BY THE TIME Freyja returned home, Rurik was lying on a rug in the sun, reading a book. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing tanned forearms, and he clasped one hand behind his head, muscles shifting in his abdomen as he craned his neck to watch her walk into the yard.

It wasn’t as though she’d suspected he was anything other than what he claimed, but a part of her had wondered.

He knew so much about dreki, after all.

But her dreki had thundered into the south, and that was the last she’d seen of him. He couldn’t have beaten her back here, then changed form and waited for her, could he?

No. Not without Freyja seeing him in the skies.

She laid that faint suspicion to rest. She’d clearly listened to her mother’s eddas too often as a girl. After all, what would a powerful creature ever want with the likes of her?

“Did you enjoy your walk?” Rurik graced her with a faint smile, taking in the state of her skirts. “Tsk. You’ve ruined your boots.”

“Better mine than yours,” she pointed out.

“True.” Rurik rolled to his feet with fluid grace, setting the book upside down. “Where are you going?”

“Some of us do not have time to laze in the sun,” Freyja shot over her shoulder as she headed to the barn. Thanks to her journey to warn the dreki, she was already behind in her day’s work, and needed to see to dinner soon, if they were to dine at all.

Scrambling up the ladder into the loft, she glanced around, noting how much hay she needed to shift. Rurik’s blankets lingered by the slatted window at the front of the barn, slashes of sunlight spilling over his makeshift bed. But she was not going to think of that.

“You look like you would enjoy an afternoon spent lazing in the sun.” Rurik followed her up the ladder, looking far too male—a healthy one at that—as he hauled himself into the loft. There was a strength in his muscular frame she could not match. “Maybe you should join me?”

“If you’re only here to flirt with me, then I might as well put you to good use.” She picked up the pitchfork and thrust it into his hands. “Here.” She pointed to the pile of hay. “I need to shift that over there, so I can drop it down into the stalls when I need to feed my animals. If you want to impress me, then you can help. I will be back to check on your work within the hour.”

Rurik shot her a narrow-slitted gaze, then glanced at the pitchfork as if it was the first time he’d ever seen one.

“If the work is good enough for me,” she pointed out, “then it is good enough for you, my lord.”

And without waiting for a protest, she scurried down the ladder, and toward the door. She needed to fetch her small flock in, then set her stew on the stove. The clouds were brewing with all their spring glory, indicating a storm later that night.

It took longer than she’d expected—her small flock didn’t want to go anywhere near the barn, the stupid beasts—but she finally managed to hunt them all inside their stalls, and swung the iron pot she’d prepared earlier over the stove, before she returned to the loft.

Climbing the ladder revealed no sign of Rurik.

Nor were there any sounds of labor in process. Typical. She was just about bristling by the time she reached the top of the ladder and—

—found herself staring at a pile of hay near the top.

“What? How—?” Freyja looked around her.

All the hay had been moved. The pitchfork rested against the nearest beam, and Rurik was stretched out upon his blankets in the corner, with his coat folded neatly beside him.

Rearing up onto his elbows, he sent her a heated smile. “You’re back.”

“You... finished.” It usually took her at least an hour to do the same amount of work. Rurik didn’t even seem to have raised a sweat, though his collar was undone now, revealing a healthy slice of chest.

“Would I have dared otherwise?” Slowly, he rolled to his feet.

She examined the hayloft. “There’s no way you could have shifted so much hay in such a short time.” The bare timber floorboards where the previous pile had rested were a mockery. Not even a single loose straw lay there.

“Do your eyes deceive you?”

“You cheated. Somehow.” She simply couldn’t accept he could work swifter than she could.

“Aye.” Rurik slowly crossed his arms, his eyelids heavy and his smile smug. “I called upon the nisse to help me impress you, and they answered my prayer.”

Freyja set her hands on her hips. “Nisse are a fairy tale.” The small wights were said to help take care of the house or the barn, but only when the farmer lay asleep, and only in exchange for milk.

