CHAPTER THREE

 

Someone breathed next to Donna.

Strange. This must be a dream. She did not remember going on a date last night. In fact, she couldn’t remember much at all, her mind buzzing like a meditation gong.

Good. No thinking now. The aftertaste of something unpleasant that had happened in her waking life lingered in the corners of her psyche like a thief. She wanted to forget it, to make it go away. If this was one of those dreams, with a man next to her, she’d better enjoy his company.

She opened her eyes and saw the silhouette of someone big lying with his back to her. A man, indeed.

This was new. Her sexy dreams usually began close to the action—a knight, or a pirate, or even a Japanese samurai—coming in, whispering something sweet in her ear, and taking her like he was starving and she was his last meal. When she was awake, she despised the type. But in the privacy of her fantasies, only a strong, powerful man could set her body on fire.

Donna surveyed the room around her. It was dark, the only light coming from four lanterns hanging in the corners. A thatched roof sloped high above her head. Axes, swords, and shields hung on the rough plank walls. Three chests stood by the wooden door, which had gaps and offered little privacy. There were no windows. The wind howled outside, and the smell of rain reached her nose.

Not her New York apartment, that was for sure. What a strangely vivid fantasy.

Donna turned on her side, and furs tickled her ankles. She looked under the fur blanket. She had some sort of a linen nightdress on, medieval by the looks of it.

Donna was curious now as to what kind of a guy her subconscious had come up with this time. A Viking by the looks of the room… She reached out to the massive shoulder and ran her fingertips along his shape. The man stirred and slapped her hand as if it was a fly.

Donna frowned. Ok, dream master, this is too real. Can we sweeten this up, please?

She slid closer to the man, brushing her hand against his shoulder blade and down the bulging muscles of his back. But before she could reach his buttocks—which would for sure be deliciously firm and round—the man pivoted, pinned her to the mattress and put a knife to her throat.

Donna gasped, adrenaline sending her heart into an erratic beat. The man studied her. Then his face relaxed, and he rolled onto his back. Donna clutched the fur blanket under her chin and crawled into the furthest corner of the bed.

“Goddess, it’s you,” the man’s voice rolled like the purr of a lion. He put the knife aside. “Do not play with a sleeping warrior.”

No kidding. Donna swallowed.

As her heart rate began to slow down, she realized that he’d called her a goddess. No way this was reality.

She studied him. He was striking: dark-blond hair, a short beard, eyes the color of the leaden sky. The air buzzed around him, and even though he did not touch her, the aura of his presence tickled her skin like static electricity. No one had ever affected her that way, not even Daniel.

This would do.

Donna breathed out and gave out a chuckle. “You frightened me, too.”

As the words came out of her mouth, she knew she spoke a foreign language. But she had no difficulty searching for words or understanding the man. This dream was going to be fun.

“How are you feeling? You lay unconscious since yesterday.”

She frowned. “I did? I don’t remember how I got here.”

“You just appeared. I brought you here. I hope that you find this satisfactory.”

“Oh.” Donna smiled. “Very. What is your name?”

“Sigurd Randverson. I am the jarl here.”

Donna bit her lip. She remembered from history class that a jarl was like an earl. She was in bed with a Viking jarl, and what a handsome one. Anticipation warmed her body. He reached out and brushed her lower lip with his thumb. Her breath quickened. “Welcome. What may I call you, goddess?”

“Donna.”

“Donna,” he rolled her name on his tongue like candy. His gaze crawled down her body, and her skin tingled. “My beautiful goddess.”

Her cheeks heated, his words making her melt like caramel in the sun. The New York woman in her would have already made fun of him—and of herself, for reacting like that.

But that New York woman could take a break.

Donna wrapped her arms around his neck and gently pulled him closer. His scent enveloped her. Fresh sea, pine and the musky scent of man. Oh, she could lose herself completely in him. Her palms crawled down and landed on his bulging chest covered in blond curls. His fingers ran up her forearms and kneaded the muscles of her arms. His hands warmed her and relaxed her.

“Your skin is like silk,” he murmured. “This is no skin of a mortal. Will you lie with me, goddess?”

Lie with him? She was ready to sell her soul to spend a night with him.

“Yes.”

He tilted his head and sealed his mouth over hers. His firm lips were soft and full of need. They pressed against hers gently. His tongue tasted hers, stroking it gently.

His hands traveled down her legs and pulled the nightdress up over her head until he freed Donna from it. Her naked skin burned with anticipation. His fingers circled her nipples but didn’t touch them. Electricity shot through her, her breasts ached pleasantly. Her body writhed against him, impatient for more, the sweet friction making her pliable and warm. She reached for his trousers, but he stopped her.

He lay her down on the mattress and pulled her arms high above her head, locking them with one hand, then came back to her breasts and kneaded them with the other. Her back arched and she pressed herself against his palm. She bit her lip as she tried and failed to hold back a whimper.

“I want you to beg,” his coarse voice resonated in her chest.

Oh, it won’t take long.

His hand drifted down her side, back down between her legs, fingers teasing. A light brush of his thumb over her clit made her cry out. When he slipped one large finger into her sleekness, a long moan escaped her throat. A second finger entered, working her slower than she wanted, but sending her to a world of sweet agony she’d had no idea existed.

