All Fired Up (9 page)

My own personal Viking fashion show, featuring the hottest twelve-hundred-year-old man I’ve ever seen
. Heat bloomed over her skin. This shopping trip was becoming an exercise in personal indulgence, but after Brad’s words, she didn’t care.

The clerk sighed as Alrik disappeared to change, giving her a grin. “That is one hot hunk of man you’ve landed yourself, missy.”

“Thanks. But he’s just a friend, I guess.”

Hope filled the man’s eyes and his perfectly arched eyebrows shot up. “Is he…”

She shook her head. “I’m pretty sure he’s straight.”

The clerk sighed. “Do the world a favor and find out for sure, will you? Somebody ought to be enjoying all that man.”

Yeah. Somebody ought to. Why are you such a chicken, Cal? He asked you to ask him to kiss you. He wouldn’t do that if he were going to say no. Would he?

Clapping his hands, the clerk whistled. “This is a little dressier look I pulled together, in case the first one was too casual.”

Alrik now wore flat front black dress pants in a loose, drapey fabric with a periwinkle blue silk shirt. He watched her, waiting for a reaction.

Using the pretense of touching the fabric, she coasted her fingertips over the brawny expanse of his chest. “Very nice. The silk, that is. The color does amazing things for your eyes.”

“This is better, then?” His voice was quiet, just for her.

Warm curves of silk-covered muscle flexed beneath her palm. “I like both of them very much. You wear clothes very well.”

“It is not a hard thing to do.” He smiled, the pleasure in his eyes turning her insides syrupy.

“Which one do you like?” She’d buy him the store if he asked.

“Whatever pleases you, Calleigh lass.”

With her hand still on his chest and her eyes locked on his crystal blues, she called to the clerk over her shoulder. “We’ll take both outfits.”

Alrik’s fingers brushed the edge of her jaw. “Thank you for this kindness.”

She shrugged, slightly embarrassed for a reason she couldn’t name. “It’s nothing. Stay here for a minute, okay? I think we should probably get you a few more things.”

“As you wish.”

Why couldn’t all men be so agreeable? With the clerk trailing behind, she darted around the men’s department like a woman on a mission, adding a better pair of jeans, a few casual T-shirts and a black leather jacket. She’d never had a Ken doll as a little girl, but she was making up for that now.

Taking the items from the clerk, she headed back to the fitting rooms. “Alrik?”

“Aye.” He poked his head out of one of the stalls.

“Here, just a few more things. Try them on to make sure they fit and then we’ll get you some underwear and socks. I saw some shoes in the mall you might like, too.”

He opened the door further to take the stack of clothes from her. She inhaled. Shirtless was such a good look for him. He shook his head. “How much is this going to cost?”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s why Bank of America invented credit cards.”

“You are a very generous woman. I am honored you would do this for me.” He dropped the clothes on the bench and pulled her into the dressing room, one hand on her forearm, the other shutting the door. Already crammed with his large form, the cubicle’s small size forced them chest to chest.

His lids were heavy, his eyes a darker blue. Like distant thunder, his voice rumbled through her, thick and needy. “Ask me, lass. Let me thank you properly.”

She started to say, “ask you what” but she knew. Each breath was an attempt to speak, but she had no words; no refusal, no request. Part of her wanted to ask, wanted to tell him, wanted to demand—kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me and prove Brad wrong. Her lips parted, the words dancing on her tongue.

A knock on the door shattered her courage.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” The clerk’s sing-song tone grated after Alrik’s honeyed plea.

“Why don’t you hand out anything you want me to start ringing up?” His hand appeared over the top of the door.

Sighing, she grabbed a few items and opened the door, squeezing past Alrik. “We weren’t doing anything,” she mumbled.

“Mm-hmm. And I’m a choir boy, sweetheart.”

She glared at the clerk and hoped he wasn’t working on commission. “We weren’t.”

He took the clothes from her, weaving his head side to side. “Then maybe you should get back in there.”

Alrik wanted to throw his head back and let loose the fiercest war cry he knew. She’d been so close to asking. He had already imagined her full lips parting beneath his, the warmth of her sweet mouth, the touch of her velvet tongue.

