All Fired Up

by Kristen Painter

  The frost turned into a deep freeze. She had almost kissed a dead man. She shuddered. Things had just gone from weird to mental institution.

  “You’re dead?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Are…are you a ghost?” she stuttered.

  He spoke without looking at her. “You have felt that I am flesh and blood, have you not?”

  “Aye,” she whispered, thinking again of the kiss that almost was. “I mean, yes, you feel…alive.”

  He turned, a soft smile lighting his face. “Would you like to feel me again?”

  The glimmer in his eyes warmed her considerably, but she was not about to be almost kissed again. Change the subject. “Why did you ask me what year it was?”

  “Because I did not know. My last summoning was in the year 1862. My charge was a soldier in your country’s clan war. He was killed before his three changes were granted and the talisman was stolen.” He leaned back against the window frame.

  “So where have you been since then?”

  The smile faded, and he turned away again. “I have been in Valhalla since then.” Bitterness laced his words.

  The gruff tone of his voice surprised her. “I thought Valhalla was supposed to be paradise?”

  “It is, for some. If that is what you seek.” He splayed his fingers on the glass and stared out at the rainy day, but she could see his reflection in the window. Distant and detached. The soft patter of rain and the whirr of the washer filled the space between them.

  What did he seek? She was about to ask that and a few other questions when the washer buzzed. She got up and put his clothes in the dryer, throwing in a few extra fabric softener sheets to get his clothes as soft as possible. Whether he liked it or not, he was about to smell like a tropical breeze.

  She peeked around the corner. He still stood at the window. The reflection of light on his face through the rain-streaked glass looked like tears running down his cheeks. Maybe she should just leave him alone.

  In search of something to occupy herself with, she went into the kitchen and rummaged around for something to make for dinner. Great. A handful of ramen noodles packages, two boxes of mac-n-cheese, a can of black olives and some peanut butter. Old Mother Hubbard probably had a better-stocked pantry. She opened her drawer of take-out menus and grabbed the one from Thai’d Up. Did Vikings eat curry?

  She glanced in his direction. What was he thinking about? “Alrik?”

  He shifted to meet her gaze. The hard line of his mouth was softer now, his brows not so tightly drawn together. “Aye?”

  “Excuse me for not knowing my Viking history, but what year did you come from?”

  “I was born in 848, in Dublin.”

  Puzzled, she put the menu down. “You were born in Ireland?”

  “Aye. Does that surprise you?” His mouth softened further into an easy smile.

  “Yes. I thought you were a Norseman. Or Viking, or whatever. How can you be Irish?”

  “I am not Irish. I was only born there. My people came to conquer Eire as they had Northumbria and Brittany.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “You’re almost twelve hundred years old?”

  He nodded. “I was never quick with sums but that sounds correct.”

  “Holy crap,” she said, her voice a squeak. “You’re really freakin’ old.” She clapped her hand over her mouth and mumbled “sorry” through her fingers.

  His face split in a wide grin and laughter erupted from his throat. “Aye. I am freakin’ old.”

  Relieved at his good humor, she laughed too. “You sure don’t look your age. You don’t act it either. How old were you when you were…transformed?”

  He opened his mouth to reply, and the answering machine kicked on. She startled. The stupid ringer was still turned off. She grabbed the receiver.

  “Hello?” she answered.

  “Baby, it’s me—“

  “I don’t want to talk to you.” She slammed the receiver down.

  Alrik squinted at the phone. “What does that machine do?”

  “The phone lets you talk to people anywhere in the world, as long as they have a phone, too.”

  “This is a very wise age.” He nodded toward the windows. “I have been watching these machines that move people. They are faster than horses and there is no dung to clean up.”

  She smiled. “Those are cars. There’s also lots of bigger public transportation, like trains. Do you know what a train is?”

  “Aye. But I have not ridden inside one.”

  The answering machine turned on again, but this time, she didn’t pick up the phone.

