Page 51 of Storm of Desire
She'd make sure ofit.
"Ready?" He held the boat steady and gestured to the foot of water surrounding them with his otherhand.
Árdís clambered to her feet, swaying as the waves rocked the boat. In the past, he'd have never demanded this. He'd have carried her, so she wouldn't get her bootswet.
But that man was long buried beneath this imposing half-stranger.
And she'd be damned if she'd give him the pleasure of seeing herfalter.
Grabbing a fistful of her skirts, she tried to plant her boot on the edge of the boat. Haakon offered her a hand to help her, at least, but as she shifted her weight forward the boat suddenly rocked and she found herself thrown forward with asqueal.
Hard arms locked around her, and Árdís slammed against Haakon's chest as he caughther.
A soft curse broke from him as her breasts pressed against his face. Her arms locked around the back of his heavily muscled neck automatically, and for a second, she inhaled the scent of warm, cleanmale.
Hermale.
Oh, gods. She nearly groaned. She'd never been good with temptation, and this was only a reminder of what a strain on her willpower these next few days would be. She could feel the silk of his hair against her hands and wanted to curl her fingers throughit.
"Sorry," Tormund called, sounding anythingbut.
"Son of a bitch," Haakon muttered. He shot a glare over his shoulder, and Árdís suddenly realized it hadn't been a wave that sent her falling, but one clearly unrepentantmatchmaker.
Haakon growled under his breath and swung an arm under her thighs. He hauled her up into his arms, and Árdís grabbed at him inelegantly as he juggledher.
It seemed he'd changed his mind about making her walk through thewater.
"Ride safe, Princess," Tormund called. "And remember ourbet."
"What bet?" Haakon's gaze cut tohers.
Árdís's cheeks burned, as he started to carry her toward the beach, striding through the skim of waves. "Nothing."
Behind her, Tormund merely laughed as he began to haul the boat back out tosea.
* * *
The second challengecame later that night, when they stopped to set up camp. They'd covered only a handful of miles with all the subterfuge with the ship, before Haakon insisted upon pulling off the road and finding a secluded place tosleep.
He'd barely spoken to her allday.
Despite what Tormund had told her on the ship, there was no sign of the man who'd married her. Nor the one she'd met again in Reykjavik. Haakon wasn't mad with fury, nor boiling with frustration. He was cold. Closedoff.
A part of her wanted to break through those walls that locked him away. Ever since Tormund had spoken of their wedding, she'd been unable to think of anythingelse.
"There's only one bedroll," Árdís pointed out as she finished building thefire.
Haakon continued to roll the bedroll out, his movements quick and sure. She'd always liked that about him—he was constantly moving, constantly doing some chore. The only time he'd ever been still had been those moments when she'd managed to talk him into lingering in bed, or those rainy mornings when he was trapped in the house they'd shared and they would talk or readtogether.
"Are we sharing that too?" she dared toask.
Haakon's hands paused, and then swiftly resumed the task as if it had never happened. But shenoticed.
"No."
"Then howare...?"
"You're taking the bedroll. I'll keepwatch."
