Page 11 of Seduction Under the Southern Stars

“Sure.”

He slides off his jacket. Then he pops the cufflink through the buttonhole and folds up his shirt sleeve. It reveals a line of runes, surrounded by other Viking patterns. I have something close to a photographic memory, so it’s easy for me to recall the alphabet.

I trace the runes, saying them out loud. “It’s a German word?” I conclude. He nods, eyes dancing. I do my best to pronounce it. “Unsterblichkeit. Um… Undying? Oh! Immortality!”

He laughs again and rolls the shirt sleeve down. “Yeah. I got it in 2018. I helped out on the Gjellestad dig.”

“The excavation of the Viking ship? In Norway?”

“That’s the one. I get a tattoo every time I go on a dig. I call it my passport.”

Without his jacket, his soaked shirt has stuck to his torso, and I can see ink on his arms, chest, and back. The wet cotton also outlines an impressive array of muscles.

“You should get out of those wet clothes,” I point out.

He looks down at himself. “Yeah. I’m probably going to get serious chafing after that walk.”

I laugh as we get to our feet. He takes his phone out and checks something, then says, “Oh yeah, I’m in the Pavilion. It’s not far, right? I walked here from it this morning.”

“It’s just around the corner.”

“Looks like it’s time for Google maps,” he says.

I smile. “Come on, I’ll take you there.”

He doesn’t argue, and we set off, heading for Lambton Quay.

“Has Wellington changed much?” I ask as we pass the shops, busy on this warm January day.

“I’m a tad embarrassed to admit I’ve never been here.”

My eyebrows rise. “Seriously?”

“Don and Nancy weren’t into traveling.”

I’m quite shocked that he hasn’t been to the capital. I’m hardly widely traveled, but I have at least been to most of the major cities in our small country. “Does it feel like coming home, though?”

“Kinda. It’s odd hearing the accent again. I’ve lived in England for quite a long time.”

“Bloody brilliant,” I say in my best British accent, and he chuckles. “This way,” I add, leading him up a steep flight of steps to the Terrace.

“I’d read that Wellington is all hills,” he grumbles as we finally arrive outside his hotel.

“Yeah, it keeps me fit.” I stop outside and smile. “Well, here you go.”

He looks into the hotel, hesitating. Then he gestures inside with his head. “Want to come in with me? I’ll get changed and we can catch up over a coffee.”

“I’m on my lunch break. I should get back to work.”

That makes him chuckle. “Still the same old Lora. Gotta do the Right Thing.” His eyes flare, teasing me.

“I have responsibilities,” I say hotly, “and I don’t like to take advantage of my co-workers.”

“Very commendable.”

I roll my eyes, mumble how he hasn’t changed either, and take out my phone to text Zoe that I’ll be late back.

Grinning, he leads the way inside the hotel, and we cross the tiled floor to the elevators. When the doors open, we go inside, and he touches the keycard to the pad. Then he presses button twenty-six.

---