All Fired Up (28 page)

If he did nothing else, he would protect Calleigh. “I have not been wooed by my charge, goddess.”

She smirked. “I am speaking of Dagny.”

The small hairs on the back of his neck rose. “I do not wish to speak of her.”

“But I do. Give me an explanation. Then I will hear your change.”

She wanted one more pound of flesh before she let him go. So be it. The memories would only whet his appetite for what was to come. He chose his words carefully. “As you desire, goddess. Dagny was a beautiful woman. So beautiful, I thought I had glimpsed you the first time I saw her.”

Freya settled back on her chaise, a glimmer of sky in her gaze and a slight upturn at the corner of her lips. She motioned with her hand. “Go on.”

Alrik took a deep breath. “She mesmerized me with her sweet words and adoration.”

“And this was new to you?” Freya raised a brow.

“Nay, it was not. I was used to the ways of women, to their fluttering eyes and winsome smiles. But Dagny was different.”
In more ways than I knew.

“How so?” She plucked a grape from a bowl that had not been there moments before.

“She wanted more than just to bed me. She wanted to know me for the man I was. She listened when I spoke of my dreams—“

“What were your dreams, Viking?” Freya popped another grape and chewed. “What do mortal men dream of?”

He shut his eyes for a moment, then refocused on the floor. An ache took hold of his heart.

“Children,” he whispered.

“Speak up. I cannot hear you.”

“Children,” he answered. “A wife. A family. A life beyond being a leader of men.”

Freya curled her shoulders forward and clasped her hands, eyes skyward. “So touching. Let me guess…dear, sweet Dagny assured you these were her dreams as well?”

Anger slithered through his belly at her belittling tone. He wondered at times if Dagny and Freya were not the same woman. “Aye, she did.”

She leaned back, ate another grape, nodding slowly. He did not doubt the goddess was enjoying every moment of his misery. The cornflower blue of her eyes proved it.

“So if a woman tells you what you wish to hear, that is enough?” She tipped her head to the side.

“Nay, that was not all.”

She leaned forward with renewed interest. “Then tell me. Because I do not understand, Alrik the Iron, how you gave yourself so freely to a woman whose true dream was to see a battle ax buried in your chest and your life’s blood soiling the ground beneath her feet.”

Fury rushed over him like a scorching blast of wind. The ache spiked through his chest, shattering his control.

“Because I loved her,” he bellowed, chest heaving. He paused to catch his breath and rein his temper. “And she said she loved me.”

Calmly, Freya sat back. “That, I understand.”

He wanted to choke her.

The goddess continued. “When you first came to Valhalla, your greatest desire was vengeance for your family and your clan for what Dagny had done to them. Does this desire still exist within you, Viking?”

“Aye,” he nodded, “it does.”

She twisted a strand of blonde hair around one finger. “Your charge has altruistically and somewhat foolishly given you her last change. You are free to use it as you wish. Would you have your vengeance, Chieftain Gunn? Or is there some other greater matter you wish to address?”

He straightened, took a deep breath and thought of Calleigh. Did she love him? She had not spoken the words. Was not sure she could. He had only one change, one chance to regain his life.

He thought of Dagny. So many years had passed since her vicious betrayal and yet those years had not lessened the pain she had caused. One change. One chance.

The goddess strummed her fingers on the arm of her chaise. “Just because I am immortal does not mean I wish to spend a lifetime waiting on you.”

Alrik exhaled a long breath. “I would have my vengeance.”

Chapter Twenty

Calleigh grinned her way past the tables of granny panties and hip huggers, past the racks of everyday bras and tummy-control garments. Her destination lay in ribbons and lace, smooth silk and sheer chiffon. A delicious naughtiness warmed her belly.

Alrik would stay. She would see to that.

With an armful of satiny nothings, she headed for a dressing room. The memories of time spent in a few other dressing rooms made her smile even more than the information her uncle had shared with her.

And made her love Alrik even more.

Alrik had known her uncle would wonder about his disappearance, so he’d done the explaining himself the night of the party. What a thoughtful guy.

Her guy.

She hoped.

Calleigh was more convinced than ever that the kiss she’d witnessed had to have a logical explanation. One he’d share when he returned.

She tried on the first outfit.

Black lace looked too…naughty. She wasn’t quite ready for that image yet.

Red satin was too…slutty. More like something Jeana would wear.

But the lace-trimmed lilac baby doll was perfect. It hugged her breasts and floated over her hips. Even the matching string bikini fit well. She fluffed her hair and smoothed the delicate fabric over her body. Sexy but sweet. Intriguing but innocent. Alrik couldn’t possibly walk away from this.

