[English] LOVING ON BORROWED TIME (Tình Yêu Vay Mượn)

Author : Olivia Cunning

Lara stood before the Artifacts of Ancient Egypt case and admired her handy work. She’d toiled over this particular display and it showed. The intact pieces of pottery, jewelry, tools, mummified cat, and other ancient Egyptian objects had been arranged to draw interest. Small cards, signifying months of work, displayed the name, date and a brief history of each item. Still, Lara couldn’t help but feel something was missing. The pieces in the collection were diverse and in remarkable con***ion, but none were particularly exciting. Lara longed to take an expe***ion and search for artifacts herself. She’d always pictured herself creeping through crypts, touring tombs, discovering digs and pondering pyramids, but her existence as a museum curator wasn’t very Indiana Jones. Her life in no way resembled what she’d envisioned for herself back in college. She’d experienced no adventure since graduating. No adventure at all.
Lara caught movement out of the corner of her eye and whirled around. She expected to see Tim, the night watchman, standing there leering at her as he was wont to do, but this man was not Tim. This man was young, virile, and had the oddest expression on his handsome face as he stared at her. He looked like he knew a thing or two about adventure. The guy was so masculine it should be a crime. Just ogling him made Lara’s toes curl in her sensible pumps. He was about average in height, but there wasn’t anything else average about him. The black tank top he wore drew all the right attention (hers) to his sculpted arms and chest, narrow waist and, em, belt. A tribal design had been inked on his right shoulder and he had bad boy tattooed across his forehead. Not really, but he might as well have. As handsome as he was, with his even features, penetrating, hazel-green eyes, and strong, kissable...

Loving on Borrowed Time
Page 1



Chapter 1

Lara stood before the Artifacts of Ancient Egypt case and admired her handy work. She’d toiled over this particular display and it showed. The intact pieces of pottery, jewelry, tools, mummified cat, and other ancient Egyptian objects had been arranged to draw interest. Small cards, signifying months of work, displayed the name, date and a brief history of each item. Still, Lara couldn’t help but feel something was missing. The pieces in the collection were diverse and in remarkable con***ion, but none were particularly exciting. Lara longed to take an expe***ion and search for artifacts herself. She’d always pictured herself creeping through crypts, touring tombs, discovering digs and pondering pyramids, but her existence as a museum curator wasn’t very Indiana Jones. Her life in no way resembled what she’d envisioned for herself back in college. She’d experienced no adventure since graduating. No adventure at all.

Lara caught movement out of the corner of her eye and whirled around. She expected to see Tim, the night watchman, standing there leering at her as he was wont to do, but this man was not Tim. This man was young, virile, and had the oddest expression on his handsome face as he stared at her. He looked like he knew a thing or two about adventure. The guy was so masculine it should be a crime. Just ogling him made Lara’s toes curl in her sensible pumps. He was about average in height, but there wasn’t anything else average about him. The black tank top he wore drew all the right attention (hers) to his sculpted arms and chest, narrow waist and, em, belt. A tribal design had been inked on his right shoulder and he had bad boy tattooed across his forehead. Not really, but he might as well have. As handsome as he was, with his even features, penetrating, hazel-green eyes, and strong, kissable lips, Lara avoided bad boys as a rule. Bad boys broke hearts. Not that she knew that from experience or anything.

The nameless hunk watched her for a moment, then bit his lip and jammed his hands into the pockets of his baggie, cargo pants.

“How did you get in here?” Lara asked. “The museum closed three hours ago.”

“That’s not important,” he said. “I need to talk to you, Lara.”

Her brow knotted. Did she know him? It wasn’t possible. She’d have remembered him. He had the looks of a movie star and the presence of warrior. And the body of an underwear model. Not that she was still checking him out or anything. Okay, she was. Why, oh why, couldn’t nice guys be this hot?

“How do you know my name?” she managed to ask.

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes strangely damp, and then glanced down at her chest. Yo, stud muffin, my eyes are approximately fifteen inches North.

“Lara Kensington,” he read aloud, “Museum Curator.”

She followed his line of vision to her nametag, affixed to the jacket lapel of her conservative, tan, skirt suit. She didn’t quite believe that was how he knew her name—he looked at her with such familiarity and longing—but there were more important things going on here. How in the hell had he gotten past security? Was he a burglar? A kidnapper? Her heart raced with excitement. Dread? Yeah, dread. Her heart raced with dread.

