Dream of Me/Believe in Me

bath.
    With soap. At least she thought that was what the small block he'd handed her was supposed to be. Though it was far from her own lovely honeysuckle and lavender soaps, she held it like a precious gem.
    “Thank you,” she said, “a bath would be wonderful. I won't be long.”
    “Take as much time as you like.” Wolf flopped downon the ground nearby, stretched out on one side, and propped his head in his palm. The position gave him an unfettered view of the pool.
    Cymbra's hand tightened on the soap as she fought the urge to hurl it at him. “I should have known.”
    “Known what?” he inquired mildly.
    “That you wouldn't do something just to be kind.”
    “A bath isn't kind?”
    “It isn't if I'm expected to take it in front of you.”
    He raised an eyebrow in seeming bewilderment. “Why would it bother you to take a bath in front of me?”
    He was toying with her but she refused to let him see how much that troubled her. “Why? Because it's immodest and improper. No decent woman would do such a thing. Surely, Viking women don't—”
    “We Norse are much more sensible about such things. We enjoy our bodies and aren't burdened by absurd feelings of shame.”
    “How very nice for you.” Determined to return to the beach, Cymbra began to go around him. The clasp of a powerful hand around her ankle stopped her.
    She had not even seen him move, yet he had reached beneath her cloak and caught her before she could even guess his intent. His fingers were long and warm. She could feel the callused tips moving lightly over her skin.
    “Let me go.”
    “No.” He tugged gently, forcing her to move closer. His hand slid up her leg, over the slender calf to the back of her knee and slightly higher.
    Cymbra froze. No one had ever touched her like that. She was shocked, stunned, and afraid. Not of him, although she was sure that would come. No, her fear was of herself and her response to him. Beneath his hand, following the path of his touch, pleasure exploded through her. A moan rose in her throat. She bit down hard on her lower lip, fighting to suppress the sound, and failed.

Chapter FOUR

    W OLF WAS ON HIS FEET INSTANTLY. HE grabbed hold of Cymbra and shook her lightly. “Stop that. You've made yourself bleed.”
    Tiny droplets of crimson shone on her lower lip. She seemed unaware of the small hurt and was staring at him in bewilderment.
    Anger, not at her but at himself for provoking the situation, made his voice hard. “Go take that bath. You need it.”
    Stubbornly, Cymbra shook her head. She was very pale but she faced him unflinchingly. “No, I won't.”
    Wolf knew only one answer to such defiance: punishment. His word was absolute among his people, proof of their understanding that disobedience was but one step from chaos, the monster always lurking just beyond the edges of a man's hearth, waiting to devour the unwary, the unlucky, and the just plain foolish. In a world where strength ruled, he had never hesitated to enforce his will. Until now.
    Instantly wary but curious, he tried a different approach. “Your fears are misplaced, lady.”
    He glanced at the glorious tumble of her chestnut hair, resisted the urge to stroke it, and said, “I prefer my women to be blond.”
    Taking a step back, he shifted his gaze to her chest. “As well as somewhat better endowed.”
    Irrepressible Loki would be slack-jawed with awe. A masterful liar, the god of mischief was said to appreciate the skill wherever he found it, even in humans. Truly, he would wrangle Wolf's admission to Valhalla for this alone.
    The look of amazement on Cymbra's lovely face almost made him burst out laughing, a tendency he was experiencing all too often in her presence and one out of keeping with his stern, harsh life. He just barely managed to maintain a look of utter sincerity. “Men do have varying tastes, you know.”
    She acknowledged this with a small nod although she still looked thoroughly perplexed. Cautiously, as though testing unknown waters, she asked, “You don't find me attractive?”
    He was hard-pressed not to break down in mirth. No doubt all her life people had told her how beautiful she was. Her stunning appearance must have shaded every encounter she had ever had. He doubted that anyone, at any time, had ever treated her as just another person.
    “Oh, you're not ugly or anything,” he assured her, and felt Loki on his shoulder chuckling and urging him on. “It's just as I said, different men have