Harlequin Historical February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Major's Wife\To Tempt a Viking\Mistress Masquerade (35 page)

She had come to seduce him—that much was clear. But tonight he refused to let her direct him.

‘This is your last chance to leave,' he said quietly, drawing his hands over her bare back. ‘If you stay, you'll do as I command. And I'll claim your body, whether you will it or not.'

* * *

Thank the gods.
The storm of tremulous feelings was flooding through her in a way she craved. She knew what there was between a man and a woman and didn't fear it. Styr had never hurt her and there were times when the sensations had pleased her.

But in the past two years, she'd been so consumed with thoughts of having a child, she could no longer take pleasure in the act.

Tonight would be different. Just the touch of Ragnar's hard body against her softness had evoked an aching desire she could not deny. He kissed her hard, plundering her mouth as he demanded her surrender.

She didn't yield to him the way he wanted her to. Instead, she kissed him back, trying to make him understand why she was here. She was tired of being a shadow, ignored and overlooked.

His mouth trailed down her collarbone, closer to her breasts. She wanted to feel the warmth of his kiss upon her nipples, to feel the pull of dark desire.

Instead, he circled ever closer, without giving her what she wanted. The proximity of his mouth was torture and between her legs, she grew wet with need. Elena stripped away the rest of her gown, stepping out of it until she was naked before him. She wanted to be consumed by Ragnar, to lose herself in this.

‘Slow down,' he ordered. ‘We have time.'

She didn't want him to take his time. She wanted a quick coupling, to release the tension and frustration inside. Just as she was about to speak, his tongue flicked against one nipple.

It was like the crack of a whip lashing over her body and she shuddered at the sensation. By the gods, she'd never known such a fevered reaction.

He echoed it with the other breast, his heated breath tormenting her. His hands moved over her hips to her bottom and he guided her legs apart.

‘I want you crying out for me, before I fill you,' he murmured against her ear. ‘I want you so ready, you're shaking.'

His words deepened her arousal and when he bent to take her nipple in his mouth, she felt the sudden intrusion of his fingers sinking inside her. The shock made her knees buckle and her fingernails dug into his shoulders.

‘Not enough,' he said, penetrating her with his hand and withdrawing. ‘You came to me, wanting this. But it will be on my terms, not yours.'

She reached for the ties of his hose, wanting to feel his body against her. He was hard and powerful, and the excitement of his touch was already causing her to tremble.

Anticipation filled her imagination and as he kissed a path lower, his hands moved again. He filled her with two fingers while his thumb teased the hooded flesh of her womanhood.

It was dizzying, the feelings crashing over her. Though she shouldn't be here with him, not like this, it felt incredibly sinful to take pleasure from his forbidden touch. She was leaning in to him, opening her legs wider in preparation for more.

Her breathing was uneven as he continued to touch and tease. Her hand slipped beneath the waist of his hose and she was rewarded by the velvet softness of his length in her hand. When she tried to remove his clothing, he stopped her.

‘Sit down,' he ordered, moving her towards a sack of grain. ‘I've not finished with you yet.'

Elena obeyed and when he stopped touching her, she felt the coolness of the night air against her skin. Her mind began to think more clearly and she suddenly realised that she'd divorced her husband and was about to give herself to his best friend.

What did that make her? Was this the woman she'd become? The rise of understanding made her feel awkward, uneasy about this choice.

But then his mouth closed over her breast, suckling hard while his hand abruptly filled her. He blew against the sensitive nipple, nipping at her flesh while he invaded again and again.

Elena was in shock, unable to grasp the wild frenzy of need that possessed her. He was in command of her body, evoking a reaction she'd never felt before.

‘Ragnar, I can't breathe.' She shuddered against him, leaning back as her hands clutched his head. He slowed the pace of his finger thrusts and she prayed he would soon end this.

‘I want you inside me,' she begged.

‘You won't have me,' he countered, nudging his thumb against the nub that was now a delicious torture. ‘Not in that way. At least, not yet.' His breath moved over her stomach, down to the hollows of her hips, and she felt his mouth rest upon her mons.

