Lord of Fire and Ice (5 page)

A
wise
man
would
listen
when
a
woman
turns
him
down
, he could almost hear his friend Harald saying.
A
wise
man
wouldn’t follow his cock every time it took notion to lead.

Brandr grinned as he trailed Katla into the cooling room.

He never claimed to be a wise man.

By the time Brandr pushed the door around and entered the cooling room, Katla had already climbed into one of the barrels of water and settled into it up to her chin. Water sloshed over the sides and pattered onto the stone flags.

“You need not have followed me,” she said before she ducked completely under the surface.

Brandr stood over the barrel, waiting for her to come back up. She finally did, sputtering and shaking her head. Her long hair sprayed droplets all around.

“What makes you think I followed you?” he asked. “This is the only place for the cooling barrels, and I found I agreed with you.”

She smirked up at him. “That makes once. What did you agree with?”

“We’ve had enough heat from the bath.”

It was time they made some of their own. But he still wore the iron collar, so he couldn’t approach seducing her as he might any other woman.

He climbed into the adjacent barrel, sucking in his breath at the bracing difference in temperature between the meltingly hot bath and the cool water. Brandr had grown to enjoy the languid baths of the decadent South, so he hopped out as quickly as he’d gone in. Then he took one of the drying cloths and rubbed his body with vigor.

He was conscious of Katla’s eyes on him, fleeting as the soft flicks of the birch branches. Never staying in one spot, never lingering long, her inquisitive gaze licked him from head to toe. His skin sparked under the invasion of her eyes as if she’d actually touched him. The cold water that had invigorated the rest of him had relaxed his arousal, but her glances whipped him back into a stone-hard stand.

She still didn’t offer to climb from her barrel.

“Better come out, princess,” he said as he walked toward her with a dry towel. “Your lips are turning blue.”

“My lips are none of your business.”

He grinned. Not yet, but they would be. All of her would be his business if he had his way about it. Brandr snapped the towel open and held it before him.

“Come, mistress. Let me dry you off.”

“I can dry myself.” She reached for the towel, but he pulled it back.

“That is not in question.”

“Neither is the fact that you’re my thrall and you must do as I wish.”

For a moment, naked desire flashed in her eyes, then she looked away. Her dark lashes were soft, wet crescents on her cheeks. If he didn’t know better, he’d say a blush was creeping up her neck. He’d trade a year in Valhalla to know what it was this woman wished.

“A lady of your status shouldn’t have to tend herself.” If she wasn’t his mistress, he’d have lifted her out of the barrel already, whether she wanted him to or no. As her thrall, he could only coax her into allowing such intimacies. “I’d think you’d jump at the chance of making the son of Ulf your body slave.”

Her head snapped up at that, and she considered him coolly, weighing his words for sarcasm. Then without a word, she rose from the water, lifting a slim leg over the wooden sides.

He tried very hard to keep his eyes on hers, but it was a losing battle. His gaze drifted down to her perked nipples. His mouth watered to take one of those taut berries between his lips. He ached to suckle her till she wept with longing.

She turned and gave him her back, fisting her hands at her waist.

Her wet skin glistened. He buffed the towel over her shoulders and down her spine. His hands slid to the curve of her waist and flare of hips, with only the thin layer of cloth separating his palms from her skin. He wished he could feel the satiny smoothness directly.

For a moment, he imagined bending her over. Her slim fingers would splay on the moist flagstone. In that vulnerable position, her sex would be exposed in a yawning pink crevice. His engorged cock twitched at the thought of grasping her hips with both hands and ramming into her, slamming with need, thrusting deep, unable to restrain—

“Do you intend for me to air dry?” she asked, turning her head to shoot a quick glare at him over one shoulder.

He draped the cloth over her and massaged her flesh. Warmth radiated through the thin linen, and he felt Katla’s muscles tense under her smooth skin. She wanted him, but she resisted her own body’s urges.

He’d have to see about that.

Brandr ran a couple cloth-covered fingers down her spine, not stopping when he reached the crevice of her bottom. She stiffened, so he covered her buttocks with the towel. He massaged her through it, lifting and spreading, teasing her tender flesh.