  “Baby, it’s Brad. Pick up, please. I know you’re there. I’m trying to do the right thing here. Look, just meet me for brunch at eleven tomorrow at Patois. We can work this out. Please, Calleigh. I’ll be there. I hope you are, too. I love you.”

  When he hung up, Calleigh sank into one of the pub chairs around the breakfast bar. She sat there, staring at the flecks of black and gold in the granite. How perfect. He’d proposed to her at Patois. Was that supposed to soften her up? What if it did?

  “Who is this man that upset you?”

  She glanced up. Alrik stood beside her.

  She sniffed in a deep shuddering inhale she recognized as the precursor to a good cry. I will not be weak in front of this man. He’s a twelve-hundred-year-old Viking chieftain and I’m a modern, independent woman. Tears would not impress him.

  “He’s no one. I’m okay,” she lied.

  “I am not blind. You are upset. Who is this man?”

  “He’s my ex.”

  “Your X? What is X?”

  “He’s the guy I’m—was supposed to marry.”

  “Ahh.” He sat down in the chair next to her and swiveled around to face her. An expanse of smooth golden skin filled her field of vision. The aroma of cinnamon enveloped her with a spicy familiarity.

  He continued. “Actually, I do not understand. Does he not want to marry you any longer?”

  “Yes, he still wants marry me. I guess.”

  “But you do not want to wed him?”

  “I did, but not anymore. I guess. I don’t know. He wants me to forgive and forget and I don’t know if I can.”

  “Forgive what?” He propped an elbow on the bar, rested his jaw on his hand and stared into her eyes.

  She stared back, studying his sparkling blues and the locks of tawny-gold grazing his strong jaw. Saints in heaven, he was the most delicious hunk of man. She didn’t want to think about Brad.

  “Do you want to take a shower while your clothes are drying?”

  His brow crinkled. “Explain.”

  “A shower is like a bath, but standing up. The water comes down like rain.”

  “Aye.” His smile blinded her like sun on fresh snow. “I will shower with you, Calleigh lass.”

  “Not with me!” she sputtered. “I meant you, by yourself.”

  He frowned. “Why should I do this alone?”

  “To get clean? Or don’t Vikings bathe more than once a year?”

  “My people were not animals.” He drew himself up, his face taut with hurt, and crossed his arms. “Do not assume you know what my life was like.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t have a clue what your life was like. My mouth has a tendency to get me into trouble. In case you haven’t noticed. Forgive me?”

  “I accept your apology.” He uncrossed his arms and smiled. A hint of mischief sparkled in his eyes. “Perhaps your mouth could get you out of trouble also.”

  Mind and body went numb as one. “What did you say?”

  “You have gravely offended me, Calleigh lass, but I will forgive you for a kiss.”

  A kiss? He wanted to kiss her after all? The thought of those firm, sensual lips pressed against hers turned the numbness into hot tingles.

  “A…a kiss?” she stuttered.

  “Aye, and all will be forgiven.”

  Swallowing, she close
d her eyes and waited. Every inch of her trembled with anticipation.

  “Nay, lass, you must ask me.”

  She opened her eyes. “What?”

  He put his hands on the arms of her chair and closed the distance between them, his voice deep and husky. “Ask me to kiss you.”

  Heat flooded her face, her heart thumping. Ask a man for a kiss? That sentence structure was not in her vocabulary. Besides, she was technically still engaged. Sort of.

  “Ask me, lass.” His mouth hovered beside her ear, his breath stroking her skin.

  Breathe. “I don’t think I—”

  The answering machine clicked on and she jumped. “Bless it! I still haven’t turned that stupid ringer back on.”

  She slipped out of her chair and went around the counter to the phone, flipping the ringer switch.

  “Hello?” Her voice sounded shaky, almost panting. She turned her back to Alrik so he wouldn’t see how nervous he’d made her.

  “Hullo love, it’s Corrigan.”

  “Hi, Uncle Corri.” What timing. She rolled her eyes, happy her uncle couldn’t see her.

  “Are you all right? You sound odd.”