Lara glanced at the alarm panic button behind him, knowing it was her duty to call for help.

He grinned. “You aren’t thinking of setting off the alarm, now, are you?”

Well, she wouldn’t be getting the award for “Most Subtle in a Crisis” this year. Perhaps, if she distracted him, she could reach the alarm.

“Who are you?” she asked.

That sad look again, as if it hurt him that she didn’t know who he was. Was he some sort of ego maniac? She pictured him wearing a t-shirt that read: My reputation doth proceed me.

“My name is Reece Jericho. I really need to talk to you. It pertains to your impending murder.”

She hadn’t recovered from discovering who he was, before he hit her with that second whammy. She gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

He chuckled. “You always were adorable when unsettled.”

“You’re planning to kill me?” she squeaked. Reece Jericho—famed artifact and treasure hunter—was a killer? She’d been trying to contact him to purchase artifacts for months and he hadn’t had the decency to return her inquiries until now. He finally shows up and comes up with some crazy story about her impending murder? What was his game? Did he think she’d pay more for his junk... Her eyes drifted below his waistband. His junk. She shook her head at her errant thoughts. Did he think she’d pay more for his artifacts if she was freaked out? Because she was about three seconds from completely freaking out.

His intense, hazel eyes widened, “Oh, God no, sweetheart, I’m here to save you before it happens.”

Her eyes moved to the alarm panic button again. Wait a minute. “Did you just call me sweetheart?”

“Forgive me. I keep forgetting that we haven’t met yet.”

“If you would be so kind as to make a damned bit of sense, I’d be much obliged, Mr. Jericho.”

“I’m from the future.”

She lifted both eyebrows at him. “You’re from the future,” she said in a flat tone. “I know a great psychiatrist, Jericho. Specializes in serious nutcases. I’ll get you her number.”

He shook his head. “We don’t have much time, Lara. He’ll be here soon.”

“This psychiatrist happens to be a woman.”

“Not a psychiatrist. Carl.”

Carl seemed like the least of her problems at the moment. Reece Jericho was obviously unsettled. She needed to keep him talking until she could pull the alarm. Maniacs liked to talk about their nefarious plans, right? She’d seen a superhero movie or two. “Let’s start with this murder thing,” she suggested. “How do you know I’m going to be murdered?”

Loving on Borrowed Time
Page 2



His voice was raw when he said, “Because, I found you. Dead.”

He pulled his hand out of the pocket of his tan cargo pants and drew out a folded piece of newspaper. He bit his lip, before handing her the clipping. She took it from him, her heart thudding unexpectedly at their close proximity. Lovely, just lovely. She had the hots for a psycho. He smelled good, too. Just a hint of aftershave and a heap of male. Why, oh why, couldn’t nice guys smell this good? Nice, sane guys. Her eyes met his and time seemed to stop for a moment. The man should hand out drool bibs as a courtesy to the dry-clean-only wardrobes of unsuspecting women. My God, he was gorgeous. Dark hair, just long enough to make her want to lose her fingers in it. Hazel eyes that missed nothing. And when he chewed on his lip like that, it made her think it must be pretty tasty. She wouldn’t mind a sample or two. Too bad he was flippin’ crazy!

Lara forced herself to look away, the worn clipping in her hand demanding her attention. She read the headline and it nearly tossed her on her fanny. Curator Found Dead in Museum Parking Garage. Beside the text of the article was a picture of her that she didn’t recognize. In it, she was posing with none other than Reece Jericho and looked happier than Mrs. Smith at a pie-eating competition.

“That’s you,” she blurted. “And me.” She looked up at him. “I don’t remember having this picture taken. I’ve never even met you.”

“You wouldn’t remember,” he said. “Look at the date.”

Her eyes returned to the clipping, seeking the date. Her confusion was absolute. “That’s a year from now. This must be a misprint.” She flipped the page over and found part of an ad for satellite television service. It looked like a regular newspaper clipping, but...

“It’s not a misprint, Lara. It’s real.”

He waited while her mind raced to put all of this information together.