His fingers remained sheathed within her and her imagination bolted with a burst of heat as his mouth moved closer. And when his tongue touched her intimate flesh, she came apart, writhing as the climax ripped through her. She clenched against his fingers, pulling his mouth back to hers. When she kissed him, she pleaded, ‘Now, Ragnar.'

Instead, he broke the kiss, his eyes narrowed. ‘No.'

She didn't understand him, but when he adjusted the ties of his clothing, she realised that he wasn't going to make love to her. He'd given her a searing taste of what it would be like to share his bed, but that was all.

He pulled her gown over her head, helping her to dress. As he did, his hands slid over her breasts, rekindling the need.

Confusion swelled up inside her, for he'd given her a sharp release, taking nothing for himself. And when he'd finished tying the laces of her gown, he leaned in to her ear.

‘I won't let myself be used by any woman,
søtnos
. Not even you.'

Chapter Twelve

R
agnar continued building his house over the next few days, needing the distraction from Elena. Guilt weighed upon him from the night he'd touched her, despite the fact that she'd ended her marriage. He should have turned her away from the moment she'd come to him.

And yet it was impossible to release the years of longing. He'd been unable to refuse her, knowing that she'd needed someone to comfort her...but he never should have let things go that far. More than that, Elena had begun avoiding him, as if she regretted what they'd both done. Neither of them had been thinking clearly and he questioned what to do now.

For the past few years, he'd dreamed of the day when he was free to love her openly...and yet the invisible barriers had not lifted. He didn't delude himself into thinking she was over the loss of her husband.

It would take time to let go of five years. And even though she'd turned to him that night, he knew better than to think she'd wanted him.

* * *

Five years earlier

She was standing before the edge of the fjord, staring into the silvery water. Ragnar watched over Elena, just as the tall hills shadowed the water running between them.

Her hair was braided back from her temples, the long waving strands falling to her waist. The green apron she wore accentuated her slender waist and golden brooches fastened it near her shoulders.

‘Come and stand with me,' she offered, turning to face him. Though she attempted a smile, he saw the rise of anxiety on her face.

Within another day, she would be married to Styr. The thought of it was like a fist squeezing the life from his throat.

‘I'm nervous about what will happen on the morrow,' she admitted. ‘I know that's foolish, since I've known Styr for so many years.' She crossed her arms, rubbing at her shoulders.

‘He will make a good husband for you,' Ragnar agreed. His friend was the second-born son of their
jarl
and more likely to be the next leader. ‘You've nothing to fear.'

She reached for his hand, guiding him along the edge of the lake. Though it was only a gesture of friendship, inviting him to walk with her, the simple touch of her palm upon his was a jolt of fire from their joined hands all the way to his heart.

‘I know I should be happy about this marriage,' she said. ‘He's handsome, and I do think I love him. But it's just—' Her words broke off and she shrugged. ‘He intimidates me.'

Whereas she'd never held any such reservations with him. A rise of frustration came forth, for he was a warrior, the same as Styr. He was a stronger fighter now and he could defeat any enemy with his sword.

‘And I don't intimidate you?' he teased, his voice holding a darker edge.

There was a sudden flush on her cheeks and she averted her gaze. For a brief moment she hesitated, before saying, ‘Of course not. We're friends and you would never harm me.'

He drew her to stand before him, his height making it easy to stare down on her. ‘I can be very intimidating,' he said, leaning even closer.

When Elena had to tilt her head back, she returned an honest smile. ‘To some.' She rested her palms on his chest and gripped his tunic as she tilted so far back, he had to hold her to keep her from falling.

A slight laugh escaped her before he set her back on her feet. ‘Styr will take good care of you. Or I'll kill him.'

They continued walking along the edge, until they reached a cluster of large stones surrounding a pool.

‘I'll tell him that,' she teased in return. But there was still a flustered air about her. When she leaned back against one of the stones, she appeared uneasy.

Ragnar came to lean beside her and he stared up at the sky. ‘There's something else bothering you.'

She wouldn't look at him, but agreed, ‘Yes.'

‘Go on, then.' He waited for her to talk to him, though he wasn't certain he wanted to hear her confession.

