by Sandra Hill
“Good,” she said, but what she thought was, Am I pushing the bounds of decency just to make a point with the lout? Am I playing a fool’s game here, and me the biggest fool of all?
Just when you think you’ve figured women out . . . Bam! . . .
“She’s driving me crazy.”
Cage didn’t even have to ask him who he meant. “Good crazy or bad crazy?”
“Definitely bad.” He took a long swig of beer from his glass. There was a keg behind the bar on which he and Cage leaned at the local fire hall. The place was all decorated with crepe paper and balloons for Spike’s party. He and Cage had been among the first to arrive, but people were streaming in steadily, many arriving on motorcycles if the rev of motors outside was any indication. Serenity, who was in the kitchen fussing over the food to be served, had invited more than a hundred guests.
The five-piece band, in cowboy gear, was tuning its instruments as Spike came up to them. “Damn, I need a beer,” he said, waving to the bartender.
“Happy birthday, big boy,” Torolf said.
“Thanks, but I don’t think there’s all that much to celebrate. Lose hair, gain weight, piss more, have sex less. What’s to celebrate? This is all Serenity’s goofball idea.”
“Hey, I hear she bought you a gift at The Horny Toad,” Cage mentioned.
“No kidding?” Spike grinned. “Maybe this birthday business won’t be so bad, after all.”
JAM and Geek came in then and told them that Pretty Boy insisted on coming alone. They all had beers in hand, and the band was playing Hank Williams Jr.’s “All My Rowdy Friends Are Coming Over Tonight,” when Pretty Boy strolled in.
“You are freakin’ unbelievable!” Torolf told Pretty Boy.
“What?”
“Who wears a silk T-shirt and a sport coat over designer jeans to a fire hall? And where the hell did you get those creases in your jeans? Don’t tell me you iron?”
The others began to razz Pretty Boy, too, with remarks like, “You’re a freakin’ Brad Pitt.” “Is that mousse in your hair? Or snot?” “You smell good enough to eat, boy. Oops, I guess that was your goal, huh?” “You so pretty, y’all could make a gator sigh, yes.”
“Hey, we’re talking tattooed and pierced women here. Gotta pull out all the ammunition if I’m gonna be the first one to strike pay dirt.” Good ol’ Pretty Boy. Always playing the odds.
“First? Says who?” Cage jabbed Pretty Boy in the arm.
Soon they were all placing bets on the bar as to who got lucky first, and then arguing over what specifically and graphically denoted lucky. Despite the teasing, Torolf opted out. “That’s all I need, to go off with some woman and leave Hilda here alone to fend for herself. She’ll feel out of place.”
“I doan know ’bout that,” Cage said with a big grin.
His other buddies looked in the direction Cage was staring, along with other men in the hall. One by one, grins passed over their mouths like the wave in a college football stadium.
“Hot damn!” JAM said.
“Wanna borrow my silk T-shirt and jacket?” Pretty Boy inquired too generously.
Then they all looked at Torolf, just waiting for his reaction. I have a feeling I am not going to like this. The band launched into a loud version of Toby Keith’s “How Do You Like Me Now?” which was really appropriate, Torolf realized, as he finally turned around.
Hilda came in with her new friends . . . a Hilda so far different than the one he’d known back in the Norselands he hardly recognized her . . . in fact, far different even than the one he’d seen leaving the trailer earlier tonight. And, oh, yeah, Toby, I like her now. A lot.
She’d poured herself into a pair of tight black jeans, which showed off her exceptionally long legs. On top, she had some kind of black bustier thing, which was visible through the sheer white blouse she wore over it. The most amazing transformation was her hair and face. Her long blonde hair had been curled and blown so that it looked like one of those fantasy sex kitten spreads in Playboy . . . the kind where the girl said she likes long walks on the beach and giving blow jobs. Her face had been made up to be all eyes and pouty red mouth.
She is so far out of my class now she won’t give me a chance. Not that I want a chance, but if I did, she’d blow me off, and I don’t mean blow job.
The other guys had already pushed themselves away from the bar and were practically tripping over each other to be the first to introduce themselves to Hilda’s friends. Hilda ignored them and strutted up to him, chin raised defiantly, as if she expected him to say or do something offensive.
“You look great.”
That took her by surprise. “You do not disapprove?”
“Not at all.” Except it should be only for me . . . and in private. “Did you think I would?”
“Yea, I did.”
And that’s why you dolled up like this, isn’t it? To annoy me? Well, guess what, cupcake? I’m likin’ it.
“I can hardly breathe.” She put one hand over her flat tummy and another over her bustier.
His heart began beating so fast he could almost hear it, like it did in the middle of some high-tension live ops. “I can hardly breathe watching you hardly breathing.”
She tilted her head in question.
“You turn me on.”
“I do?”
“Always.”
“What does it mean? That I turn you on?”
“You arouse me.”
“Oh.”
“I’d say that outfit, especially the bustier, is my second-best rig on you.”
“You know what a busty-air is?”
He grinned. “Honey, all red-blooded men know what a bustier is. Likewise garter belts, fishnet stockings, and stiletto heels.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Suffice it to say, you are the hottest woman in this room.”