  “No, everything’s fine.”

  “Good. Just calling to remind you about Sunday. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

  “Forgotten? You think I would forget Uncle Seamus’s birthday?” Crap. She had totally forgotten.

  “You and Brad are coming, then, right? Seamus will be disappointed if you don’t.”

  “Of course, I’ll be there.” Without Brad, but trailed by a twelve-hundred-year-old Viking who’s sure to be even more fun.

  “What have you been up to lately? Out and about with Jeana, I suppose. How is your cousin? Haven’t seen much of her lately.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sure she’s been busy.” Screwing other girls’ boyfriends. “I haven’t been out much myself. Just staying in.” Avoiding the public. “Do you think Jeana’s going to be there?”

  “She’s invited, but I doubt it. Since your ma passed, Jeana hasn’t been much interested in this side of the family, except for you.”

  Probably because of Brad. Calleigh kept the anger out of her voice. “Okay, then see you there.”

  “Sunday then, love.”

  “Yep. I’m looking forward to it.” Liar, liar, panties on fire.

  She hung up the phone. Time to have a long talk with the Viking about what was acceptable and what was not, at least in front of her family. She turned to face Alrik. He was gone.

  ***

  “You press your boundaries, Phoenix.” Freya’s voice carried an edge as sharp as the massive gold sword resting across her lap. From the twin braids that hung on either side of her face to the highly polished gilt armor she wore, the goddess before him was pure Valkyrja. A sure sign she was angry. Eros was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he had a new charge or maybe he was helping another Phoenix. Alrik wanted to groan. Freya was hard enough to manage when Eros was around.

  Sitting on a carved throne, she stroked the blade with a scrap of lamb’s wool, polishing it to a mirror sheen. “There is to be no interference. You know that.”

  “Aye, but I was not interfering.” But he had been close, he knew that. Asking for the kiss pressed the boundaries.

  Her hand stopped moving. She looked up, eyes of piercing indigo meeting his gaze. “Do not mock me, Viking.”

  He bit his tongue to keep the torrent of words at bay. Nothing he wanted to say would help.

  In a deliberate show of strength, she hefted the sword with one hand, spinning the hilt effortlessly to lay the unpolished side down across her lap. The slow stroking of the blade began anew. “If you want a woman, take your pick among the mortals of your charge’s time as the other Phoenixes do.”

  “I do not want a woman.” He kept an edge in his voice and hoped she did not realize he truly meant her.

  “So you have told me.” She kept her eyes on the blade. “But your actions say otherwise. Have you changed your mind, Viking?”

  “Nay. I want no woman.” Save the bronze-eyed lass who held his talisman. She had been so close to asking for a kiss. He clenched his fists to quell the sudden upsurge of desire.

  Freya stood and slid the sword into the sheath at her waist, keeping one hand wrapped around the amber-encrusted pommel. She came eye to eye with him. “Perhaps you are not as foolish as you look.”

  Her finger traced the line of his jaw, her eyes now the warm blue of a summer sky. A playful smile turned up the corners of her lush mouth. “You are right not to want a mortal. There are greater pleasures to be had.”

  He closed his eyes and inhaled a deep, calming breath. Her hand went lower, caressing his chest, but still he kept silent.

  Her honeyed tone dripped over him like poison. “Behind each of Valhalla’s five hundred forty doors lies a different pleasure, and I hold the key to every one. Your every imagining would be fulfilled.”

  “I want no woman until I gain my vengeance.”

  She pulled away, cobalt flames dancing in her eyes. “You are a single-minded fool. No wonder Dagny led you like a lamb to the slaughter.”

  He opened his mouth, a curse on his tongue, but he was already back in Calleigh’s home. The new location did nothing to quell his anger. Freya had deliberately quoted Dagny to stir his blood.

  “There you are.” Calleigh smiled and pointed to the bundle waiting for him. “I wondered where you went. Your clothes were done, so I folded them up and put them on the couch for you.”