She let out a sigh and at last turned to him. ‘I'm worried I won't please him. I know he doesn't feel the same way about me.' Her face turned red and she shook her head. ‘It's nothing you can help with.'

‘You don't have to marry him,' he said suddenly.
You could marry me.
The words were on the edge of his mouth and he bit them back before he could say anything more.

‘My father would be furious with me if I didn't. It's a strong alliance.'

‘And one that doesn't have to be made through your marriage. Another of your sisters could marry him.'

But Elena shook her head. ‘No, all the arrangements have been made. My father has spent a great deal of silver on the feast and the celebration. It will happen, whether I'm ready for it or not.'

He reached out to take her hand.
Tell her
, his conscience urged.
Give her the choice instead of remaining silent.

But instead of words, he laced his fingers with hers and moved in front of her. His time was running out. If he said nothing, she would marry his best friend the next day. He was torn between his own desires and what was best for her. She deserved a man of high wealth and social standing. Not someone like him, only good for wielding a sword.

‘You always have a choice, Elena.' He released her hands, watching her sea-green eyes. He wanted her to know that he would always be there for her.

The colour stole away from her face, but she didn't take her eyes from his. Her lips parted and he wondered if she would allow him to kiss her. To show her the words he'd buried away behind years of frustration.

Ragnar rested his palms on either side of the stone, giving her every chance to pull away. His heart was quickening within his chest and her own breathing had grown shorter, as if she were afraid of what there could be between them.

Neither spoke and he sensed that if he made a single move, the moment would shatter.

‘Ragnar,' she whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek. The warmth of her fingers pooled inside him, awakening a hunger he'd held back for years. He wanted this woman with every breath that was in him.

‘Elena!' came another voice.

The spell was broken immediately and she pushed him back, moving away from the shelter of the rocks. Ragnar closed his eyes, damning himself for not speaking. The chance was gone now.

He followed her and saw her father, Karl, approaching with Styr. ‘There you are,' the older man said. ‘Before you are wedded, I thought you and your betrothed should spend one last day together. I've made arrangements for the both of you.' The shielded glare he sent towards Ragnar spoke volumes.

Styr, on the other hand, greeted him warmly. ‘Tonight, our kinsmen are having a celebration to mark the last day I am unwed. You'll come, won't you?'

Ragnar nodded. The idea of getting drunk to the point of oblivion was a welcome one.

‘Go on, then,' Karl said. ‘I want to speak with Ragnar a moment about the preparations.'

The older man waited until they were out of earshot and he sent Ragnar a dark look. ‘Stay away from my daughter. Or I'll see to it that you're whipped within an inch of your life.'

‘You can do nothing to me.' Ragnar drew himself up to his full height, resting his hand upon his sword hilt. If Karl so much as dared to threaten him, he wouldn't hesitate to defend himself.

A slow smile curved across the man's face. ‘Whose word will they believe? I am a respected leader and a friend to Styr's father. The
jarl
won't allow anyone to interfere with this marriage. I could claim that you've stolen silver from me. Or perhaps you've dishonoured another of my daughters. My words hold more power than you'll ever have.'

Karl spat upon the ground. ‘That's as much as your life is worth, Ragnar Olafsson. You'll never come near any of my daughters.'

A black rage swirled inside of Ragnar, and he longed to crack his fist across the man's jaw for the insult.

But it was her father. He couldn't lay a hand on the man or risk Elena's hatred. His hands were clenched at his sides and he struggled to contain his fury. The need to release the violence was rising hotter and once the man was gone, he ran along the edge of the lake. He drove his pace harder, running past the quadrants of houses until he reached his father's house on the furthest side.

But even the exertion did nothing to diminish the vicious hatred. He was sick to death of being treated like an outcast. He'd trained hard, learning to wield every weapon until he'd mastered them.

He saw an axe lying near the woodpile and reached for it. As he split the wood chunks, the rhythmic motion of the work did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside him.

Not good enough
, the wood sang as the metal bit through the log. He hacked at the pine, letting the rage pour through him. Sweat dripped from his brow and his muscles strained as he worked.

The door to their house opened and he saw his father stagger outside, a wooden cup in his hand.