“How?” she breathed. She scanned the article’s text, trying to make sense of it. There were few details on the crime because investigators were stumped as to motive and suspects, most of the article was about her work and life. Some of the things printed were not in her memory because they hadn’t happened yet. The final line of the article threw her for another loop. Ms. Kensington’s fiancé, Reece Jericho, could not be reached for questioning.

“Fiancé?” she sputtered, looking up at him again.

“I’ll tell you about my marriage proposal sometime,” he said, grinning at her. “But right now, we need to get out of here.”

“I don’t care if you do look like Orlando Bloom on steroids and claim to be my future fiancé, I’m not going anywhere with you. You could have easily fabricated this whole thing and made this picture and this newspaper with some fancy computer softw—”

He placed one finger on her lips. “I knew you’d have a hard time accepting this, but I don’t have time to reason with your logic, sweath—Lara. We can’t stick around here. He’s sure to catch up with me soon and if he gets his hands on you...”

“Who?”

“I already told you. Carl.” He said the guy’s name as if he were Gandhi or Madonna or Prince and only needed one name to be readily identifiable.

“I don’t know any Carl.” Lara heard a low hum come from the vicinity of Reece’s chest.

“****. Too late,” he said. “We have to hide.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, leaning closer to his chest to listen more closely and maybe inhale his arousing scent a little. The humming was growing louder. “What’s that sound?”

Reece took Lara by the arm and pulled her behind a large statue of the Egyptian sun god Ra. He glanced around and finding they were still alone, reached into the neck hole of his black tank top, which clung to his hard-muscle chest like a second skin. He pulled out a broken amulet that hung from a leather cord around his neck. The strange piece of jewelry was humming, the sound growing louder by the second.

“What is that?” she asked, trembling fingers moving towards the amulet. It was made of beige stone and had hieroglyphics carved into its surface. Half a circle, it obviously had been cracked down the center. The other half of the amulet was missing.

“If he catches us, you will die, Lara, do you understand?”

Reece drew her against his chest, and she thought she should struggle against him—they were strangers and he was insane, after all—but being plastered to his muscular body did strange things to her sensibilities. His hold was both soothing and exciting. His large hand splayed over her lower back as he drew her nearer. “I’ve missed you,” he breathed against her hair. “I won’t let anything or anyone take you from me again.”

Oh great, he was a stalker, too.

There was a loud crackle and then the humming of the amulet stopped. Lara listened carefully, eyes roving as she sought the source of the unsettling feeling in the air. Booted footsteps echoed through the large exhibit room. Had the night watchman come to check on her? Finally! I’m saved! Strange how she didn’t want to be saved from Mr. Hunky Whack Job Reece Jericho. Not one bit.

“I know you’re here,” the night watchman called. Except Tim usually spoke with a slow Southern draw and now he sounded like he was from Jersey. How very odd. “You can’t have her, Jericho. You can’t change the future or the past.”

Lara’s heart thudded. She had the sinking sensation that this guy was talking about her future. Her future death. Murdered at the age of thirty-three. She obviously didn’t want that.

Loving on Borrowed Time
Page 3



Reece’s arms tightened around her. “We have to run, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Will you come with me?”

“Where?”

“We won’t know until we get there,” he said. “And it’s not so much a where, as it is a when.”

“Huh?”

“Hold on to the amulet,” he instructed. “I’m not sure it will take both of us together, but we have to try.”

She looked up at him, and he smiled. She wasn’t sure why, but she trusted him. Perhaps it was because no one had ever looked at her the way he was looking at her—as if she were the greatest treasure on Earth. And the man was a treasure hunter by trade, so he knew a good find when he found one. Lara took his broken, stone amulet in her hand. He covered her hand with his, closed his eyes and whispered a strange series of words. Egyptian words.

“Found you,” Tim, the night watchman, said. His form wavered between his own likeness and that of an entirely different man. An unfamiliar big guy with jet-black hair flickered to the weasely, balding man Lara knew and then back to the thug-looking guy again. It was as if he were one of those hydrofoil images that changed from one picture to another when you tilted it. The air around him crackled with energy. Tim/whoever grimaced when his eyes fell upon the amulet. “Dammit, Jericho. Let her go.”

A faint yellow glow surrounded them.

“Sorry, Carl,” Reece said. “Not this time.”

