Viking King (The MacLomain Series: Viking Ancestors, Book 1) by Sky Purington Page A

her face. But though they tried to settle her hair, nothing could help the fiery rebellion in her eyes. Golden spears, they challenged all who dared look her way.
    Naðr bit the corner of his lower lip as he leaned forward, imagining it was her lower lip beneath his controlling teeth. When had the gods gotten around to making a woman like her and why hadn’t they told him about it?
    So hard he could barely think, he stared at Megan . Though dressed like a proper Viking woman now, he knew far more existed beneath the less-than-revealing clothing. He again inhaled deeply and tried to reign in his need. But it wasn’t easy. Naðr wanted to smell her more than he had at the docks. Hell, he wanted to inhale her very core. But then, what man wouldn’t want to?
    “She’s a feisty one,” Kol said, his eyes as thoroughly trained on Megan as most of the men’s gazes in the hall.
    Naðr ignored Kol. His brother knew damn well to keep his hands off her. He was a little surprised to see Raknar watching her as well so said, “It’s been too long since you’ve had a woman, brother.”
    Raknar ignored the implication, his pale blue eyes contemplative. “Like Valan, she’s traveled through time. From where do think she hails?”
    Of course they all knew she’d time traveled. Their dragon blood gave them an incomparable second sight. Naðr allowed the woman on his lap to stroke him wherever she liked save his erection. That was being saved for someone else. “Far in the future I’d say.”
    But Naðr already knew she came from the twenty-first century. He’d felt it in the stone nestled between her remarkably firm breasts. After a slightly longer swig from his horn, he grunted as his pants grew tighter. The woman on his lap smiled knowingly and again went for the goods but froze when he shook his head. Frustrated but pleased to be on his lap regardless, she redirected her attention to his chest.
    Tables lined the long outer edges of the room and the center was kept open for dancing. The music was a rhythmic, sultry mix of bodhran drums, falster pipes and lyres. His men had been at sea too long so Naðr was cultivating an environment of pleasure. There was plenty of fresh meat and fish as well as rye and barley breads, cheeses, and a variety of berries and nuts. Naturally, there was an abundant amount of ale and mead too.
    Naðr debated his next move.
    Though tempted to throw Megan over the nearest table and relieve his arousal, he wouldn’t. He might be a lot of things, but he didn’t take women against their will. When her golden eyes locked with his across the room and a becoming flush stained her cheekbones, Naðr smiled to himself. Maybe he wouldn’t have to take her against her will after all.
    Kol chuckled. “You’ll have no trouble conquering that one, brother.”
    Typically, his brother’s lewd comments didn’t bother him but something about the statement irked him. It didn’t matter in the least if he’d just thought that very thing.
    When Meyla glanced his way, Naðr made a gesture that she and Megan join him. As always, the Scotsman hovered around her. The king did his best to ignore how close the two had become. But his daughter knew better than to approach with Valan. Instead, she kept Megan by her side.
    Naðr patted the hip of the woman on his lap. “Off with you now.”
    Though she pouted, she knew better than to argue and left.
    Expression neutral, he nodded at Meyla and Megan as they approached. Unable to help himself, he made a slow roam down the foreign woman’s body. The crème colored dress suited her but as he determined earlier it didn’t show off nearly enough of what he wanted to see. His brothers were watching Megan just as avidly. Though her eyes skirted briefly between them, Naðr was pleased she seemed drawn to him.
    Megan had a cup of ale in her hand and he knew damned well she’d downed most of it before he’d motioned them over. Good. He liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to drink.