He came up to her mouth, brushing his skin against hers, the soft hairs on his chest tickling her skin, making her burn with liquid fire.
But she wanted even more firsts tonight. She pushed him to the side slightly, and with one swift movement, turned him and was on top of him. Kolbjorn moaned in delighted surprise. His fingers came back to her sex and teased her there, then he slid one inside of her and circled, sweet pressure building up in her deep muscles.
He withdrew his fingers. “You are so wet,” he whispered. “You are ready for me.”
“Oh yes.” A moan escaped her. “Yes.”
She wriggled on top of him, burning for him and yet wanting this moment to last an eternity—the moment just before she would become his and he would become hers.
As he placed his rock-hard erection right at her entrance, their eyes locked, just like when they first saw each other in the village, and time froze, eternity connecting them. And as his hot hardness entered her, it stretched her, sending the most extreme pleasure she had ever had in her life through her muscles. Their hearts beat together, and as he began pounding into her, their movements became one.
Rachel’s muscles were already clenched with pleasure, the connection between them consuming her.
Like a wave of a distant storm, her orgasm was born small and grew with each of Kolbjorn’s thrusts. When he got close as well, starting to pant and then growl with every movement, the wave took her whole and broke her against the shore in a world-shattering pleasure the likes of which she had never felt. As if amplified by Kolbjorn’s own release, it sent her trembling and her body moving together with his.
And as their combined breaths became one song, she thought that she had never felt so complete.
Chapter Ten
The overwhelming silence beyond the walls of the hut crept into Kolbjorn’s awareness as he slowly awakened. His body, too, felt peaceful. The house did not shake anymore, and the wind did not wail in between the slats of the hastily repaired roof. It was as if Fimbulwinter, the great winter before Ragnarok, had finally passed, and all the world lay new and quiet.
Crisp air cooled his nose and cheeks, but when he looked at the fire, he saw that it was still burning its small dance on the scorched wood. They had not slept long if the fire was still going. Despite the chill air, it was warm and cozy under his bear fur cloak.
He felt Rachel’s warm, silky body spread on top of him and breathing in unison with him, and, having wrapped his arms around her, he felt that everything was right with the world.
Last night had been the highlight of his life. The woman from the future…
She was fire and love and—
He tensed, and the feeling of peace evaporated.
A thief.
He had never felt accepted by his father, and because of her, his father had cast him out completely. What was Kolbjorn thinking? That he’d bring a thief home as his woman?
How could he have been so weak? How could he have drunk her wine? He, who’d sworn to the life of sobriety because he feared doing things like this when he drank. Feared letting himself be fooled, losing control.
This was over. The storm was gone, and with it, the protective cocoon that enveloped the two of them. He had to take Rachel and the necklace to his father—the sooner, the better. He shifted to peel Rachel away from him, and she opened her sleepy eyes. Her gaze found him and she smiled, planting a kiss on his chest.
She was so beautiful, her auburn hair spread over his chest, her cheeks rosy, her lips swollen from their lovemaking and calling for him to kiss them again.
“Come back to sleep,” she croaked. “I can give you space. I must be heavy.”
Heavy? She was as light as a feather, and the feeling of her pressed against him was as sweet as honey. “The storm is over. We must go back.”
Rachel pushed herself against him, her face paling. She knew what this meant as well as he did. She, too, had seemingly forgotten everything that existed beyond the storm, everything that put them on the opposite sides of the game.
He shifted from under her and then from under the cloak, fresh air covering his skin with goosebumps. He felt her eyes on him as he dressed.
“Are you really going to take me to your father?” she asked.
He turned to face her, and she was a sight to see—her naked, delicate shoulders peeking from under the fur, the tops of her breasts visible. The sight made his mouth dry and heat rush to his groin, but he chased the feeling away.
He had made a mistake by allowing himself to act on his attraction. There could be no future for them. She was a thief. And she belonged in a different time.
Even if Kolbjorn allowed himself to think about what would happen if she decided to stay with him, presenting a thief to his father as Kolbjorn’s future wife was impossible. It went against everything the jarl wanted Kolbjorn to be. With a thief as his wife, his father would never accept him into the family. Merely considering the possibility was foolish, though, since his father would surely kill Rachel, even if Kolbjorn attempted to convince him to spare her life.
No. He must shut down his feelings towards her, feelings he never should have had in the first place. She was probably trying to manipulate him anyway.
“I am going to take you to him,” Kolbjorn said, putting his clothes on. “Better get dressed.”
Without throwing another glance at Rachel, Kolbjorn walked to the door. He needed to see how bad the snow was.
He opened the door a little to see, and a small drift fell inside. The snow was up to his knees. He shoved the door back into place. They could go, but the trek would be difficult.
“Do you want to have some breakfast?” Rachel said with a nervous smile. “There are still hot dogs. I can roast them.”
Kolbjorn’s stomach growled at the thought, but he did not want to give in to the memory of the happiest night he had ever had.
“Get dressed. We need to go.”