The loud hum coming from the amulet in Lara and Reece’s combined hands crackled. The sensation of falling sideways gripped Lara and she cried out in surprise. She was not in contact with the Earth any more. The only thing solid was Reece. Her arms went around his waist as she held onto him with all her strength, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Easy,” he said breathlessly. “Almost finished. It doesn’t hurt. I promise.”

There was a second loud crackle, and Lara felt the Earth come into contact with her feet again. It wasn’t as if they touched down, but as if the Earth appeared beneath them suddenly.

“That wasn’t so bad,” he said.

Lara realized something was different immediately. First, the smooth fabric of Reece’s tank top was now thick and furry—an animal hide. Second, the sounds were definitely not those of a silent museum. Screams of fright, raucous laughter, roaring flames, and the sounds of destruction surrounded them. And the last time she had checked, she’d been wearing shoes. Her bare feet were now planted in a thin layer of snow, and there was a breeze blowing up her backside that did little for her peace of mind.

“Well, this is an unexpected, yet pleasant, surprise,” Reece said, his hand sliding down the bare skin of her back.

Lara released the amulet and jerked away from him. Apparently, he wasn’t expecting this reaction because he offered no resistance. She fell backwards and landed on her naked rump in the snow. Naked? Why was she naked? She shrieked in discomfort, and then looked up at Reece, planning to give him a piece of her mind. But it wasn’t Reece who was standing over her, looking amused and concerned at the same time. It was some gigantic, blond man, with a scraggly beard and a horned helmet on his head.

A Viking?

A Viking!

Lara screamed and tried to scramble away.

Chapter 2

The huge Viking leaned over Lara and offered her a meaty hand. A meaty hand, splattered with blood. Human blood, she imagined.

“Get away from me!” she screamed. “Help! Someone help me!”

Lara glanced around desperately, eyes darting from one horrific sight to the next. Men lay dead in the village roads. Humble huts blazed, engulfed in flames. Screaming women pleaded with captors as they were dragged toward the shore in the distance. Elders, tears streaming, gathered the children and hustled them away from the ruined village.

“Lara, it’s me,” the Viking said. He was speaking Norse. And she understood him!

Lara laughed and a numbing calm spread over her. This was dream. That explained everything. Now what had Freud said about dreaming you were naked? Something about the ego, or was it the id? Maybe it was the Iliad. No that was Greek mythology, not Norse. She laughed again, tears streaming down her face now, as she bemoaned herself for eating carmel and chocolate truffle ice cream before bedtime. Wow, this was a doozy of a nightmare. And realistic. She could smell the burning wood, feel the cold of the snow against her bare skin, taste the acrid smoke in the air. Feel the warmth of the giant Viking’s hand wrap around her wrist.

She gaped up at him.

“I know this is a lot to accept at the moment,” he said, speaking English now in Reece’s voice. For a scant second she saw him—Reece—but in the next, scary Viking guy was back. The Norseman looked solid, while Reece’s brief likeness had been but a glimmer. “And as much as I like you naked, we need to find you some clothes before you freeze.” But that was unmistakably Reece’s voice.

“Reece?” she questioned, her uncontrollable laughter turning into body quaking sobs. “You sound like… like, Reece, but…but…but…you don’t look… look like him.”

“Well, that’s how this works, sweetheart,” he said, gently, brushing a tear from her cheek, “but you can see through the illusion, if you try.”

She was astonished when the image of the enormous Viking before her flickered. Reece appeared. He looked solid this time and he smiled. “Now, you have to play along. You should probably struggle a bit. They need to believe you’re my captive.”

Loving on Borrowed Time
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“Who’s they?”

Reece nodded towards a group of men heading in their direction. More Vikings.

Lara shivered, half from the cold, the other half was undoubtedly fear. She let out a squeak of surprise when Reece lifted her and tossed her over one broad shoulder, exposing her bare ass to all who cared to observe.

“Put me down!” she demanded, pounding on his back with both fists. She was speaking Norse. Norse? How did she know Norse? She knew a bit of ancient Egyptian, but...

He patted her bare bottom. “Watch the kidneys,” he said under his breath.

“Eirick, you’ve got yourself a feisty one there,” one of the Vikings called to Reece.

Eirick?

“Aye, but a comely wench,” Reece said in perfect Norse.

“I said put me down!” Lara demanded, flailing her legs wildly. She still spoke Norse, but wasn’t sure how it was possible.

