Blind Allegiance by Violetta Rand Page A

But after seeing the color drain from her vibrant cheeks, he moved decisively and commanded two of his men to escort them to his ship. He deposited her inside his cabin and waited for her to recover. Keeping her away from her kinsmen seemed his best defense in case his suspicions were justified. He eyed her appreciatively as she lay curled up like a kitten on his bed. There had been no hesitation on his part choosing her once he’d encountered her inside the hall. That head of honey-colored curls reminded him too much of the woman in his vision and he would not risk his future by ignoring it. He stared down at her, greatly tempted to kiss her again.
    She rolled onto her back and had hardly had a chance to breathe before his passion came gushing out. “Look at me.”
    Noelle combed her fingers through her hair and stared at the ceiling. “Where am I?”
    “On my ship,” he answered. “You seem determined to prolong our stay in England.”
    “Believe me,” she thrashed a hand. “I have no desire to prolong anything. Be gone from me, devil.”
    He snickered and considered the cool fury in her eyes. He already knew her incapable of concealing her emotions—her face was as revealing as a gypsy’s crystal. A hint of fascination gleamed in those eyes, too, especially when she looked at him. Willing or not, something unexplainable had already sparked between them. Randvior believed the attraction between a man and a woman was one of the unexplainable wonders of the universe. And he was unwilling to overlook the curious timing of her appearance, no matter how grim her circumstances. The gods dropped her in his lap for a reason. Mere coincidence? Not when he knew Odin’s hand had played a role. This involved fate. He curled a finger under her chin.
    Such a delectable morsel needed to be tasted. What pleasure she would receive while he worked those narrow hips. And that perfectly formed backside had already brushed against his manhood on more than one occasion. He closed his eyes, visualizing how perfect she must look naked. “Denne jenta har den strammeste rumpa jeg noensinne har følt!”
    “What perverted things are you saying now?”
    His lips curved into a roguish grin. “Not insults, min lille dukke , merely observations any hot-blooded man would make.”
    Lifting a slender hand, she deflected his answer. “Horse manure. And those other words I recognize well enough— min lille dukke —I hear you speak them often.”
    “A term of endearment. It’s irrelevant.”
    Might she offer a smile now? He hoped she would. Instead, her eyes narrowed, confirming her annoyance. “Remind me sometime in the future to tease you with words you cannot understand.”
    “Aye,” he said. “As long as it’s not spoken in French, Spanish, Greek, Latin, Gaelic, English, or Norse—all of which I am quite fluent.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Most men flex their muscles to attract the attention of the opposite sex, are you suggesting you showcase your linguistic skills to do so?”
    “My tongue is skilled at many things, if you care to find out.”
    “Vagrant—to think you would speak so shamelessly in front of me. I didn’t grow up in a convent. I know what men mean when they say such things.” She tossed her head, her words trailing off.
    “I shall say something more appropriate for your pretty ears. Ma petite poupee . . . meum pupa . . . or mi munequita , they all mean the same—what I see before me.”
    She crossed her arms and pursed her lips much too attractively for comfort. He admired her self-control; most women would have thrown something at him. Noelle simply shut her mouth whenever she was particularly irritated.
    “Damned to spend an eternity with a mindless churl.”
    “Careful,” he warned, grabbing at her. “Remember, there are consequences for everything you say.”
    “I meant no—”
    “I know what you intended.”
    Her fingers fumbled nervously with the long gold chain around her neck, twisting the