‘I saw you go off with Elena,' came his father's voice from behind him. ‘But she's promised to Styr. She would never leave him for a man like you.'

Ragnar let the axe sink into the wood before he spun to face Olaf. ‘We're only friends.'

‘Are you?' Olaf met his gaze with hardened eyes of his own. ‘Or did you want to steal her away because you think you're in love with her?'

Ragnar could smell the mead upon his father's breath. But this time, when the man's fist came towards his jaw, he blocked the blow with his forearm and retaliated with a fist to his father's head.

Olaf exploded with anger, but Ragnar welcomed the fight. For so many years, he'd been too young to defend himself. Too weak to shield himself from the blows that had cracked his ribs and broken his nose.

This time, he returned blow for blow, releasing the years of anger. Fighting back for the sake of the young boy who had suffered in silence, knowing there was no one who cared to stop the man.

His father's blood was upon his hands, but the bleakness of his past drowned out all else. He heard nothing, saw nothing except the man who had taunted him. There was only the mindless blur of exchanging blows.

‘Ragnar!' Elena was hurrying towards him, but even she could not stop him from the destruction that had been unleashed.

He didn't care what happened to him any more. His own father hated him and now Ragnar would have his own vengeance. His fist crunched against bone and he was dimly aware that his father was on the ground, unmoving.

Styr dragged him back and Ragnar fought to free himself. ‘Don't,' his friend warned. ‘He's nearly dead as it is.'

Dead.
The word sank into him like talons. The haze of anger lifted and he saw Elena staring at him as if he were a monster. His father's face was covered in blood and Ragnar stared at his own hands in disbelief.

By the gods, what had come over him? He hardly knew himself and he took a step back when Elena came near.

‘Are you all right?' she whispered.

‘Stay back.' He didn't trust himself. Never before had such an uncontrollable rage come over him. His hands were shaking and he realised an undeniable truth. He'd become just the man his father had been.

Violent. Filled with unstoppable rage.

‘Send for a healer,' Styr ordered Elena, and she hurried off. Ragnar couldn't move and when his friend guided him away, he barely heard the man's words.

‘I'll swear to any witness that he raised a hand to you first. He deserves this after the way you were beaten all your life.'

But Ragnar could only shake his head.
He
had fought, out of rage and frustration. This was his fault and he dreaded the thought of looking into the
jarl's
eyes, admitting his deed.

‘I'll go,' he said. But his friends had refused to allow it.

Olaf had died a few days later. Whether it was from the wounds or from the illness of drinking too much, it didn't matter. From that moment on, Ragnar had known that a darkness lurked within him, a violent temper beyond his control.

* * *

It was for that reason that he could not be with Elena. Though he wanted to start over, to try to be the right man for her, he feared the violence that lay buried inside.

Elena didn't know the man he was. She believed he was a good man, a close friend whom she could turn to, now that her life had fallen apart.

He wasn't a good man. A good man would never have touched her so intimately, taking advantage of her wild grief that night.

Ragnar was grateful when Styr left with a few men to return to Gall Tír. At least now he wouldn't have to face his friend, after what he'd done to Elena.

* * *

Elena walked through the marketplace, her thoughts in turmoil. In her mind, she'd replayed every moment of the night she'd tried to seduce Ragnar. Never in her wildest imaginings had she guessed that there could be such fire between them.

He'd brought her to fulfilment, taking nothing for himself. And she had to admit to herself that not once in her marriage to Styr had she felt such a connection. She'd revelled in Ragnar's touch, wanting so much more from him. Confusion spun within her mind, for she'd never guessed that it could be like this with any man. Especially her closest friend.

Or was he a friend any more? By the grace of Freya, he'd made her feel desirable. He'd awakened her to sensations she'd never dreamed of and she no longer knew what to believe. She'd been blinded, never seeing the man who was beside her all along. Although she didn't know what was happening between them, the line of friendship had been breached.

Shame darkened her cheeks, for she'd wanted him to lie with her, to make her feel desirable, when that wasn't fair to him. He'd all but shoved her away that night, claiming he would not allow her to use him.

And now he was avoiding her.