“Do you believe in dreki?”

That was different. “I have seen dreki with my own eyes.”

Freyja strode around him, trying to find some means for the almost miraculous feat. His shirt wasn’t even damp with sweat. Rurik glanced behind as she circled him, and the muscles in his thighs and ass tightened behind his trousers.

“You won’t find nisse there,” he pointed out, and she realized he’d caught the direction of her gaze.

Insufferable, smug bastard. She was tired, frustrated, and struggling to resist him, and that did it. The impulse to tackle him to the ground suddenly hit her, but something told her he’d win any fight she started. After all, he dwarfed her by a good six or seven inches.

Grabbing a handful of hay, Freyja stuffed it down the back of his shirt then began to run.

She made it two steps before his strong arms caught her up. Her feet left the ground, and her back hit his chest. “Where do you think you’re going? You owe me a debt now.”

Freyja wriggled, but there was no denying him. He was simply too strong for her. Muscle-bound arms trapped her like a cage, and she felt like she wrestled a wall. “I don’t owe you anything.”

Rurik dumped her on the pile of blankets he was sleeping upon, and Freyja rolled onto her back breathlessly. Ripping his shirt from the waistband of his trousers, he shook himself with a growl. “This itches!”

“Perhaps nisse can help clean all the hay from your shirt?” she told him, innocently enough.

Oh, yes. That was definitely one irritated male shooting her a baleful look. Freyja couldn’t stop herself from laughing. He looked like he couldn’t believe she’d done it.

And then that devil’s smile crept over his face. “Perhaps I won’t need them. Perhaps you could assist?”

Reaching over his shoulder, Rurik grabbed the collar of his shirt and hauled it over his head. Pieces of hay dropped from his skin and shirt, leaving him bare chested above her. Freyja’s mouth gaped. This was not what she’d planned. Not at all.

In the flesh, Rurik was breathtaking. Every inch of his skin was that sun-kissed color, and a taunting trail of golden hair edged all the way from his navel to where it disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. His chest seemed carved of heavy slabs of muscle, and he towered over her, perhaps six and a half feet tall of frustrated, dominant male.

He’d allowed her to set the pace in all of their previous encounters. For the first time, Freyja felt like she might have stirred him too far, and unleashed the predator within.

And, startlingly enough, she wasn’t frightened of him.

Perhaps it was the smile, the one that said he knew just how much he affected her.

Or perhaps it was the fact Rurik had never once taken what he’d wanted from her. Instead he’d allowed her to set the boundaries and he’d respected them, even as he flirted and teased her to the point where she wanted to growl in frustration.

She was the one who’d shoved a fistful of straw down his shirt.

Uh-oh.

“Indeed.” His voice came out in a velvety growl. Rurik threw his shirt at her, and Freyja caught it, almost recoiling from the heat retained by the linen. His scent wove around her, spicy-hot and alluring.

No, no, no.

She might have started this game, but she had the bad feeling he was going to come out the winner. Freyja scrambled to escape, but Rurik was simply too big, too strong, and too fast. He covered her with ease, caging her from behind, so that his masculine scent enveloped her. Freyja locked an ankle around his leg and threw his weight over her shoulder, and somehow they went down in a sprawl. His skin was deliciously hot, and she didn’t think she was fighting as hard as she could be.

When her back hit the blankets, he slammed his body over hers, one knee pinning her skirts between her legs. Freyja ceased trying to free herself, and slumped beneath him. She wasn’t going to win her way free. And if she were being honest, she wasn’t certain she wanted to.

“Just what do you think the penalty should be for such an infraction?” he asked her, pinning her wrists above her head and breathing hard.

Freyja gave an involuntary shiver. All of that hard, male body was pressed above her, though he didn’t make contact. Not fully. There was just enough space between them for her to catch her breath. “What do you think I would be willing to pay?”

Those amber eyes flared with heat as they both realized she was flirting back. Oh, God. What was she doing?