That tongue of hers was so bold one moment, then so shy the next. He smiled, thinking of how quickly she had realized exactly what he wanted her to do. Just two words. That’s all she needed to say and he could kiss her.

Thor’s hammer! He fisted his hand against the wall and rested his head against it. A more bewitching creature he could not imagine. Especially in that small skirt that showed off so much of her long legs. He wanted to run his hands up those legs, trail kisses from her ankles to her thighs and higher.

Everything about her invited a man to want more. She was a warm, crackling fire against the bitter winter’s eve of Dagny’s cold blonde beauty.

He looked at the pile of things Calleigh had brought him to try on, again shaking his head. Her generous spirit would be rewarded. All she had to do was ask.

Calleigh didn’t want to think about the total as she handed her credit card to the clerk. She didn’t want to tap into her inheritance any more than she had to, but she wouldn’t be getting paid again until she found a new job.

Well, what was money for if not to spend? Brad had been after her constantly to let him invest the money, promising her he would do great things with it in the long run. Of course, her overly protective uncles had cautioned her when she announced her engagement, telling her a prenuptial agreement was the smartest thing to do, but she’d never brought it up, never though it necessary. Being in love had blinded her to a lot of things.

Now wearing Diesel jeans, a Hugo Boss T-shirt and a DKNY black leather jacket, Alrik followed her out into the mall, a full shopping bag in each hand.

She headed straight for the shoe store. The cheap white sneakers had to go. “Here, look at these.”

Pointing at a pair of black lug-soled oxfords, she turned to see what he thought of them. He faced the food court, eyes closed, sniffing the air.

She tugged his jacket sleeve. “Do you like these shoes?”

“What is that smell? I must find it.”

Inhaling deeply, she smiled. “That’s Cinnabon.”

“Sinning Bun?”

“Cinn-a-bon.” She checked her watch then glanced toward the food court. “It is kind of time for lunch, isn’t it?”

“I will have this Cinnabon.” He headed toward the scent, bags swinging.

“Hey, wait! You need shoes.” She trailed after him, trying to match his long stride.

By the time she caught up, he stood in front of the glass-partitioned counter, watching a teenage girl spread thick swathes of snowy icing over a tray of cinnamon spirals still hot from the oven.

“I will have that.” He pointed at the tray.

“Don’t you want lunch first?” She had to admit, the buns smelled seductively good.

“Nay. I want this.”

“We could take some home and eat them later.” It was worth a shot. Cinnabon wasn’t her idea of lunch. Not to mention the calories.

He tore his gaze from the pastries to look at her. “I vow I will not ask for anything more this day.”

“I wasn’t saying no, I was just trying to get something nutritious into you.”
Now quit looking at me like that before I spread that frosting all over myself and see what that does for you.

He smiled and her insides went as warm and gooey as the sticky, sugary topping on the buns. She turned to the girl behind the counter. “Two, please. And two bottles of water.”

The girl boxed up the pastries and put them on a tray while another teen added two cups of ice and two bottles of water and rang them up.

Calleigh paid and took the tray, making her way through the maze of tables to one that was out of earshot of the other shoppers. They sat and she pushed one of the boxes toward Alrik.

He opened the box, grabbing the steaming bun with his fingers before she could stop him.

“No!” She smacked the back of his hand.

He dropped the bun.

Completely embarrassed that she had just treated him like a two-year old, she apologized. “Sorry. Are you okay? Those things are wicked hot.”

“I am fine. Heat does not affect me.” He shook his hand, flinging globs of icing into the air.

“Still, that stuff is the culinary equivalent of napalm. Let me see.” She held out her hand.

He turned his palm up, offering it to her. Cradling his big hand in hers, she dipped a wad of napkins into her ice water and dabbed at his frosted fingers. “I guess it didn’t hurt you after all. They don’t look even slightly burned.”
I could kiss them better. Or suck the rest of the icing off, whatever works for you.

“Phoenixes are very hard to injure. But thank you for your kindness.”

She eased her hand from his and held up the little plastic wrapped utensil package. “You’re welcome. Here, try these.”