“And the best is what?”
It was his turn to say, “Huh?”
“You said this,” she waved a hand to indicate her attire, “was your second-best rig on me.”
“Nothing, baby. Just bare skin.”
He’d expected her to say something shrewish, like “lackwit son of a troll,” and storm away. Instead, she said, “You look good, too.”
Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man! She is about to reel me in, hook, line, and sinker. And do I care? Hell, no! “Yeah?” He didn’t want to examine his elation too closely, or else he’d be forced to run like crazy.
She nodded. “But I still do not want you touching me.”
“Did I say anything about touching?”
“Your eyes did.”
“Hard to control my eyes, sweetie.”
“See? You should not even be calling me sweetling.”
“Why?”
“Dangerous.”
“Dangerous to whom?”
“Both of us.”
“Do you wanna dance?”
“You change subjects like a bird flitting from one tree to another. I can’t dance.”
“I’ll teach you, like I did before.”
“You mean that foresport business? Oh, that will tamp the danger down.”
He loved the way she could make him smile, even when she was being sarcastic, even when he could swear that smiling was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. Taking her by the elbow, he steered her out onto the dance floor where the band segued into that old Ray Charles hit, “I Can’t Stop Loving You.”
Pulling her close, he arranged her arms around his neck, and he put both his arms around her waist. Her face was close to his, and his heart started racing like the repeat on a machine gun. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat! For just a second, he closed his eyes and relished the feel of Hilda’s body in his embrace . . . the rightness of the fit. “Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss off that red lip gloss?”
Instead of making a disparaging remark, she confided, “It’s strawberry flavored.”
“I love strawberries.”
He put a hand to her nape, under
all that glorious hair, and pushed her face against his shoulder. “Your hair smells nice. Apples?”
“Yea, and the soap I used was peach scented. Is that not amazing? Is this country not amazing?”
“You’re a regular fruit salad, honey.”
She babbled on then about how she would have to teach Effa how to add fruit and flower scents to her soaps when she returned to The Sanctuary and how they needed sanctuaries in this country, too. Then she moved on to blow dryers, zippers, and transparent hose. He only half listened, too intent on relishing the feel of her body in his embrace. Finally, she noticed his silence. “Is something wrong?” she asked, her breath tickling his ear.
Sweet ripples of pleasure swept over him from his ear to his groin. “Yeah, something’s wrong.” He inhaled deeply, for courage. He was about to say something he shouldn’t, and it was going to take a helluva lot of nerve. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“You cannot . . . I mean, it is nice to know . . . but I will be leaving here soon.”
Nice? My telling her that I might love her is nice? I think I’ll go in the corner and suck my thumb. “I know you’re leaving eventually. Just thought you ought to know. A little secret you can take back to the Norselands with you. You can gloat that some dumb schmuck, the lout, fell hard for you.”
She was silent then as they swayed from side to side to the music. Later, he wouldn’t be able to say if they were the only couple on the dance floor or one of dozens. Just when he thought she was going to kill him with her silence, she spoke up, “I would not gloat. In truth, it would be impossible for me to do so, in good conscience.”
“Why is that, heartling?” Holy shit! Did I really say heartling? I must be regressing to my Viking past.
She kissed his neck and whispered, “Because I think I am falling in love with you, too.”
Wham, bam, a shot to his already shaky heart.
That was for sure the final nail in Torolf ’s coffin.
Chapter 20
The three words that scare all men, even SEALs . . .
Hilda could tell that she stunned Torolf with her revelation. Well, he’d stunned her, too.
Somewhere between being blistering mad and planning to flirt with every male at the party, and seeing Torolf standing on the other side of the room, looking as handsome as all the gods, she realized something important. She loved the lout.
How did it happen? When did it happen? Was it the first time I saw him after all those years, back on the shipwreck? Was it when he first taught me what bedsport could be? Was it when he rid the Norselands of Steinolf? Was it when he rescued me here in this new land?
“Why are there tears in your eyes?” Torolf asked her, tipping her chin up with a forefinger.
“This is an immense revelation to me.”
“That I love you?”
She noticed that he no longer said that he “thought” he loved her. Now it was a fact.
“Nay, that I love you.”
The band was playing some loud, raucous music about “jam-ball-eye-ah” and people were doing faster dances with hips shaking and arms flailing, except for Cage, who was doing a very fancy dance involving intricate, sexual moves, with Linda, both of them laughing and singing at the same time. She and Torolf were just standing still. She had no idea how long they had been standing thus, arms looped around each other loosely, staring into each other’s face.
“You are so unhappy about loving me that you weep?”
“Nay. ’Tis just that I have ne’er been in love afore. And it frightens and exhilarates me at the same time.” She shrugged. “I am confused.”
“I like the exhilarated part,” he said, winking at her. He had a very nice wink, one that made her tingle all over.
Before she knew it, she and Torolf were sitting at a back table near the wall, she with a glass of clear wine, a novelty for her, and he with a glass of mead.
“I still do not want you to touch me,” she told him, looking pointedly at his one arm resting casually over her shoulders.
