Page 56 of Storm of Desire
"I do notsnore."
"It wasn't Snorri. Sounded like him, but he was wide awaketoo."
"Ha." She rolled hereyes.
Árdís dressed with stiff-legged enthusiasm, grumbling her way through a mouthful of bread and cheese as he stowed the bedroll on Snorri. She'd never taken to mornings well. Always preferred to drag him back into bed with her, where she'd nestle her face against his shoulder and soften back into sleep, or slide a playful hand down his abdomen. Haakon tugged the leather straps into place stiffly. As much as he kept trying to pretend they were strangers, he was sharply reminded of how much shehadn'tchanged. It was difficult to put the truth together. What had been real? What had not been? And could he trust that anything had been real, when he had no idea, which waswhich?
"Ready?"
Árdís eyed Sleipnir with as much enthusiasm as she would have shown if asked to stick her hand in a bucket full of mice. "Iguess."
Haakon mounted and reached down to haul her up behind him. She settled there gingerly, and his first guess had been correct. She was new to this body, and hence to its aches andpains.
"We'll go slowly," he promisedher.
Árdís wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'm dreaming of a hot spring right now. I want to soak in it forhours."
Maybe they'd find one. He nodded brusquely, his anger subdued and diminished. He could handle her games, and her argumentative nature. Even her teasing offers. But he was not immune to herpain.
The ride north stretched into hours. Árdís dozed against his back, and Haakon kept his eyes on the sky. Despite the ploy he'd played last night, they seemed to have settled into somewhat of a trucetoday.
Tormund's words kept tormentinghim.
But did you ask the right fuckingquestions…?
He still hadn't discovered what had driven her away. He'd been too consumed by pride, by anger, to think his way through her careful answers inReykjavik.
He needed to start thinking, if he was going to discover thetruth.
"This Sirius," he forced himself to say, after lunch. "Yourmate."
"He's not my mate. We were only betrothed, and that was the queen's idea, not mine." Árdís's arms tightened around him. "What ofhim?"
"Has he ever kissed you?" he askedbluntly.
Árdís stiffened against his back. "What?"
"It's a simplequestion."
"I thought you didn'tcare."
"I don't." Even to his own ears, his voice was so rough it had to be a lie. It had been easy to play games with her last night. But it hurt when those games skirted dangerously close to thetruth.
"And if hehaskissedme?"
Haakon forced himself to shrug. At least she couldn't see hisface.
"Once," sheadmitted.
Nothingelse.
There were a thousand different sorts of kisses. A gentle caress to the back of her hand. A soft brush of lips against hers. But Haakon's mind forced him right to the other end of the scale. The one he knew sowell.
Lips capturing hers, his tongue stabbing insistently into her mouth. And who said the kiss had to be upon her sweet, lying mouth? He could almost taste the musk of her body, his gut curdling with an odd mix of jealousy andlust.
He wanted to fill the air with curses. Mostly athimself.
"Lost for words?" He could hear the flicker of triumph in her voice. "What's wrong, husband? Does the thought of another man kissing me botheryou?"