“Oh.” The sigh was so soft he almost missed it.

“Is something wrong?” he asked with a grin.

“No, you’re just terribly slow.” A serrated edge of irritation crept into her tone. He hoped it meant she was fighting growing arousal.

“Not slow. Thorough.” He knelt to dry the backs of her thighs and the sensitive crevices behind her knees. His grip tightened on one of her calves. Her skin was warm, almost feverish. Then he loosened his grip and moved his hand, drifting up to her buttocks and back down.

Her skin rippled with gooseflesh, and he knew his touch sent pleasure dancing over her.

“I don’t think this is a very good idea.” She turned and snatched at the towel.

“Why?” He whipped the cloth behind his back, out of her reach. “Haven’t I obeyed your every command? Nothing will pass between us you don’t wish.”

Her brows drew together, and he wished he could kiss away those lines between them.

“I don’t trust you.”

“You should,” he said simply. “I gave you my word.”

He stood and looked down at her, every fiber of his body straining toward her. It was more than animal attraction, though there was plenty of that. Even though she’d enslaved him, he admired this woman who shouldered the responsibility for so many. Plenty of men would have failed where she’d succeeded.

And yet, there was a fragility beneath her outward toughness. She was careful to keep it hidden, but he’d heard vulnerability in that sigh. Here was a woman worthy of more than his lust. She deserved his protection.

Whether she wanted it or not.

But first, he had to win her trust.

“I won’t lie to you. I want you,” Brandr said. His cock throbbed at her nearness, but he fought the urge to pull her closer. “Believe me, I want you
very
badly, but I won’t force you.”

She swallowed hard.

“I wear your iron collar. My purpose is to serve you,” he said. “Let me.”

***

Brandr stood stock still. His chest didn’t even rise and fall to show he breathed. His eyes darkened as he looked down at her.

Then, though his lips barely moved, she heard one word.

“Please.”

Katla drew a sharp breath. It was rare enough for a man to use that word with another man. It dented a body’s pride to plead, and Brandr was intensely prideful. After all, he was arrogant enough to turn her upside down to kiss her foot. She knew it cost him something to say “please.” For that slice of a moment, she realized how badly he wanted to continue touching her, even if it was only as her body slave.

A muscle ticked in his cheek. He was struggling to control himself.

Why should she mind if he continued to towel her off? Hadn’t she accepted him as thrall with the express purpose of debasing him in mind? What was lower than a bath slave?

Except this didn’t seem like the sullen service of a thrall. His touch was deft, sure. A lover’s touch. When he asked to serve her, his voice was rumbling and masculine, imbued with simmering arousal, not the resigned tone of a slave who serves because he must.

Brandr made her ache. He wakened longings no mistress should feel for a servant. Yet, she was still in control. As he said, nothing would happen she didn’t want.

“All right. You may continue.”

He exhaled, and Katla almost recalled her words. This meant something to him.

And, she realized with uneasiness, to her.

He fetched a fresh cloth and started by raising the towel to her face, gently pressing the cloth to her forehead, her temples, her closed eyelids and cheeks. His touch was feather light, as if he were trying to imprint the memory of her features on his fingertips.

The fresh cloth smelled of a snow-washed mountain breeze along with his sharp masculine scent. The towel moved down, patting her neck dry, tracing the narrow shelf of her collarbone from the hollow spot at the base of her throat to her shoulders.

When she sneaked a glance up at him, his attention was totally riveted on the bit of her he was drying at that moment. She’d never been scrutinized so minutely. He was completely absorbed by each of her parts, as if he were learning every piece of her.

Her skin warmed with a rosy glow.

His gaze drifted lower and stopped at her breasts. The towel hung limp and unused. She held her breath as he stared, his gaze hungry and straining.

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect,” he said huskily. “If you were made of marble, you’d grace the emperor’s great hall. He displays the work from a thousand lands, but I swear he has no piece of art to match you.”

Her heart glowed at his words, but if she was going to remain in control of this little adventure, she couldn’t let him think her moved. “A thrall shouldn’t speak to his mistress with the tongue of a skald.”

