Page 60 of The Viking in the Vault
“I can scent your desire, Elena,” he says. “But I do not wish to touch you without your consent. Explain.”
My face is on fire. “It’s just—there’s nuance!”
His scowl deepens. “What is nuance?”
I reach up to squeeze the bridge of my nose, already feeling a stress migraine coming on. “Nuance is…complicated. Nuance is not just black and white. Nuance is me saying yes, I want you to touch me but also maybe not right now because my brain is still catching up to my body and I need a second to process all of this before I throw myself into it, and also, I’m very nervous and also I need cocoa.”
I finally pause, sucking in a breath.
Ragnar just stares at me.
Then he grunts, as if this is the most exasperating thing he’s ever dealt with. “So, to be clear.”
I brace myself.
“You wish to be touched,” he says. “But not yet.”
“…Yes.”
“You wish to be kissed.”
I open my mouth, then close it. “Yes.”
He watches me, deadly serious. “But not yet.”
I nod. “Not yet.”
“And in order to decide…you need cocoa.”
I swallow hard and nod.
And finally—finally—Ragnar takes a step back and gestures toward the kitchen. “Show me how so I can give my mate what she desires,” he says.
I exhale in relief. “Okay.”
I slide around Ragnar and head to the kitchen, Ragnar following closely behind with Fenrik on his heels. I can feel the heat radiating from him, the sheer weight of his attention locked onto me as I rummage through the cupboards for the cocoa tin. I can’t let myself think about that; I need to focus on the cocoa or I think I might melt into a puddle on the floor.
“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat. “First, we need milk.”
I grab the milk from the fridge and put it on the counter, then gesture at it. “You heat it up, mix in cocoa, and voilá! Hot chocolate. Easy peasy.”
He cocks his head. “That didn’t translate.”
“Oh,” I say. “Um…right. Nevermind. Just—you pour the milk.”
Slowly, he uncorks the bottle, watching the milk slosh inside, then looks to me for confirmation. I nod encouragingly. For the love of all that is good, this man can wield a sword with terrifying ease, but milk baffles him.
I take a step back, letting him pour. He’s careful, precise—pouring just enough before setting the bottle aside and looking back at me. “Now?”
I take a step back, letting him pour. He’s careful, precise—pouring just enough before setting the bottle aside and looking back at me. “Now?”
I nod, grabbing a wooden spoon and handing it to him. “Now we stir while it heats up.”
Ragnar turns the spoon over in his hand, testing its weight like he’s considering how it would fare as a weapon. I fight a laugh and point to the pot. “Just…gently, okay? We don’t want it to boil.”
He gives me a sharp look. “Why not?”
“Because it’ll scald,” I explain. “And then the cocoa won’t mix properly.”