“You don’t have to overdo the acting, sweetheart,” Reece said quietly in English, emitting a pained gasp when her toe connected with God-knows-what.

“Who’s acting?” she cried. “Put me down, right now!”

“If she’s a too much for yeh, I’ll calm her right down,” one of the Vikings said, he grabbed a hand full of Lara’s hair and forced her head back so he could look at her. “She is a comely wench.” The pins holding Lara’s deep brown hair in its neat bun came loose and masses of turbulent curls fell free, surrounding her face and partially blocking her vision.

“This wench is my prize. I’ll enjoy taming this one,” Reece claimed to his Viking compatriots, patting her bare rump again.

“Let go of my hair!” she demanded of the crude Viking.

Her eyes widened when he lifted his fist to strike her. Reece caught the man’s wrist. “Don’t damage her looks.”

“She has it coming. This one needs to learn a bit of respect.”

“I need something to make my blood hot on cold nights. Her temper will do me good. She’s too scrawny to offer much warmth in my bed. Look at these scrawny thighs.” A hand ran up Lara’s thigh and she squirmed. “Not enough meat on them to keep my hips warm when she’s got those skinny things locked around my back.”

This drew much appreciative laughter from the other Vikings. Lara’s face flamed. An elbow to Reece’s back alerted him to her dissatisfaction with his boasts.

“Screw you,” she said between clenched teeth.

“That can be arranged,” he told her, his free hand sliding down the back of her naked thigh now. Since her view was of the boots of various Vikings surrounding them, she could only imagine the devilish grin gracing Reece’s handsome features at the moment. “Now, be good.”

“Me?” she sputtered. “You’re the one—”

“Saving you from a brutal, gang rape,” he whispered.

He was probably right. For now, she would cooperate, but when she got him alone, she would be sure to voice her protests. And viciously.

“I’d better get some clothing on this wench. Wouldn’t want anything important to freeze off,” Reece claimed. He turned and stalked off towards the nearest home that was not burning. “Men, load the loot and ready the long boat. We’ll set sail for home before midday.”

There was a loud call of agreement among the men and the sounds of them going about their duties.

“So you are their leader?” Lara questioned, trying not to concentrate on the repetitive stroking of Reece’s hand up and down the back of her thigh. She was too angry to be turned on. Much too angry. Plus his shoulder was cutting into her ribcage. She was much too uncomfortable and cold for the flesh between her thighs to be swelling. Growing damp. Achy. This was not the time to be imagining him naked in her arms, thrusting steadily into her eager body. It was a totally inappropriate time to find herself ignited into a blazing lust by the gentle touch of his hand.

“Yes, I’m their leader.”

“How can you tell? Do you have the thoughts of this guy you are posing as?”

“No, I’m the only one with horns on my helmet.”

“Ah,” she agreed. “Makes sense.”

Reece unnecessarily kicked open the door of a small, wooden house and stomped into the structure. “If there is anyone in here, they’d better run away now,” he growled.

There was a slight movement to the right. A large, orange cat hissed loudly and then raced out of the house. Nothing else stirred. Reece glanced around the one room hut and then closed the door before gently setting Lara on her feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“No, I’m not okay!” she sputtered. “What in the hell is going on? How are we here among Vikings? Is this real? Are we stuck here forever? And where did you get that amulet? Is that how we got here? Are we in the past? Is this a dream? How can I speak Norse? I don’t know Norse. Do you know Norse?”

He placed two fingers on her lips. “One question at a time,” he said. He scowled. “Even your lips are cold. You must be freezing.”

Actually, she was rather cold.

He cupped her cheek and gazed down at her. Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. That blazing lust thing was warming certain parts of her body quite well actually.

“Let me warm those up for you.”

He lowered his head and brushed his warm lips against her chilled ones. For her, this was their first kiss, but he obviously knew her well. He showed no hesitation at all as his suckled her upper lip and brushed her lower with the tip of his tongue. He drew her against him, his hands sliding down her naked back. Her excitement-and/or-cold-hardened ni**les pressed into his hard chest. Wait a minute. She didn’t even know this guy. And she was rubbing her naked br**sts all over him. And opening her mouth so he could tease her tongue with his. And relaxing her stance so he could slip his thigh between her legs. And why exactly did it feel so right to lose herself in his arms? In his kiss? Whatever caused his insanity was obviously infectious.

