The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,22

belly. Hard, male thighs backed up to hers, her buttocks nestled into Wulf’s lap. What shocked her most was the sword-straight ridge of his manhood pressed tight to the curve of her bottom, the tip of which nudged the base of her spine.

She was familiar with male anatomy, obviously. But since her husband had never achieved this condition without exercising it immediately—at least not that she was aware—she found it intriguing that the Dane slept beside her so peacefully.

Realizing his mood could become dangerous upon waking, she planned to extricate herself from his arms soon. But she could not deny the sense of warm contentment she knew here. And surprisingly, she experienced the same stir of feminine interest that she had during his kiss. The urge to arch back against him went against all reason, yet it persisted.

Carefully, she shifted her hips, following her instincts while it remained safe to do so.

“Do. Not.” The Dane’s voice growled low in her ear.

Yelping in surprise, she scrambled away from the seductive heat to the other side of the pallet. She yanked a blanket with her, clutching the wool to her breasts. She peered back at him over her shoulder, then flipped around to keep an even closer eye on him.

“Good morn to you, Gwendolyn.” Her warrior captor remained still and seemingly in perfect control of himself. “I cannot ever recall waking so pleasantly.”

A predatory smile fired her blood, but he did no more than watch her. He looked like one of his pagan gods, his dark hair cascading to his shoulders, his massive arms strong enough to take on the world.

“It must not have been all that pleasant since you chased me away.” Her cheeks heated to consider he’d been awake while she’d experimented with him, learning the feel of his body.

“I know my own limits as a man.” He rose up on one elbow, the pendant of a hammer about his neck sliding along a leather thong as he straightened. “Given what you went through in your marriage, I thought you would appreciate knowing them, too.”

She eyed him curiously. She never would have guessed he neared his limit since he lay so still.

“I am grateful.” Unable to will herself out of bed, she cradled close the feelings of that morning. Wulf’s scent remained on the blanket. The memory of his body pressed to her back burned in her thoughts. She could recall the shape of each muscle and the outline of every inch.

And the memory was not unpleasant in the least.

“I will recover soon. Perhaps you can distract me until then.” His crystal-blue eyes seemed to catch all the light in the room, glinting brightly despite the dimness. “You can tell me how you became a widow.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t surprise you to know that my first husband—Gerald—died in a raid by your people.” She had not seen the fighting, but his men had told her of the skirmish on the beach and the damage done by the Danes.

“Where?” Wulf appeared distracted now, the story capturing his interest as he sat up the rest of the way.

“Gerald’s keep is called Fanleigh on the eastern shores.” She had hated her life there, from the cold, incessant rains to the illiterate war-mongers who filled the great hall. “And although he did not treat me well, he gave honor to his name in death by defending one of the village women from being carried off by a party of marauders in search of Saxon slaves.”

She took some small comfort from the knowledge that his final deeds may have redeemed a soul dark with other stains.

“In a way, he died defending you, as well.” Wulf tossed another blanket over her legs. “By protecting that one woman, he ensured the safety of many others.”

“I never thought to look at it that way.” Had Gerald’s willingness to die for that woman’s safety discouraged the invaders from taking other women? The idea helped soothe old resentments she still carried about her marriage. It also demonstrated a kindness on Wulf’s part that she had not anticipated. “Thank you.”

She tugged the blanket up to her chin, her skin cooling quickly now that she’d pried herself away from his warmth.

“It is never too late for a man to redeem himself.” His eyes glimmered with new fierceness.

She wanted to ask why he said it with the passion of the damned, but he rose to his feet and stalked out of the ruins.

Apparently, that discussion had ended. And for the second time in