Page 19 of Wild Return
He shrugs. “It felt like the right thing.”
Viking has always done what feels right. I understood why he re-enlisted four years ago, even though it hurt. If he’d stayed, he would have regretted not honoring his friend, and it would have poisoned our relationship.
I didn’t get it then, but I do now.
“Let’s lock up downstairs,” he says.
I follow Viking down to the cellar and through to the docking bay where we find a small window propped open.
The boys explained that they’d noticed it during the tour and spotted where the security cameras were. Marcus, the smaller one, hid behind kegs, and when no one was around, he climbed up to the window and wedged a piece of wood in it to leave itajar. Just wide enough to get his hand in from the outside and force it open.
Viking climbs onto the shelves to remove the wedge.
If they’d fallen, it could have been serious. It shows how desperate they were.
We secure the window, switch off the lights, and move through to the cellar, locking the door behind us.
Back in the cellar, the cool air smells of dark oak, hops, and lingering rain. While Viking drags the pallet to its spot between the rows, I wander along the rows at the back of the cellar, where they keep the special barrels. The ones sealed in oak and aged longer to sell at a premium.
The scent of damp oak and vanilla surrounds me, and I run my hand over the rough wood and breathe deeply.
There are footsteps behind me, and when I turn Viking is closer than I expected. So close I catch the scent of leather and coffee that has me breathing deeply and wanting him closer.
My heartbeat thumps erratically as he stands before me, his gaze penetrating mine. His arm lifts, hesitating, but this time I reach for him first, clasping his hands in mine.
“I keep thinking about how you were with those kids,” I whisper.
He lifts my hand to his mouth, brushing my skin with his lips and making my pulse quicken.
“You’re a good man, Viking.”
He lowers my hand and places both his palms on my hips, guiding me backward until I bump against an oak barrel. My body bumps up against his hard one, and I gasp as heat zaps through my body. My head feels thick with him and hazy as he leans closer.
His mouth finds my neck, and I tilt my head and close my eyes as his warm lips trace slowly from my throat to my ear.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
I open my eyes and shake my head. “I don’t want you to stop.”
His eyes flash with longing, and his lips claim mine. A sigh escapes me as I surrender to his kiss. One hand traces my collarbone while the other cups the back of my head, drawing me closer.
He steps forward, pressing me to the barrel so I have nowhere to go. And I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want anything but more of this, more ofhim.
His hands slide down my back, then lower until he cups my ass.
“There’s my cupcakes,” he growls, the once-infuriating nickname now a spark that ignites my need for him.
I thrust my hips, grinding against him, and his hands skim down my leather skirt, gripping the hem, as he slowly hikes it up.
“Tell me to stop,” his voice rasps, but he keeps lifting until the skirt bunches at my waist.
“Don’t stop.”
He groans into my mouth and his fingers slip under my stockings, peeling them down.
I’m panting hard as I come up for air, my lips swollen and my body on fire.
I shove his jacket off, sliding my fingertips beneath his T-shirt to feel the hard planes of his chest.