Loving on Borrowed Time
Page 5



She turned her head, separating their mouths. Damn her sensibility anyway.

He ran his thumb over her lips. “Warmer now?”

Warm? She was on fire. She nodded slightly.

“Good. We’ll pick this up later. Somewhere a little less pillage and burn.”

She should have protested that “pick this up later” comment. Should have, but didn’t. She was thinking he could press her up against the wall and have his way with her and she’d be perfectly okay with that. She touched her flaming cheeks with cool fingertips. Easy girl. No matter how hot Reece was or who he claimed to be, she didn’t go having *** with some guy she met half an hour ago. At least, she shouldn’t.

“I love you,” he murmured.

He loved her? Oh no, no, no, no, no, no.

“Sorry. You’re probably not ready to hear that yet,” he said quietly.

She stared up at him, feeling a bit woozy and light-headed. “Are we really engaged in the future?”

He smiled gently. “Yeah. We need to get some clothes on that gorgeous body of yours, so I can better control myself.” He turned and glanced around the modest hut. He approached a collection of clothes hanging from hooks on the wall, selected a garment, and tossed it to her. She caught it, sniffed it, and made a face.

“It doesn’t smell very clean.” Understatement. It smelled like cat piss.

He grinned at her. “Well, next dry cleaners we happen upon, we’ll stop and have it cleaned for you.”

She huffed. “Thanks. That would be appreciated.”

She struggled into the garment, pulling it on over her head and writhing about like a big snake in a small sock, until the dress slid into place. It was at least three sizes too small. She suspected it was a child’s dress. It sure wasn’t designed for a woman with curves.

“And you said I was scrawny,” she said, glancing down at the bodice of the gown. She adjusted her br**sts into a more comfortable position and they threatened to spill out of the top.

“You’re beautiful.”

She glanced up from the constrictive, smelly dress and her breath caught. The smoldering look transfixed to Reece’s handsome face made her weak in the knees. She licked her lips self-consciously and ran her hands over her temperamental hair.

“You do look a tad uncomfortable though,” he said, eyes trained on the sleeves of the dress cutting into her upper arms. The sleeves were so tight, she couldn’t even lower her arms completely. He chuckled. “We’ll see if there is something else you can wear. It looked like it would fit.”

She wasn’t sure if she should take that as a compliment or an insult.

Reece turned back to the hooks of clothes and she lowered her eyes to her feet. They were so cold she couldn’t feel them, yet she was wishing Reece was still looking at her instead of finding her something to wear.

“There’s this,” he said. “It’s sure to keep my desire at bay.”

He held up a huge shirt, obviously intended for a man—a mountain of a man. She was certain it wouldn’t be flattering, but in front of those Vikings, the last thing she wanted to do was show off her assets. She’d already unwillingly showed off her ass.

“That’s fine, Reece,” she said quietly. “Will you answer my questions now?”

He strode across the room and handed the shirt to her. “A few. But we should hurry. Wouldn’t want my underlings thinking I have a soft spot for a wench.”

“And why do I have to be a wench?” she asked, fisted hand on either hip, mostly because she couldn’t straighten her arms, but she knew she looked angry in this pose. “Why can’t I be a fair maiden?” She tossed her head, sending her curls dancing about her head.

He chuckled. “I think you’re a tad too saucy to be a maiden.”

“So now I’m a saucy wench?”

She glanced up at him to find him staring at the mounds of her br**sts.

“Should I have a plastic surgeon move my eyes to my chest?” she asked.

He laughed and looked up into her eyes. “That would be rather convenient.”

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. If she wasn’t careful, he was going to figure out that she was all talk. She drew the enormous shirt over her head, and struggled to remove the too small dress underneath.

“You’ve made quite a mess of things,” he said. “I could turn my back if you are feeling shy.”

“Why wouldn’t I be feeling shy? I’ve known you for scarcely an hour and you’ve… you’ve...” Memories of his touch, his kiss instantly warmed her cheeks. “Just turn around!”

“Getting you to fall for me again will be fun,” he said. “It was none too easy the first time. Good thing I like a challenge.” He laughed at some memory he shared with future-her. Now, there was a weird thought.