He ripped out the knife and fork and dug into the bun. She grabbed his wrist as he was about to stuff a baseball-sized hunk into his mouth.

“Phoenix or not, don’t you think you should let that cool off just a little?”

“Nay. It looks so good, I want it right now.”

“I know the feeling.” She snapped her mouth shut too late to keep the words in, but ducked her head so he couldn’t see her face. If only the food court would suddenly develop a sinkhole.

Mercifully, he changed the subject. “Have you thought about what change you would like to make in your life?”

“Yes, but not enough to know what I want to do. I’ll decide soon, I promise.”

“I am in no hurry. Good things are worth waiting for.” The glitter in his eyes told her he’d heard her comment.

She busied herself with cutting her cinnamon bun into pieces, wondering if it was the steam from the pastry or his words heating her skin.

He moaned softly and she looked up. His eyes were closed and his head tipped back. One cheek bulged as he chewed a mouthful of cinnamon roll.

Now, there’s a face to fuel the imagination.
Naughty thoughts filled her head. She gulped her water, hoping the icy liquid would squelch the wildfire in her belly. Maybe she should just dump the cup over her head. “I’m guessing you like it?”

He opened his eyes and ran his tongue over his lips before answering her with a wicked grin. “I can think of only a few things that might taste better.”

Chapter Six

Alrik loosened his grip on the door handle when Calleigh slowed the car to a stop. While the speed excited him, the closeness to other vehicles unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

“Now remember, try not to answer questions too specifically. Vague is better. If you say something you shouldn’t have, make a joke of it.” She ran a hand through her hair, tousling the waves around her face.

“Everything will be fine.” He unbuckled the seatbelt like she had showed him. “You will see.”

She twisted and reached into the back of the vehicle, leaning against his shoulder. He dropped his face into the mass of curls beside him, inhaling her warm, sweet scent. Odin’s eye, he wanted her. His groin tightened.

She pulled back, the wrapped package for her uncle in her hand. “What are you doing?”

Caught, he stiffened and looked away. “Nothing.”

“You were sniffing my hair, weren’t you?”

“Aye,” he groaned, reluctant to admit she was right. He glanced at her. His actions apparently amused her.

Her smile widened a bit. “That’s a little weird but kind of sweet at the same time.”

“Am I being dorky again?” He had a feeling dorky was not good.

Laughing, she shook her head. “You look too good to be considered dorky.”

He glanced at the suede jeans and sweater, again touched by her generous spirit. “You were right. Trousers are better with underwear.”

Crimson crept into her cheeks, staining her face with a rosy glow. He imagined she would look very much the same after being well-bedded.

“C’mon. Let’s get this party started.” She hopped out of the car.

He got out as well, admiring the outfit she had chosen as she came round his side. Under her wool overcoat she wore a sweater the color of the Irish sea and a short black leather skirt. Her legs, clad in sheer black fabric, disappeared into elaborately-worked boots that came over her knees. The glimpse of thigh between skirt and boot made his mouth water.

The urge to kiss her pierced him like one of Eros’s arrows. He leaned against the car and inhaled. “You are a fair lass, Calleigh Siobhan McCarthy.”

Her head dipped, heading her expression. “Vikings must have a warped sense of beauty.”

With a gentle hand beneath her chin, he brought her face up and looked into her eyes. Her skin was so soft. “Why do you say such things? If I tell you that you are fair, I do not mean it as a jest.”

Gaze darting to the side, she sighed. “Sorry, I’m just not good at taking compliments. Lack of practice, I guess.”

“You must take what you want from life, Calleigh, or you will always want and never have.”

Her expression changed, her mouth twisting. When she looked at him, her copper eyes were filled with hurt.

“I’m not a mouse,” she whispered, a shudder of sadness in her voice.

“I did not say—”

“Kiss me.” She trembled like a leaf in the wind, and he sensed the effort it took for her to say those words.

Every muscle went tense with want. His hand swept up her cheek, tangling in her hair. He slid his other arm beneath her coat and pulled her close, her warmth radiating through the fabric of his clothes.
At last.

She tipped her face toward his, her eyes still haunted.