Rachel sat upright and clutched the edges of his cloak tight around her. “Why are you being like this?”
“Like what?”
“You know like what. As if nothing happened yesterday.”
He met her eyes. They were big and full of emotion. “Nothing happened yesterday,” he said. “I had you as a man, like I have bed slaves and servant girls. So what?”
Rachel jerked back slightly as if he had hit her. “It was not just sex, and you know it.”
He did know it. Nothing had ever come close to what he felt with her. As if every hair on his body filled with tenderness and pleasure. And not just pleasure, something more.
Completeness.
As if he’d found home.
Her.
“It was a mistake,” he said. “I should not have become drunk, and I should not have— It won’t change anything. I must take you to my father, and you—you must face the consequences of your actions.”
Rachel paled, her eyes darting around the room as if she was looking for an answer.
“Listen,” she said, when her eyes fell on her purse. “I have a solution. You don’t have to take me to your father. Let me take the necklace.”
Kolbjorn tensed, gripping his belt purse where the jewel lay, but Rachel held out a hand as if calming a wild animal.
“No, no, listen. Let me take it so that I can save my mother’s life. In exchange, I’ll bring you stuff from modern times. Valuable stuff. Food and drinks, modern jewelry with many, many gemstones. Modern technology allows us to produce stones that look just like rubies, emeralds, diamonds, at a fraction of the cost. They are almost indistinguishable to the naked eye. Your father will be so, so much richer with them than just with this necklace. He’ll become a king in no time. I’ll bring a lot. Look in my purse. Take the ones I have with me!”
Kolbjorn listened to her with a frown. If she told the truth, she was right, it would be a good solution. But most likely, she lied. She wouldn’t come back.
“Look, look,” she urged him, standing on her knees. The fur cloak slid sli
ghtly from her movement, and Kolbjorn clenched his jaws at the delicious sight of her.
Kolbjorn picked up her purse and took out a packet of the same transparent material as the bag with the sausages.
It was full of sapphires. All the exact same size, glistening in the firelight like the eyes of the Midgard Serpent. There were at least a hundred of them. He watched them, not quite believing he held such treasure in the palm of his hand.
She was right, this was much more valuable than the necklace alone.
“And these are made?”
“Yes, manufactured.”
“Out of what?”
“Minerals.”
“And they are cheap?”
“Yeah. Compared to the real deal. But they look almost the same.”
He could not tell the difference.
“Why do you have them with you?”
“I wanted to throw them on the street so that people would fight for them, in case I was out of luck and the jeweler or the guards didn’t leave the house. Take them. Just give me the Necklace of Northern Lights”—her voice broke —”and let me go,” she finished in a whisper.
Kolbjorn opened the transparent purse and spilled the gemstones onto the palm of his hand. They glistened just like the real ones.
“Someday people will be able to do this?”
“Yeah.”
He shook his head as if shaking off a bad dream, then put the jewels back into the transparent purse. “You must think me a fool if you suggest that I trust your word.”
Rachel frowned. “I know I seem like a thief… Well, I am. But I will come back. I swear on my mother’s life.”
She was in earnest. If he believed any word she had said before, nothing was more important to her than her mother. Still. He would not step from the path of honor, even for her.
“No.”
Rachel scoffed and threw off the fur cloak. Her ripe breasts bounced before him, and he turned away as his cock hardened from the sight and the urge to take the beautiful flesh in his mouth, one breast after the other, until she could not withhold her moans.
As she dressed, Kolbjorn remained turned away and breathed, trying to calm down his lust.
Rachel’s voice came closer, and he could hear the rustle of her pulling on clothes behind his back. “I don’t understand why you must be so stubborn. I proved to you that I am from the future, and you believe me, don’t you? Why can’t you just trust me when I swear on the most important person in my life? What do I need to do to make you believe me?”
“I am not going back empty-handed.”
“You won’t! The whole pack of sapphires—there are three hundred of them!”
“Your fake gemstones won’t buy my loyalty.”
Rachel appeared in front of him, in her shift and her apron dress; her bare feet must have been freezing on the packed-dirt floor.
Her eyes were huge, her mouth round, her lips full. She was pleading, and he hated seeing her like this.
“Kolbjorn. Anything. Medicine, clothes, food, more gemstones. Darn it, even weapons. Ask me for anything and I’ll bring it. Stuff that will make your father beg you to join the family. I’ll be like your personal genie. Just give me the necklace and let me go.”
Kolbjorn eyed her. Even if he did not want to admit it, somewhere deep, he believed her. There was nothing to prove that she’d actually go through with it, though, and he’d probably be a fool to trust her in the first place.
Did he doubt that she was from the future? No. All the things, the food, and the wine that she had—all were undeniable proof. And the Norns could do anything, even send people through time.
He needed her to stay so that he could restore his good name in front of his father.
But a huge part of him wanted her to stay for a whole different reason.
Chapter Eleven
“No.”
Kolbjorn’s voice hit Rachel like a slap across the face.
No? Just no? After everything she’d said, everything she’d offered?