“I can’t imagine why,” she said sarcastically. “Did you manhandle me within the first thirty minutes of meeting me the first time?” She pulled off the large shirt and struggled out of the little dress.

“No. You scared the hell out of me.”

“Smart guy.”

“It took me several months to find that blazing hot, sensual woman beneath the conservative outer shell. And boy was she worth the wait.” He whistled long and loud.

Hot, sensual woman? He obviously was making stuff up. Poking fun at her. What a jerk! “I guess you’re not so smart after all.”

Loving on Borrowed Time
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He laughed harder. “Ah, Lara, you can’t begin to realize how much I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too. Who are you again?”

“I’m Eirick, king of the Vikings.”

She finally got the dress off and hurriedly tossed on the men’s shirt. It fell to mid-thigh and was better than being nude, but not much.

“Vikings don’t have kings. They have chieftains,” she told him and brushed past him as she approached the clothes on the hooks. Now that her wits were settling into place, she was much happier to fend for herself than to rely on him for assistance.

“Maybe I’m the first.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. He was staring at her bare legs. “Caught again,” she said.

His eyes moved to her face. “I’m trying to contain myself.” Their eyes locked. “I’m not doing a very good job. It’s been eight months since I last saw you.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s been never.”

“I know.” He sighed heavily. “We’d better hurry and get back to the men.”

“Are there any shoes around here?” she asked, finding a worn pair of trousers. She slipped into them and was immediately engulfed by the pants. Reece could have fit in these pants with her. Belly to belly. Thigh to thigh. Mound to… She blew out a breath to clear her thoughts. You’d think the impending doom and gloom would cool her desire, but no. Damn the man for unsettling her so. Lara looked around for a belt, while Reece hunted for some potential footwear. She found a length of rope and cinched it around her waist, before rolling up the trousers several times at the ankles. The shoes he found were a bit small, but she could handle the pinched toes if she didn’t have to walk barefoot through snow.

“Let’s go,” Reece said.

“Wait, you haven’t answered any of my questions yet.”

He sighed impatiently. “One,” he bargained, “and then we go.”

She nodded. “Are we stuck here permanently?”

He shook his head, “As soon as Carl catches up with us, we can leap again.”

“And how long will that be?” she asked, listening for sounds of humming coming from his amulet. It remained silent.

“Usually around three days, give or take. And that was two questions,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“How do I look?”

He gave her the once over. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m picturing you naked.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you sure future-me agreed to marry you?”

“I think you only wanted me for my body.” He struck a ridiculous super model pose with one hand behind his head and his hip jutted forward in her direction, and then winked at her.

She laughed. “Well, it couldn’t have been for your lame sense of humor.” Though she seemed to be laughing quite a lot. Considering their situation, she was surprised she wasn’t huddled in fetal position, quaking in fear, and sobbing with remorse.

He crossed the room and opened the front door, holding it open for her. “Let’s go, saucy wench. I have Vikings to lead. Villages to pillage.”

“Saucy wenches to tame,” she added as she passed him.

“Now, why would I want a tame one?” he asked and swatted her on the rear.

She glared at him, but he just grinned. The man was enjoying himself far too much. And despite all her protests, she’d like to enjoy him a little more.

Chapter 3

There were seven women, in ad***ion to Lara, tied back to back in pairs, sitting on the bottom of the long boat. Reece had taken it upon himself to tie her up, telling her to pretend she was tightly bound. Her ropes were loose enough for her to pull free, but their ruse had to be believable. She allowed the curtain of her ever bothersome curly hair to shield her face so she could watch the Vikings, in particular the fake Viking standing at the prow of the boat who claimed to know her in the future. The oars sloshed in the water rhythmically as they navigated the coast of some frigid land. Lara suspected it to be Norway, but she couldn’t be sure.

The woman tied to Lara’s back was crying softly. Another woman leaned against the distraught woman to try to bring her comfort. She murmured words of encouragement beneath the bawdy singing and rhythmic rowing of the Viking warriors. Lara didn’t doubt the captives had lost husbands that day and likely would never see their children again. She began to formulate a plan of escape for all of them. Lara knew they would have to wait until they reached shore—no one would survive the frigid waters—but surely, with Reece’s help, they could free these women and allow them to return to what was left of their families.