He shook his head at the pain he saw there. “I do not know what others have done to you, but I will not hurt you, Calleigh lass. I promise you that.”

A tear flowed down her cheek, glistening like a rare gem. He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb, bending his head to brush his lips across hers. The touch of her mouth was more tempting than the spiced breads, the taste sweeter than the cinnamon buns they had shared.

A chill breeze ruffled the hair on his neck, but did little to dampen the heat building in his belly. Groaning against her lips, he pulled her closer. The soft warmth of her body invited thoughts of long nights and slow lovemaking. Her sweet scent made him hunger to taste more of her.

She pressed herself along the length of his body and kissed him back with a passion to shame the Valkyrja. Her hands sought his shoulders. She clung to him as if a raging river might sweep her away.

The tip of his tongue danced across her lips, teasing the supple flesh. She moaned softly and opened to his advance. The sound encouraged him but he held back, kissing her tenderly. Someone had hurt her, that much he knew. The thought enraged him, made him want to protect her, to keep her from harm the rest of her life. To make her
his
.

He caressed the velvet nape of her neck, her blissful murmurs fanning his need to bring their bodies into contact. He splayed his fingers over the small of her back and pressed her hips against his thighs, his body rigid with need. She tensed at the feel of him, her mouth stilling.

He released her then, not wishing her think him some beast driven uncontrollable by the lusts of his flesh. Even if she was responsible for raising the beast. And causing the lust.

She settled her forehead against his chest, tucking her arms between them. A shiver ran through her.

So as not her to frighten her any further, he wrapped his arms around her loosely, trying to warm her against the chill of the evening. But she still trembled and stayed so quiet he could not tell her mood. Never had a woman responded this way to his kiss before. Helplessness choked him. “Are you…did I…”

Leaning back in his arms, a shy smile turned up the corners of her pleasure-stung lips. “I’m fine. Better than fine. You’re a very good kisser.”

She paused for a moment, as if reconsidering her words. New color flushed her cheeks and she plucked at some imaginary thread on his tunic. “Actually, that’s the best kiss I’ve ever had. Not that I’ve had many.”

He grinned, greatly relieved and suddenly proud. “I am a man of many talents.”

“I bet you are.” She patted his chest, stepped out of his embrace and picked her uncle’s gift off the ground. “We better get inside before someone comes looking for us.”

She started toward the house then paused again. “Let’s just keep the kiss between us, okay? As far as my uncles go, we’re just friends.”

Her words pricked, but he understood. She thought her family would not find him a suitable mate for her. Just as well. He was a Phoenix, mate to no woman. But that truth did little to keep images of Dagny from sweeping through him, colder than the whistling wind.

“As you wish,” he said, working hard to keep his voice even. Grant her changes and be done. That was what he had come for and all he would do. With the taste of her still on his tongue, he followed her into the house.

“Calleigh, me love!” Uncle Corrigan threw his arms around her, lifting her feet off the ground in a crushing embrace.

“I can’t breathe,” Calleigh wheezed, happy Jeana was nowhere in sight.

“Corrigan, put the wee lass down before ye flatten her.” His wife, Moreen, cuffed his shoulder.

He set Calleigh’s feet back on the floor and she inhaled deeply before speaking. “Thank you, Aunt Moreen. Your husband doesn’t know his own strength.”

“Sorry, love.” Corrigan grinned at her, his brown eyes sparkling.

The door shut and Moreen tugged at her sleeve. “Aren’t ye forgetting something, dear?” Her aunt’s eyes lit up, a mix of delight and curiosity glittering in their mossy depths. With her fading titian curls and rectangular wire rimmed glasses, she could have passed for a young Mrs. Claus.

“Uncle Seamus’s present is right here.” Calleigh brushed a bit of dirt off one corner before offering the package to her aunt. There was no getting out of explaining the guest she’d brought, but it was worth a try.

Aunt Moreen crossed her arms and pursed her rose-painted lips. “Well then, that’s not what I’m talking about, cheeky girl. There’s a
man
standing behind ye, and he isn’t yer fiancé. Not by a long haul. Care to do some explainin’? Or at least some introducin’? Or have ye lost yer manners altogether?”