She couldn’t give him more. She couldn’t say anything that would change his mind. He’d almost said yes, she’d seen it in his eyes, and both hope and dread had bloomed and fought inside her. Hope for her mother. Dread of separating from him.
When she had first seen him, she’d thought he was a rock. Now, she knew that with his strength and solidity came extreme stubbornness. It was freaking impossible to change his mind.
And his answer confirmed her biggest fear. She was falling for him, and he would never choose her. He’d destroy her. She had to protect herself before it was too late.
“You know what, Kolbjorn? You want to be your father’s real son? The jarl’s son, huh? So that he’ll approve of you and let you make important decisions with him, and so that you’ll become the next jarl? You are so fixated on your principles, on doing anything to please your father, that you can’t even bend a little to do what’s best for you. You don’t see that he’s using you like a dog! Because you are like a dog—you don’t have your own rules; you live by your master’s, your father’s!”
Kolbjorn’s face began to redden, and she knew she’d struck a nerve.
“Yeah. Exactly. You think that the way to please your father is by following his every command? By sacrificing everything that you are so that he’ll love you and take you in? He knows that no matter what he does, you’ll always be there for him! He trained you well.”
“Shut up.”
“Shut up? What, afraid of the truth? Let’s say he accepts you as his heir, and you become the jarl. How do you plan to be a leader if everything is about honor for you? What do you do if someone threatens you with war, huh, Kolbjorn? It’s just like in my world. Responding like a rigid soldier, with violence, is not always the best answer for your people. That’s great for warriors—who’ll most likely get themselves killed anyway. But for leaders, honor is a tool. And if you don’t understand that, then you are nothing more than an instrument, there to be used and discarded at your father’s will.”
“You don’t know anything. You are an outlander from a different time.”
“No? Well, maybe not. But I do know one thing. I’d give anything to save my mother. Anything. As you see, I am ready to steal and travel through time and offer things I never thought I would—like weapons. But her life depends on me, and there’s a deadline on that. Nothing you do for your father is ever enough. And it never will be. When are you going to stop living by your father’s rules and start living by your own?”
Kolbjorn was white now, from rage. Oh no, she’d overdone it.
“You’d give anything for your mother?” he said. “And where is this leading you? First you took the golden spindle from three old women. Then you stole jewelry from my house—never mind that my whole life was turned upside down. Then you steal more jewelry, intended as an important gift to help my village. What next, Rachel? You are heading for the life of an outlaw, and where do you think you will stop?”
Rachel panted as his words ripped her apart. He’d hit her right where she was most vulnerable, right where she refused to look at herself—because if she did, she wouldn’t be able to lift a finger anymore. And if her mother knew what she was doing for her, she’d never be able to look at her daughter the same way again. Rachel had lied, told her the money was from an anonymous benefactor, a fan of her work.
And Kolbjorn was right, she had not thought about her future beyond saving her mother. What would she do once her mother was well again? What would Rachel be good at?
Stealth? Theft? Deception?
She’d been so focused on taking care of her mom the past six years, she hadn’t taken time to stop and think what she would actually like to do with her life.
And Kolbjorn was right, what about the consequences? How had she impacted the lives of the people she had stolen from?
How would she look her brother and her mother in the eye?
Cold sweat covered Rachel’s whole body, and she only now noticed tha
t her bare feet, standing on the packed-dirt floor, felt like cubes of ice.
And yet, she still felt that facing everything she had done and everything that was happening to her now was better than seeing her mother’s coffin.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Kolbjorn’s expression—even though still furious—now held a hint of softness. The sight of him, tall, proud, and honorable, steadied her.
He was a rock, a home, a shelter. And he was right. This huge, gorgeous, infuriating man who saw through her and who pulled her closer as if by gravity. She wiped her eyes.
She was afraid to let anyone else into her heart because doing so led to world-shattering pain. Too late. That was exactly what she had done.
“If you were mine,” Kolbjorn said, “I’d straighten you out even after everything you’ve done, like a man should straighten out his—”
Rachel’s stomach clenched in a sweet ache. Silence hung between them, heavy and saturated. The smallest light of hope kindled somewhere in Rachel, making her breathe faster, sending excitement vibrating through her like a million fireflies.
The vein on his neck pulsed in the same violent rhythm as her heart. Rachel’s mouth went dry. And the same pull that had always been there when they were near, and that had brought them together as powerfully as the strength of the storm, made her forget everything else.
“If I was yours— Then make me yours.”
* * *
That was all the invitation he needed.
He went to her and scooped her into his arms, his mouth hungry.
She felt ice cold, but he’d warm her up.
He had seen in her eyes that she was redeemable after all, that his heated words had struck a chord—the hidden wound, the pain he recognized in himself.
If she was his…
She wanted this as much as he did.
They did not have a future, but that was for later. All they had was this moment. And she was in his arms.
And everything was possible.
As long as his skin was against hers—she was warm and beautiful and fiery, with all the right curves—nothing else existed.
The Jewel of Time: Called by a Viking Page 6