  Like a balm, her kindness soothed him. She had changed into a pale green knitted top that hugged her body, and her hair fell in soft waves around her beautiful face.

  She came closer, concern in her eyes. “Are you okay? You look a little funny.”

  “Aye, Calleigh lass, I am fine.” He wished he could hold her. The comfort of an innocent woman’s embrace would soothe the vexation Freya had measured upon him.

  “Are you hungry? It’s almost seven. I thought we could go to this little Thai place around the corner since I don’t have much in the house.”

  “I will go wherever you wish.” Freya’s touch still burned his skin, and he grimaced.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” She put her hand on his forehead. “You don’t look so good.”

  Inhaling sharply at her unexpected touch, he closed his eyes. The warmth of her hand spread through him, stilling his spirit, washing the goddess’s vile caresses away. Her kindness awoke a hunger in him that had been dormant many years. The edge of it cut away the last of his foul mood. What power this woman wielded in her touch.

  He opened his eyes and returned her smile. “I am very well. Very well, indeed.”

  She took her hand back. “So you want to go grab a bite to eat? Is Thai okay? Do you know what Thai is?”

  “I will eat with you. I do not know this food you speak of, but it will be fine.”

  “Okay, cool. You want to get dressed and we’ll go? I’ll go in my bedroom. Just knock when you’re done.” With that, she disappeared down the hall.

  He picked up the folded jeans and sweatshirt she had left for him and held them to his nose. They smelled sweet, just like she did, and the softness was greatly improved. After he finished dressing, he shouted toward her bedroom. “Calleigh lass, I am covered to your liking.”

  She stuck her head out. “What part of ‘knock when you’re done’ sounded like ‘yell at the top of your lungs’?”

  “Thank you for making the jeans softer.”

  “You’re welcome. So they feel better?”

  “Aye, they are softer but they still bind my—”

  She held her hands up. “Don’t! I don’t need to hear whatever you were about to say.”

  “I was going to say thighs.” He grinned. What was she thinking about? Were her thoughts the same as his?

  Grabbing her things from the table, she headed for the door. He reached it before she did and held it open.

  Her brow furrowed. “I’m already buying, you
don’t have to butter me up.”

  “I am not putting butter on you. You told me a gentleman holds a door for a lady. I am being a gentleman.”

  She paused, her hand on his forearm and her fragrance filling his nose. He wanted to pull her into his arms and bury his face in her curls. If only she would ask. Sometimes the constraints of not interfering aggravated him as much as Freya.

  “Thank you.” She smiled. “That’s really very sweet of you. I’ll try not to be such a smart mouth.”

  Before he could tell her what he thought of her mouth, she was outside, jangling her keys. “Gosh, it’s chilly. I should have bought you a jacket. We don’t have far to walk but I don’t want to stand out here all night.”

  He shut the door, waited for her to lock it, then walked beside her. Her jeans followed the curve of her hips and the roundness of her backside so well, it took very little to imagine her out of them.

  “Do those jeans not bind you? They look snug.”

  She shot him an odd look. “When did you become the fashion police?”

  “Is it not lawful to wear loose clothing?”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry you don’t like my jeans. I just bought them and I think they fit fine. And no, they don’t bind me.”

  “I do like them. I also think they fit fine.” He thought about what she’d told him earlier. “Are you wearing underwear then?”

  Her already rosy cheeks went a shade darker. “That is not a question you ask a lady!”

  “So you are not wearing underwear?”

  She stopped and looked around so he looked too. The street was empty.

  “Alrik! Gentlemen don’t talk to ladies about their undergarments, unless they know each other very well.” She pronounced the word very as if she were speaking to a deaf man.

  He crossed his arms and lifted his chin to hide his amusement. “But ladies may talk to gentlemen about theirs? I am confused.”

  “Let’s just change the subject.”

  She started walking again, so he did too but he was not ready to change the subject. “Underwear embarrasses you?”

  “I’m not talking about that any more.” She did not look at him.

  “Your sweater fits you very well also.”