And even if he couldn’t stay, a possibility she did not want to consider, she would finally have the night she’d been dreaming of, with the man responsible for those dreams.

After a little more shopping, she made her way to the nail salon by the subway station. She chose a polish to match her purchase, a shade fittingly called “Lavender Love”. The manicure relaxed her but the pedicure sent her into a fit of giggles.

The woman dropped the pumice stone and let Calleigh catch her breath. “Sensitive feet, huh?”

Calleigh tried to breath. “I guess so.”

“This is your first pedicure, isn’t it?”

“You can tell that from the giggling?” Calleigh was amazed.

The woman lifted Calleigh’s foot by her heel and smirked. “No, by your feet. Have you seen them? What do you do exactly?”

“Oh.” Calleigh grinned. “I’m a dancer. And a dance teacher.”

On her way home, she stopped at her favorite gourmet food store and bought a bottle of champagne and some chocolate-covered strawberries. All that was left was her Viking.

Once home, she unpacked her goodies and took a hot bath. She dressed in the baby doll, fixed her hair, added a smidge of makeup and a dab of perfume. Her eyes kept finding the clock. Couldn’t be long now.

She placed lit candles around the living room until it was drenched in a soft, seductive glow and the inviting scent of vanilla filled the air. Nervous energy trembled through her as the minutes dragged by. The
tick,
tick,
tick
of the mantel clock marched across her nerves like a stream of heavy-footed ants.

Music. She needed music. Something romantic. And welcoming. She chose an André Rieu CD and turned the volume down so it played softly in the background. The gentle notes of the fiddle floated through the air, smooth ribbons of sound serenading her as she willed the time to pass quicker.

She couldn’t wait to see him. Couldn’t wait to kiss his delicious mouth again. Couldn’t wait to inhale his unique cinnamon scent. Would she smell like cinnamon in the morning, after he’d had his way with her? Heat flushed her cheeks but didn’t stop her from imaging what he would be like in bed.

“I love you,” she whispered, trying the words out, tasting them in her mouth.

“I love you.” Louder this time, with certainty.

Another smile. If this was being in love, she wanted to feel this way for the rest of her life.

The CD played all the way through twice. Deep puddles of molten wax surrounded the long, black wick of each candle. The mantel clock struck midnight, each successive chime more jarring than the last.

Calleigh breathed in deep sobs, tears clouding her eyes. The third day had come and gone. The ring of ashes had vanished from her floor.

Alrik was not coming back.

***

Snickers meowed for his breakfast and Calleigh pulled the covers over her head. Cat food just wasn’t a good enough reason to get out of bed. That beast was not about to starve.

The sun glared through her windows. Birds chirped.

Stupid sun. Annoying birds.

Snickers meowed again.

“Fine! I’m up. Quit torturing me. You’re not gonna die if you miss a meal.”

Pale purple silk bunched around her waist. The imprinted pattern of lace covered one arm where she’d slept with it beneath her. She wrenched the lilac fluff over her head and threw it in the corner. No one actually wore that crap to bed in real life, did they?

She pulled on a T-shirt and some sweatpants and headed for the kitchen. Snickers bounded along, crying and checking over his shoulder to be sure she was still moving.

“Seriously, you need to calm down. You’re way too hyper for a cat with your weight issues.”

She fed him, then opened the fridge to get a diet Pepsi for herself. The box of chocolate-covered strawberries sat on the shelf. She grabbed those too.

Pushing aside a candle, she hunkered down at the breakfast bar. The pop of the soda can triggered her need for caffeine and she downed a large gulp. Carbonation burned the back of her throat.

She stuffed a strawberry in her mouth and chewed, staring into space. Juice trickled down her chin and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. Another strawberry. And another.

She was six berries through the dozen when the phone rang.

The machine picked up. Seamus’s voice greeted her after the message.

“Calleigh love, pick up. It’s very important.”

“No,” she answered, even though he couldn’t hear her.

“I know yer there. Pick up. Pick up or I’m coming over and I’m bringing Moreen and Corri with me.”

She grabbed the receiver. “Do it and I’ll throw your favorite camera off the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“Is that a nice way to greet yer favorite uncle on a gorgeous spring morning such as this?”

“What’s gorgeous about it?” She bit into another strawberry.

“I take it our lad didn’t show?”

She swallowed. “Bingo.”

“Well, bless yer poor wee heart but yer not going to sit around and mope the day away.”

“Actually, I am and you can’t stop me.” Why had she answered the phone? Seamus could be such a butthead sometimes.

“I can and I will. Now get yerself showered and prettied up and come meet me at the studio. We’ll go for brunch at Meridian.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve just become my least favorite uncle.”