“You’ve got to be kidding. No, no, no! You can’t tell a guy that you love him and then put up a Do Not Touch sign.”
“You know this from experience?”
“No. I’ve never been in love before, Hildy. Let’s get that straight from the start. And if you think you’re frightened by this, it’s nothing compared to how I feel.”
She smiled. “I thought Navy SEALs were afraid of nothing.”
“You thought wrong,” he said. “Fear is our friend.”
“Is that another of those lackwit sayings of yours?”
“Yep.” He leaned forward and lightly kissed her lips. “Strawberry kisses. Is there anything better?” Then he smiled back at her.
Her heart nigh galloped at that warm smile, and she feared that everyone could look at her and see the effect Torolf had on her.
“Back to that no touching business, I give you fair warning. I intend to touch you a lot tonight. I can’t wait to see what it’s like to have sex with a woman I love.”
“I am trying to be sensible here, Torolf. Are you asking me to stay here in the future with you?”
A red bloom suffused his face and even his ears.
She laughed. “Oh, do not run scared, rogue. I know you were not asking that. But can you not see then why our lovemaking would be a mistake? I must go back to The Sanctuary. I am needed there. It is a time and culture I know.”
“Your point being?”
“I do not want to make my departure harder than it will be already. Loving you and leaving will be difficult enough.”
He was peeling the paper label off his bottle of mead with the thumb of his free hand as he pondered her words.
“Dost agree with me? You will halt your touching?”
He looked up from his paper peeling and grinned at her. “Hell, no. You’re right; we’re on a fast track to heartbreak. God, I can’t believe I said such a hokey thing. But while you’re here, I’ll probably do everything to convince you to make love.”
She shook her head at his hopelessness. Always a rogue.
“Sometimes you just gotta live in the moment. The work I do—hell, I could die any time I go out on an op, it’s an occupational hazard—so I gotta think that we should grab whatever happiness we can when we can. Besides, you can’t buy body paint for a guy and then put up a red light.”
Her brow furrowed with puzzlement.
“That chocolate body paint you bought for me. And, by the way, that was a great gift. If I didn’t say thank you before, I intend to later . . . with my tongue. Yum-yum!”
“You speak in riddles. I bought you paint?”
He explained what body paint was, and with each word, her jaw dropped lower and lower.
“Oh good gods! No wonder your friends were so amused.”
“Hey, forget amused. They were jealous.”
Said friends came to the table then, along with her new female friends. They were laughing and carrying drinks with them. Apparently, the band was taking a break, and the meal was about to be served.
Geek seemed to have developed an affection for Jolene, which could be dangerous, considering her husband.
She murmured to Torolf, “Geek best be careful. Jolene is married, and her husband beats her.”
Torolf’s head jerked to attention. “How do you know that . . . about the beatings?”
“Because she told me and because . . . well, look at her. Can’t you see the bruises under the face lotion?”
He nodded slowly.
“Dost think you could kill her husband?”
“Whaaat?”
“He is a nasty, vicious man who will not allow her to leave. Whene’er she has tried, he brings her back and beats her more.”
“Hilda, you shouldn’t be getting involved.”
“Why not?”
“Because this type of jerk would come after you, too.”
She shrugged. “Mayhap. But someone has to help her. Methinks that whil
st you are gone a-Viking or a-fighting or whatever it is you SEALs do, I will form my own sanctuary here for troubled women like Jolene.”
He groaned. “Hilda, you are supposed to lay low here, not draw attention to yourself. In fact, I’ve been thinking about sending you to stay with Ragnor and Alison.”
“You said it would be best if your family was not involved, lest the sign-tiss try to dice-section them, too.”
“I know, but I’m beginning to think leaving you here alone would be a bad idea, even if I ask Spike to watch out for you, or have you stay in his trailer with him and Serenity.”
“Is it because you love me now and you did not afore?”
He smiled. “Maybe.”
“Well, I do not want to stay with your brother and his wife unless I must. I like these people here.”
“All right. For now. I’ll give you Ragnor’s telephone number, though, and at the least sign of trouble, you call him.”
She nodded.
Looking around the table, she noticed that only Pretty Boy sat alone, brooding into his beer. It had to be by choice, because a number of women kept staring in his direction.
“What’s up, Pretty Boy?” Torolf asked his friend.
“I’m thinkin’ ’bout goin’ back to Coronado tonight.”
“Why? Heavy date?”
“Nah. I’m just tired.”
Torolf and his buddies exchanged glances, then Torolf told her in an undertone, “We think he’s missing Britta.”
Over the next hour, they ate their meal and drank their beverages and sang Happy Birthing Day to Spike and watched the dancers once the band played again.
“Do you know what I want to do with you when we leave here?” Torolf asked in a silky-smooth voice.
“Shhh! Behave,” she hissed at him.
“First, I’ll strip you naked, real slow. Then I’ll paint you with chocolate and lick it off from your forehead to your toes.”
She gaped at him and wanted to protest his sinful words, but the mind picture robbed her of speech.
“Then I will flip you over and do your back side.”
She shouldn’t encourage the man, but she wanted to know, “I am a big person. Can you eat that much chocolate?”