“Oh. Yeah.” She smiled sheepishly as she glanced over her shoulder at the Viking. He was so not Brad. The difference was as obvious as a showgirl in a gospel choir. Her mouth still burned with Alrik’s fiery kiss and her knees weakened at the memory of what had just occurred in the driveway.

“Uncle Corrigan, Aunt Moreen, this is a…friend of mine, Alrik. Brad and I are…on hiatus.”

Her uncle’s wooly brows shot up in surprise. “Hiatus? Hmph. Now there’s a non-answer if I ever heard one, but I’m not complainin’.”

“I’ll explain later. Please,” Calleigh said, twisting her hands.

“Alrik, is it? Welcome.” With a wary eye, her uncle extended his hand and Alrik shook it.

“Thank you, sir.”

“No sirs in this house, lad. Words mean little compared to deeds. Corrigan will do just fine.”

Alrik nodded. Calleigh and Moreen rolled their eyes in unison.

Moreen cuffed her husband’s shoulder for the second time. “Corrigan, let the lad be. My, my, ye are a bit of all right, aren’t ye? Any friend of Calleigh’s is a friend of ours.” In the true spirit of Irish hospitality her aunt did to Alrik what she did to every guest that entered her home. She hugged him.

Calleigh bit her tongue to keep from laughing at the expression on his face. He definitely hadn’t been expecting that. To his credit, he hugged back.

Hoping to stave off further questions, she asked one of her own. “Where’s Uncle Seamus?”

“Himself is in the kitchen, fixin’ a drink for his newest ladylove.” Moreen pressed her palm to her cheek and shook her head, curls bobbing.

Calleigh laughed. “I don’t know why you’re surprised, Aunt Moreen. That man changes girlfriends more than most men change their underwear.”

She cringed as soon as the word underwear left her tongue. Alrik opened his mouth to say something. Calleigh quickly grabbed his hand. “C’mon, let’s get the rest of the introductions over.”

Moreen chuckled, linking her arm through Alrik’s on the other side. “Now don’t mind Calleigh’s uncles, lad. They stand guard on the wee lass like two pit bulls at a butcher shop.”

“Oh, great. Now, I’m a pound of hamburger?” Calleigh asked.

Her uncle winked. “Ye’ll always be filet in my book, lovey.”

The delicious aromas of soda bread, her aunt’s famous lamb stew and rhubarb crumble greeted them as the three walked into the kitchen behind Corrigan.

“Well, Seamus, seems we had it right about that Brad fellow.” Corrigan tipped his head back in Alrik’s direction, and lowered his voice, but not enough to keep the trio behind him from hearing. “Calleigh’s found herself a new beau. All brawn an’ no brains by the looks of him.”

Calleigh sputtered, indignant on several levels. “He is
not
my beau. He’s just a friend. A
friend
. And he has plenty of brains so just keep your remarks to yourself, Uncle Corri.”

Seamus grinned and finished pouring a drink. “Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.”

Impeccably dressed in his usual head to toe designer black, her Uncle Seamus winked at Calleigh before handing the drink in his hand to the willowy, cat-eyed Nubian goddess at his elbow. “This
friend
, does he have a name?”

“Uncle Seamus, this is Alrik Gunn.”

“Alrik, pleased to meet you.” Alrik just nodded. The two men shook hands, then Seamus introduced the woman beside him.

“This is Badu. She’s doing the new Dolce campaign I’m shooting. Badu, this is my lovely niece, Calleigh and her
friend
.”

The model smiled at Alrik but held her hand out to Calleigh, her long, slender fingers tipped by perfectly shaped natural nails. “It is my great pleasure to meet you. Your uncle speaks highly of you.”

Each word was distinctly pronounced, the syllables hit with precision, the consonants full and round. The woman had the voice of a diplomat.

“Hi, Badu. Thanks. Nice to meet you, too,” Calleigh said.

“Your boots are very beautiful. They are Dior, no?” Badu pointed to Calleigh’s feet.

“Thank you. Yes, they are Dior. My uncle gave them to me for Christmas. Hey—” She grabbed the edge of the counter.