Enjoying the moment, curse her. Both body and heart wanted to see where he’d take this, and her curious mind wasn’t far behind.

“I will accept favors,” Rurik replied softly, “as I don’t think you want me trying to return the gesture.”

It wasn’t the hay down her dress that bothered her, more the thought of him getting his hands on her bare skin. Freyja wasn’t certain she’d have the sense to stop him, if he did so.

“What type of favors?” she whispered back.

Rurik’s face lowered, and she found herself tensing in anticipation, and—

Nothing.

Freyja glanced up beneath her lashes, only to find him staring down at her, an inch between their faces. She let out the breath she’d been holding, her chest heaving against his. What was he waiting for?

“If you think I am going to steal a kiss,” Rurik said, in a voice turned molten with heat, “then you should think again.”

Freyja wiggled a little beneath him, her body tight with thwarted anticipation. She ached, and it was a deliciously horrible feeling. “What do you mean? You didn’t just wrestle me down onto your blankets for the sheer enjoyment of it.”

“You don’t know that. I was planning on tickling you into submission. Kissing you was not my intention,” he admitted, rolling slightly to the side, so he rested on one elbow. His right hand came up, brushing a strand of hair off her face in a gentle touch, and Freyja realized he wasn’t actually going to kiss her. “Though I might have thought about it, now we’re here.”

Soft fingers trailed down the sensitive skin of her throat.

Freyja sucked in a sharp breath, and became very still. Those fingers trailed lower, lower, then his knuckles brushed against the soft wool of her dress. Again she writhed, but it was a different feeling to when she’d wanted to escape. This felt like a silent demand, like her entire body wanted something her mouth couldn’t articulate....

And he knew it, curse him.

“If you want a kiss, Freyja”—that smile turned utterly devilish—“then all you have to do is ask.”

What? She froze. Her treacherous body was in utter rebellion against her common sense. Her body knew what it wanted. And she had to admit her own desires were somewhat thwarted. She’d expected him to kiss her, damn him. Then she wouldn’t have to admit to herself she wanted him to.

“I thought you were here to seduce me,” she said.

“I am.”

“Then you’re doing a rather poor job of it if you expect me to kiss you.” She took an unsteady breath.

“Am I?” There was that smile again. Rurik’s thumb caressed her cheek, and his eyes grew heavy-lidded. “You want me to steal a kiss—”

“I don’t want you to do anything of the sort.”

“Then you expect it,” he countered, his breath whispering over her skin. “Most likely so you can push me away and tell me your hell hasn’t frozen over yet.”

Freyja swallowed. Maybe.

“I now realize,” he continued, in that same silky-soft voice, “the men you have known have not been the sort to take ‘no’ for an answer. You know nothing of seduction, sarratum zamani; and you fear a single kiss will not end there.”

“You’ve called me that before,” she whispered.

“You’re stalling,” he replied, and tugged her braid over her shoulder. Rurik bought the end of her plait to his nose, and inhaled the scent of it, then those amber eyes locked on her again as the ends of her hair tickled across his lips. “Your choice, Freyja. All you have to do to receive a kiss is ask for one. If you want more, then you may take more. And if you want me to stop, then all you have to do is say so.”

Her choice. Freyja turned the thought over in her head. It felt strange to consider such a thing, but... she was tempted. What would it feel like to have the reins in her hands? To be able to explore without fear he would push her further than she was ready? “I’m not going to lie with you, so... if we start, then it will end with a kiss.”

“Is that a yes?” he purred, and his thigh nudged between hers.

A thrill shot through her as his weight shifted over her again. She could control this. Her hands curled around his upper arms as he rested his forearms beside her head. Freyja slid a hand up his bare chest. The heat of his skin felt like some inner furnace burned within. “What did you mean by more?” she whispered.

Rurik lowered his mouth to hers, hovering there. “I could show you so much, Freyja. If you trusted me.”