His gaze jerked back to her face. “Your pardon, princess. But even a man with no poet in his soul finds one when he’s properly inspired. It’s hard to keep my thoughts to myself around you.”

His hands found her breasts. Through the linen cloth, she felt his heat as he ran his fingertips along the crease beneath each one. Then he hefted their weight in his palms and dragged his thumbs across her taut nipples. He was still ostensibly drying her off, but his touch was increasingly charged with sensual power.

She bit her lip to keep from thrusting her breasts toward him. She ached to feel his touch directly on her skin, but she couldn’t order him to do it. Not and remain in control.

He let the towel curl down to bare her breasts. The naked hunger on his face made a throb start between her legs. Her breath shuddered over her teeth.

Brandr dropped to one knee before her, drying her ribs. She suppressed a giggle when he brushed over the last one. She’d always been ticklish on her left side. Osvald had avoided that spot because he couldn’t abide laughter in bed.

But Osvald wasn’t here. So when Brandr raked the tender place with the linen again, she allowed an unrestrained laugh to slip out.

He smiled up at her. “I like that. You should do it more often.”

He circled her navel and inserted a cloth-covered fingertip into the indentation. He gently patted down her hips. His warm breath coursed over her belly. The small hairs covering her sex swayed with each exhalation.

Her womb clenched. His lips were so near. She could order him to pleasure her, to use his mouth on her to relieve the ache, but then her dream rushed back into her.

The servicing of a slave was no substitute for a lovingly offered act.

“Spread your feet.” His voice was rough with longing.

Teeth clenched to keep from crying out with need, she did as he asked. He cupped her sex with his whole hand, and she throbbed into it.

His fingers alone would probably do
, she thought as her head lolled back.

He teased the cloth between her legs, into her sensitive folds. She was wetter when he moved on down to her thighs than when he first began to gently blot her dry.

This
is
foolishness
, Katla told herself. She was playing a dangerous game with a man who was the son of her enemy. She ought not be seeping moist warmth over his touch.

Or wondering if his cock or fingers or tongue would best end her torment.

When he bent to dry her ankles and lifted one of her feet, she caught a whiff of her own arousal, sweet and musky. He’d used a slave’s task to make her respond to him with a deep, throbbing ache.

“You smell wonderful.” Brandr stood and dropped the cloth, just staring at her for a moment. He leaned toward her slightly, and she thought he was about to kiss her, but he caught himself and straightened.

“Order me to kiss you,” he said.

“What?”

“I promised I wouldn’t do it unless you ordered me, and I want to kiss you.”

Brandr slid a hand along her neck and around to cradle the back of her head. Then he stepped closer so their bodies were touching, grazing each other at sensitive points, her nipples raking his chest, his erection rubbing against her belly.

“I burn to kiss you,” he whispered. “Everywhere.”

She sucked in a quick breath. He threatened to set her ablaze. Her whole body sizzled when he pulled her closer, lifting her with an arm around her waist so their parts meshed more fully.

Skin on skin. Heart to heart and groin to groin.

He pressed his cheek against hers. The stubble of his regrowing beard scraped her skin. Then he drew his open mouth over her sensitized flesh. He stopped shy of her lips, nostrils flared, a wild light in his eyes.

Katla swayed on her feet.

“You want my kiss,” he said, his voice liquid seduction, a low purring sound that went straight to her womb and made her throb in time with the slow rock of his hips against her pelvis. “Admit it. You want my touch on your skin. You want my cock between your legs.”

He was right, damn the man to the ninth circle of
Hel
. She was nearly incoherent with need. If she told him to kiss her, it wouldn’t stop there. Brandr Ulfson was ready to mount her. And she was ready to let him.

Almost.

If she did, it would mean he’d won. He’d seduced his mistress into letting him take her. She’d lose all control over this man if that happened.

That was no way to avenge her husband’s death.

She tamped down her longing and straightened her spine. She would be strong. She always had to be strong. A woman without a man had to be.

“You forget yourself, thrall. Step away from me.”

He didn’t move for the space of several heartbeats. Then a cold light burned in his eyes, and he released her. Anger and lust warred on his features, but he said nothing as he stepped back.