actually physically touch, their dreams in the flesh? How could she consider passing up this once in a lifetime opportunity, especially after her beloved grandma had made a point to sanction this sexy rendezvous as one of her last acts before leaving the earth?
Delaney’s belly churned with excitement and uncertainty. No decent woman would ever conceive of doing what she wanted to do.
Oh hell, decency be damned!
She could be bold, brazen and devil-may-care just this once in her lousy goody-two-shoes life. Lots of women did this sort of thing every day without turning into pillars of salt. Tomorrow, after tasting life as a shameless hussy, she’d gladly go back to her lonely, monotonous existence.
“Men do it all the time,” Delaney reasoned absently, her gaze locked on his broad chest. “Satisfy themselves with prostitutes.” Her gaze shifted to his handsome Nordic features. “I’m all for equal opportunity.”
The Viking angled his head, looking clueless again. On him it looked cute. Hot. Sexy.
“You prostitute?” His naïve expression curved into a curious smile.
Delaney laughed. “Oh that’s rich. Very funny. I like a man with a sense of humor. Roger didn’t have one.” Her gaze hardened at the unsavory memory.
“All right, Varik the Bold,” she gave an exaggerated wink while hooking invisible quotes around his preposterous title, “I suppose we can play. My grandma would never engage anyone for the job who hadn’t been thoroughly vetted beforehand. If an elderly woman put her stamp of approval on her granddaughter doing the horizontal mambo with a one-time lover, who am I to argue? I should graciously accept her generosity and indulge, right?”
“Jeg forstar ikke...eh, sorry, mean not understand. Much talk so fast.” His fingers moved, mimicking chatter.
“Oops, sorry.” Delaney giggled. “I tend to babble when I’m nervous.” She also tended to giggle. “But I’m sure you can understand why I’m edgy since I’ve never done anything like this before.” She appraised him yet again, deciding that having sex with a Viking would be much more satisfying than chomping on a few measly pieces of chocolate.
Taking in a deep breath, she exhaled with a whoosh, imagining her next “Delaney’s Diary” column...Dear Diary: Today I rabidly jumped the bones of a too sexy to believe Viking prostitute lovingly sent to me by my deceased grandmother...
She blinked. Perhaps some things in her life should remain private.
“Okay, Varik the Bold, how—”
“Okay?” he cut in, gifting her with another smile. She’d be lying if she said his eagerness wasn’t flattering.
“Right...how much did my grandmother’s estate pay you?”
“Pay?”
“You know, money?” She rubbed her thumb against her fingers.
“Ah, penger.”
Delaney shrugged. “Whatever. And how long do I get to keep you?”
The Viking angled his head again and stared. She couldn’t tell if he was truly dumbfounded or just trying to stay in character.
“Well?” Folding her arms across her chest, she tapped her toe against the floor, doing her best to look perturbed. She wasn’t really impatient, she just didn’t want him thinking she was too easy, which was probably stupid because, honestly, why should she care what a male prostitute thought of her?
He shook his head, as if to clear it. “How long you keep me?” He thumped his chest.
She nodded. “Yeah. How many hours? One, two?” She held up her fingers and he gave her that strange look again, which should have made her irritated as hell by this time but it didn’t because he was so adorable she was tempted to lick him. All over.
“This would be a lot easier if they sent a guy who could speak English.”
“Sorry bad English.” He nodded.
“You know,” she narrowed her gaze at him, “you should stop pretending you can’t speak or understand English. Most Norwegians speak it fluently.”
“Ja,” he offered an apologetic shrug. “Fault of bestefar...eh, grandpa.”
“So it’s your grandfather’s fault that you can’t speak English?” He nodded again. Delaney didn’t have a clue what the hell he was talking about. “Look, if the accent is phony you can drop it now, otherwise this will take too much time.”
“Time?”
Growling in frustration, Delaney tapped her bare wrist to indicate a watch. “Yes, time.”
“Time be play fast.”
Apparently the accent was legit.
“So it’s one hour?” She pointed to her wrist again, then held up her index finger.
“No. Play two hour.”
Two hours? Delaney couldn’t imagine what they could possibly do for that long. It only took Roger three minutes, tops. Since the Viking had been paid to satisfy her, maybe they could spend the other hour and fifty-seven minutes cuddling and talking, something Roger never did.
“I guess we’d better get down to business. I need to jump in the shower first. And I insist on you using a...” she felt her cheeks flush and she swallowed, “a, um...condom,” she finally managed. It certainly wasn’t the usual conversation she had with a man. “A prophylactic,” she explained because he had that bewildered look again. “You know, a rubber. No matter how clean you are, understand?”
Without waiting for an answer, Delaney snagged his arm. “You’ll catch your death of cold standing out there half naked.” She pulled him through the doorway then pushed the door shut. “Besides, just because I’m about to do the deed,” she rolled her eyes at the thought, “the whole neighborhood doesn’t need to know about it.”