Page 36 of The Viking in the Vault
All I can do is be here, solid and unyielding, for as long as she’ll let me.
15
ELENA
Iwake up to the sensation of something warm and solid beneath my cheek.
For a moment, I don’t remember where I am…or who I’m with. But then the gentle rise and fall of Ragnar’s breathing, steady and calm, anchors me in the present.
My eyes flutter open and I look up at him.
He’s elevated his head on some pillows, partially sitting up–probably for his antlers, I guess. His arm is still around me and I’m tucked into his side. Dressed in the PJ pants we got him yesterday and a silky long robe, he looks…
…well, normal.
And devastatingly handsome.
The usual tension in his brow has faded away, leaving his strong features relaxed, full lips slightly parted. His long dark hair tumbles over his shoulders, braids unfurled after his shower last night; his beard, still braided, is soft where it brushes against my temple. His skin glimmers bronze even in the darkness, robe open to reveal his chest.
I want to touch him.
Last night…it was everything to me. I worried that he would make an advance on me when I really wasn’t in the rightheadspace for it, but he didn’t. He just listened while I spoke in a language he doesn’t understand, looked when I showed him pictures. My family is okay, but that hurricane…it was just more proof that my research can’t wait.
I think he would support me through that.
I think he would get it.
I let myself linger, soaking in the perfection of this moment. Ragnar’s arm is curled around me, his hand resting on my hip as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. His warmth seeps into me and I realize how much I’ve wanted this–this closeness, this feeling of complete safety.
And he smells incredible, just like he did that first day but better. Like my preferred soap mixed together with the natural scent of pine and firewood and…well, man.
I bite my lip, fighting the absurd thought that flashes through my mind: This man is built like a god. Every inch of him is hard muscle, sculpted and powerful. His chest rises and falls beneath my hand, broad and steady, and I can feel the ripple of strength beneath his skin even in stillness. Historians who study the Lost Expeditions think that humans made contact with the Skoll a long time ago, that some stayed on Earth and became what we thought of as gods…and I believe it.
I move just slightly, and Ragnar’s eyes flutter open, revealing that starry, alien shade of bright silver-blue. He looks down at me and a lazy smile crosses his features. He doesn’t let me go; he pulls me closer.
“Hi,” I breathe.
“Elena,” he rumbles.
I melt against him, wanting to stay here forever. I’m not thinking about anything else right now…just the fact that there’s a gorgeous man in my bed, half-naked, and he’s fully convinced that I’m his one true love or something. It’s better than anything I could have possibly imagined for myself.
I push myself up to get on the level with him, our lips just inches apart. Ragnar’s other hand rises to cup my cheek, his thumb skating across my cheekbone.
“Fenvarra,” I whisper, hesitant.
His brow furrows, searching my gaze. I feel his pulse pick up underneath my hand. He’s asking a silent question, the moment stretching taut, and I nod slowly…
Our eyes shut.
His breath is against my lips.
He’s kissing me.
It’s not intense…not physically anyway. It’s not the kind of first, passionate, uncontrollable kiss you’d see in a sweeping romance. Not pushy, not desperate. He kisses me slow and steady and cautious.
That’s where the lack of intensity ends though…because emotionally?
I’m freaking out.