“Does this please you?” Sigurd bent his head to trail a line of nips and delicate licks along her neck, outright biting when he reached her shoulder.

“Ah,” she was delirious from pleasure. “This is the best dream I have ever had.”

He continued his sweet torture. “A dream? Goddess, if this is a dream, then I am a dwarf of Nidavellir.”

Donna was way too hot and way too far gone to fully understand his words.

“Whatever you say...please, don’t stop.” Her body continued moving in waves against his, but he froze.

“Donna. This is not a dream. You are here, with me, in Norway, in Vörnen.”

This was too precise. Donna opened her eyes. He loomed over her with a frown.

She swallowed. “Vörnen, Norway? And you are a Viking jarl?”

“A Norse jarl.”

Cold sweat broke out on her skin. What if this wasn’t a dream? Still aroused, Donna became aware of her nakedness. She jerked to remove her hands from under his arm and cover herself, but he pinned them against the pillow and pressed her into the mattress.

“Pinch me,” she said.

“What?”

“If it’s not a dream, it will hurt. Pinch me.”

“That is strange logic, goddess,”

He pinched her in the naked side of her waist, and sharp pain mixed with a tickle shot through her.

She froze, her memory returning in an avalanche. The courthouse. Marta. Daniel. Old lady with a spindle. There is a man who needs you...

Sleek horror crawled down her spine. She’d just instigated sex with a man she’d only just met.

But more importantly, where was she? What had happened to her? Was she hallucinating? This was too real—and Sigurd’s pinch hurt. Was she kidnapped by an accomplice of the old lady? She did not remember anything after touching that spindle. Had she fallen and gotten a concussion? But her head did not hurt.

Wherever she was and whatever had happened to her, an uncontrollable need to run away to safety took over her body and her mind. She had to see outside.

“Let me go, you barbarian!” she writhed as if her life depended on it, kicking him and biting. She had to know. But he was like a mountain.

“No. I am not letting you run away.”

“I am not running away. I just need to see where I am. Let me go!”

She was lying. She would run away if she had to.

Still holding her arms, he rose. “Don’t think I’ll let you out of my sight even for a moment.”

Donna nodded. He let her go and went to the door, blocking it. He was still naked from the waist up, and Donna’s breath caught in her throat from the mighty sight of him. He was the most magnificent man she had ever seen.

He nodded to one of the chests with his chin. “Here are some clothes for you. The ones you came in are not suitable for our conditions. Maybe they are perfect for your world”—he pointed his finger at the ceiling—“but here, you’ll freeze in them. I hid your shoe-weapons in a safe place. I can’t trust you.”

Donna wanted to laugh. Did he think her stilettos were weapons? This was ridiculous.

She got up, the blanket of furs still wrapped around her to cover her nakedness, and walked to the chests. She opened the one he pointed at and found a long linen shift, a red apron dress with brooches, and soft leather shoes.

“Turn around,” she said.

He only raised his eyebrows.

“Turn around, Sigurd.”

“I am not letting you out of my sight, goddess. First, I don’t trust you yet. Second, I am not going to deny myself the pleasure of seeing your naked body in my own house.”

Donna growled. “How dare you treat me like I am your property!”

Sigurd only scoffed.

“Turn around, you self-centered hemorrhoid!”

“A what?”

“I am not changing while you are staring at me.”

“Suit yourself. Stay naked forever.”

Donna’s chin rose, and she pressed her anger down. She needed to see where she was. She had to decide what was more important, her pride or finding out the truth. “Whatever. You want to see me naked? Fine. You already did. I have to see what’s outside.”

The furs fell in a small pile around her. Sigurd sucked in a breath, and Donna hid a smile. Without looking at him, but with burning cheeks, she dressed. The clothes were surprisingly soft and pleasant against her skin, and the shoes were a little big, but comfortable.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Sigurd put on a tunic and took an ax. He clasped her elbow, and she shoved him back. “Don’t you touch me!”

He only chuckled, “That is not possible, goddess.”

He grasped her upper arm even firmer, opened the door, and led her through a giant hall.

Donna eyed everything with an open mouth. The hall was dark, spacious and long. There was a little platform with a giant wooden throne. Fire crackled softly in a long hearth in the center of the room. Along the walls, were benches with people sleeping on them. The columns were decorated with Viking patterns that reminded Donna of the golden spindle. It smelled like hay, and ale, and wood.

It all seemed so real. Her hands started to shake.

They went through the high gates of the hall outside.

It was dawn, and Donna could see wooden longhouses all around her. Down past the village lay the surface of a smooth fjord, several Viking-looking longships were docked at the pier, and mountains rose like walls along its shores. The air was fresh and almost tasted sweet.

It seemed that, by some miracle, Donna was indeed in Norway, in some sort of a medieval village. If she believed in magic, she’d think she’d traveled back in time…

No. Impossible. It must be some sort of reenactment. But how had she gotten here, and how would she get home? Was she a prisoner here? Her vision blackened, the earth shifted under her feet. Her hand searched for something to hold on to and gripped a warm arm.

She glanced at Sigurd, their eyes locked, and the solid strength in his gray gaze steadied her.

“I need to go back.”