“I can live with that. Now, let’s go. You need to eat.”

“I’ve already had breakfast.”

“Ice cream doesn’t count.”

“It wasn’t ice cream.” Hah! So there.

Seamus waited a beat. “Well?”

“Chocolate-covered strawberries,” she mumbled, hoping it sounded like more like honey bunches of bran flakes.

“Och! Get off your arse, get dressed and get out of that house or I’m coming to get you,” he huffed. “I’ll see you in an hour. And wear something nice!” He hung up.

She growled into the phone before smacking the receiver back into place. Men! So bossy and bothersome and male. She stomped to the bathroom and threw her clothes on the floor. Regardless of what her uncle thought, this little outing of his was not going to make her feel better.

Men! They always acted like they ran the world.

She scrubbed and rinsed and slammed the shower door when she got out. She left the wet towel on the floor next to her clothes just because she could.

Wear something nice.
What was that supposed to mean? Did he think she was going to show up in a burlap sack and waders?

She picked through her closet. Ugly. Old. Ugly. Wrong color. Too short. Too tight. Gift from Brad.

She threw that sweater in the trash.

He wanted nice? Fine, she’d give him nice. Nice and simple. She pulled out a short plum-colored knit dress. It was one of her favorites, actually. The scoop neckline flattered her shoulders and she’d always thought they were one of her better features.

Maybe some guy would flirt with her so she could blow him off for the fun of it. She rolled her eyes at her own foolishness.

Nice panties, matching bra. This was stupid. No one was going to see them. But she put them on anyway, to make herself feel better. At least if she got into an accident, she wouldn’t be embarrassed. Yeah, like she wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen in her underwear just because they matched?

She fixed her makeup and dried her hair, leaving it curly. She checked the clock. Half an hour left. Time to hit the door.

The sun shone down on her like it had a personal mission. She fished out her sunglasses. Spring was overrated. Way too cheery.

Her ballet flats slapped the sidewalk. She liked the sound. It was slightly annoying.

Plenty of seats on the subway. She stared at an ad for Jennifer Convertibles. Maybe she should get a leather couch. Snickers would probably shred it.

She changed trains and found a seat on the new one. She was still pondering the idea of leather when she saw Alrik’s ad.

Her throat lumped up. That couldn’t be out already, could it? They’d erased his scars with airbrushing or some other high tech computer software but it was still him.

His eyes looked right back at her. Icy blue and beautiful. She turned her head, glad she had no tears left to cry. That ad would be plastered across the city for months. This wasn’t going to be easy.

The scent of cinnamon wafted through the air. Could it be? She looked in the other direction. The man two seats down took another bite of his sticky bun.

He had to eat that now? On this subway? She wrinkled her nose and moved to the next bench to wait for her stop.

When the elevator doors opened to her uncle’s studio, she smelled cinnamon for the second time.

“Hi, Calleigh!” Leona shouted.

“I’m right here, no need to yell.”

“Sorry, I’ve got a cold. I’m all stuffed up and I can barely hear a thing.” She sipped something hot from a mug.

Calleigh pointed. “What is that?”

“Tea. Want some?”

“No. What kind of tea?”

Leona studied the tag. “Orange Spice. It’s pretty good, sure you don’t want some.”

Well, that explained the cinnamon. “No, thanks. Is Seamus around?”

“Sure. Just a sec.”

Leona turned in her chair, leaned toward the dark room and yelled. “Seamus!”

He opened the door and peered out. “Leona, for the love of Mary, use the blessed intercom, will you?”

“Sure thing, boss. Calleigh’s here.”

“So I see. Be right with you, lovey. Have a seat at my desk, I’ll be right in. You want a cup of tea? It’s lovely.” He lifted a mug and grinned.

Who put a quarter in him this morning? “No. Thanks. I’m not even hungry. I’m only here because you threatened me.”

“Be with you in a jiff then.” He winked and shut the door.

She rolled her eyes but headed for his desk. She plopped down and grabbed a magazine.

Every page was the same. Skinny, leggy twits in extraordinarily expensive clothes looking bored. What a racket. She scanned Seamus’s desk for the appropriate tool and found it near a stack of eight by ten’s. She popped the cap off. The pungent smell of the permanent marker quickly overpowered the lingering scent of cinnamon.

The haughty Versace redhead got a goatee. The too-thin brunette in Ferragamo sported an afro. But Calleigh saved the best for last. The frigid blonde bedecked in Chanel pearls now wore a Fu Manchu. She held the magazine out to admire her handiwork. Amazing how a little constructive vandalism perked a girl right up.