If she trusted him....

It was her choice to brush her mouth against his quivering lips. Hordes of butterflies took flight in her stomach. She didn’t know how he did this to her. What was this odd connection between them? “Maybe a little more,” she whispered, as she opened her mouth to his.

Rurik licked her tongue, his hips pressing flush against hers, and the hard length of his erection rubbing against her lower stomach. Each stroke of his mouth was an enticement, rather than a claim. Daring her to kiss him back, and letting her set the pace. Freyja’s hands curled around his biceps, and she stroked his arms, her hands sliding up over his shoulders. All of that hot skin.... More. She wanted more. But Rurik held himself curiously apart from her, matching her kiss for kiss, and nothing else. Every time she touched him, he reciprocated. Every time her nails dug into his back, he grew a little more insistent, pressing his hips between her thighs and rubbing that heavy cock against her.

Her entire body ached, wetness dampening the skin between her thighs. An image of his hot mouth closing over her breast in Akureyri assaulted her, and Freyja moaned as she arched her back beneath him. She could almost feel his lips on her nipple, but the memory felt hollow, not quite substantial enough to satisfy her.

She didn’t know how to ask for what she wanted.

Freyja curled her fists in his hair, and tugged. Hard lips captured hers, as if to encourage her. Not a sweet kiss now. This was messy. Pent-up frustration poured from him as his tongue tangled with hers, and his erection ground against the wet ache between her thighs.

More. Definitely more. That sweet friction made her body want to curl up on itself. She writhed against him, and her skirts rode up between them, leaving her legs bare. Then her greedy hands slid over his shoulders, exploring all of that smooth skin. She wanted to lick it and so she did, nipping at the muscle in his throat.

“Freyja.” He sucked in a sharp breath as he turned his face to the side, muttering an unsteady curse under his breath. Hands trapped her wrists, and then Rurik pinned her hands above her head, leaving her utterly helpless beneath him. Those golden eyes locked on hers, and he shuddered, his voice turning all growly. “If you don’t stop doing that, then this isn’t going to end here.”

“Doing what?” she whispered, cupping his hips with her thighs and rocking against him experimentally.

Rurik’s lips parted, and his gaze became distant. It felt so, so good. But there was something else that beckoned and she couldn’t quite understand what it was, or how to get there.

“You told me you didn’t intend to lie with me,” he growled, his lips curling back off his teeth. Utterly primitive expressions crossed his face. “Have you changed your mind? Or do you just want a little more?”

“I want....” She stalled there. And his body hovered over hers, his cock pressing with heated possession against her.

But he didn’t make a single move, and it hurt to deny herself, and oh, God....

Those golden eyes darkened as if he understood what she wanted when she herself didn’t. “Do you trust me?”

That was a dangerous question. Freyja’s mind raced. “Yes.” Barely a whisper.

“Good.” He claimed her mouth in another heated kiss, even as his hands slid down her arms, setting her free.

Freyja’s hands tangled in his golden hair. His found the laces on her dress. Suddenly she knew what he intended, and her eyes shot wide, even as his lips traced their way down her throat.

“Let me please you,” he whispered, nuzzling aside her neckline. Sharp teeth nipped at the curve of her breast, and then he traced the sensitive area with his tongue.

Pleasure threatened to claim her. Freyja rolled her head to the side. Yes. Yes. “More,” she breathed.

The rasp of his stubble grazed her sensitive breasts as Rurik rocked his hips against her. Somehow the steely length of his erection met the seat of her pleasure, and he rode over that delicate part of her, nearly sending her wild with need. Tugging her neckline open, he claimed her aching nipple with his hot mouth, and it was all she could do to stifle the cry that sprang from her lips.

“That’s it, ati me peta libbu,” he whispered. Teeth scraped her nipple, and then he was licking her there, that talented tongue driving every last thought out of her head.

All that remained was a creature of pleasure. She could feel the storm building within her, whipped to greater heights by that teasing tongue and the mocking rock of his hips.

Clasping her hips, Rurik slid his hand under the lengths of her skirt. The material rode up her thighs, leaving her in her drawers and stockings. Freyja wrapped her legs around his hips, even as his questing hand trailed between her thighs. Gentle fingers stroked her damp drawers, and a shudder went through her. Nobody had ever touched her there. Only herself, and she’d shied away from exploring too far.

This... this was like lightning coiling all the way through her.

Freyja cupped his face. Rurik stared down at her, lazy-lidded and curious, as if he wanted to see every single expression that crossed her face.

“Do you like that?” he whispered, as if his fingers hadn’t just worked between the slit in her drawers and finally found her, damp and trembling.

“Oh.” Her mouth fell open on a gasp as one finger stroked her in her most private place. Rurik traced tiny little circles there, seeming to find the secret heart of her, the place that seemed most sensitive.

“What are you doing?” she blurted.

“Want to ride the storm, Freyja?” He kissed the side of her jaw, his face nuzzling against hers, even as his fingers worked her with slow and patient circles.

Almost there. Freyja’s eyes shot wide, and her fingernails turned into claws in the soft skin of his shoulders. There. Yes. Almost. Almost.

She shattered.

Her entire body clenched on a wave of pleasure, and somehow she threw her head back, crying out in soft abandon as Rurik pushed her over the edge. This time the lightning wasn’t in the sky. She felt like a bolt of it struck her, and flash-burned all her nerves. Exquisite. Breathless. The fiercest ache she’d ever felt....

Then it was over, and she was collapsing into a gasping mess in his arms, her heart thundering in her chest.

“That’s it,” Rurik whispered, still tracing his fingers through the slick folds between her thighs. “That’s it, my fierce, precious Freyja.”

Somehow her mind caught up with what he was doing. She buried her burning face in his throat, her body quivering with aftershock. She couldn’t take any more. Freyja shook her head and grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away from her. Another shiver worked its way through her. So intense. She felt like the earth itself when something monumental shifted beneath the ground.

And maybe something monumental had shifted....

Rurik kissed her temples, then her closed eyes, then her nose. Somehow he found her mouth, and this kiss was another gentle one, as if he tried to calm her flighty heart.

Too late. She would never be the same again.

“More,” Freyja whispered, tilting her face to present her throat to him.

Rurik stilled, and then something hard and predatory slid over his face. Something she didn’t quite recognize. Then he shook his head, his expression tinged with regret. “As much as I would like to comply, you’re not ready yet. And I have no wish to rush you.”

“Am I not the judge of that?” Freyja clapped a hand over his, then urged it back beneath her skirts—

“Freyja!” Her father’s voice cut through their reverie.

Freyja froze, her hand on Rurik’s, even as her pulse beat out of control. Their eyes met, his dark and predatory.

“Looks like we have little choice,” Rurik rasped, his head twisting toward the window. The sun was beginning to set. “Damn it.”

“Freyja?” her father called again.

Freyja shoved Rurik off her and rolled out from beneath him, her cheeks so hot she could rival a sunset, she imagined. Oh, my goodness. What had she been about to do? Lose her virginity in the barn? She tugged hay from her hair and out of her dress, yanked her laces tight, then pulled the material over her bare breasts. Everything in her body trembled, including her knees.

What would her father think?

What had she been thinking?

Clearly, she had not been.

“Don’t give me that look,” Rurik growled, under his breath. He groaned, and then slumped back onto the blankets, rearranging the fierce erection in his trousers. “What we just shared was not wrong.”

“Be silent!” she hissed, scurrying to the ladder. “He’ll hear you.”

“Freyja.”

She paused at the top of the ladder, her knees still unsteady.

Rurik sprawled on his blankets, his chest bare, his golden hair tangled across his brow and his smile dangerous. “This isn’t done.”

“Oh, yes it is!” she shot back, and fled down the ladder.