The sun had set over an hour ago, and a dense fog hugged the shoreline. The dragon figurehead projected from the prow of the boat and sliced through the night like a monster of nightmares. Lara sniffed her frozen nose and wished she had the use of her hands to warm the tips of her ears. She was shivering, her teeth chattering together like a windup novelty toy. The baggie clothes she wore allowed for a somewhat insulated layer of air above her skin, and the woman to her right shared some body heat, but Lara could not remember ever being so cold. The hard deck beneath her provided no comfort, and her back ached from being in such an uncomfortable position for over a dozen hours.

The warrior standing beside Reece at the prow, suddenly shouted, “Lift your oars!”

The oars lifted out of the water in semi-unison and the boat slowed. Several ropes were tossed overboard.

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“Pull her in!”

Splashing could be heard in the water near the head of the boat and the vessel began to move forward slowly, until it scraped across land and came to a complete stop.

“Put the slaves to work,” one of the lead Vikings called to the crew.

The captives were untied from each other and hauled to their feet. A few of the women cried out in protest but were quickly silenced with a backhand across the face. Though her legs were cramping as if she’d run a marathon, Lara climbed to her feet without assistance, and obediently took the heavy sack someone handed her and passed it to the next person in the chain as they unloaded the boat assembly-line fashion.

Once the stolen goods were safely on shore, the human cargo was unceremoniously tossed overboard. The largest of the warriors caught the frightened women and rather than setting them down, handed them off to other men who carried them towards the fiery lights in the distance.

Lara tensed when it was her turn to be hefted overboard. The big warrior on the ground caught her easily and started to hand her off to some Viking she did not recognize. Before she could protest, a familiar voice sounded in the dim light given off by torches.

“That one is mine. Take her to my quarters and don’t mess her up. Leave that to me.”

Lara knew it was part of Reece’s ruse, but she couldn’t stop the thread of fear winding itself around her heart, giving her an unsettled, panicky feeling in her stomach. The warrior started forward, carrying Lara away from the security Reece offered to the unknown of the settlement in the distance. She felt some of the terror the other women must be feeling. At least, she would be leaving this brutal world soon. The other slaves had the rest of their lives to spend here. She had to help them escape somehow. The warrior carrying her copped a feel, but she was too terrified to protest and pretended he was accidentally squeezing her breast like a ripe melon. You didn’t mess with a burly, bearded guy carrying an ax. Nope, wasn’t going to happen.

They entered a long, wooden structure. Vikings apparently had a “thing” for all things long. Long boats, long swords, long houses. Long beards. Now, just what were they compensating for? She grinned at the thought, imagining Mr. Fondle would own a very expensive sports car if he’d lived in the future. Lara was carried to the rear of the building and dumped on the floor inside a small room.

“Stay here. Punishment will not be kind if you disobey,” the warrior warned. Her look of fright must have assured him of her obedience, for he turned on his heel and strode away, closing the door behind him.

Lara glanced around Reece’s “quarters”. Not much by way of furniture, but plenty of warm bed coverings. She dove into the pallet on the platform built into the wall and huddled beneath the blankets and hides, attempting to regain some body heat.

Reece arrived some time later. She was certain he’d been busy doing his Vikingly duties. Whatever those might be.

“Reece?” she called.

“I thought you might be asleep,” he said, removing the wicked helmet from his head and running his hands through his dark brown hair. It was longer in the front than the back and had a habit of falling over his right eye. “Are you hungry? I think I’m expected at the party. You’ll probably have to serve me and keep me in mead. You think you can handle that?”

“Reece, we have to do something to help those women escape.”

He glanced at her and shook his head. He ground his teeth together and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “I’d like to, but we can’t risk it.”

“What? Why not?”

“We could change history forever. I know it seems cruel, but we can’t interfere with these events. It’s dangerous enough that we participate in them.”

“So we just let them be used and abused by these horrible people.”

“They aren’t so bad,” Reece told her, removing the fur that covered his shoulders and then the jacket underneath. The jacket was cloth, but had parallel rows of metal studs covering it. “Just doing what they must *****rvive. Now, slave girl, go find me some warm water so I can wash.”

“What?”

“Well, you don’t expect me to go get it, when I have a perfectly good slave to do my bidding,” he said, removing his undershirt now.

She stared at his bare back, her mouth going dry. He turned to look at her. “Are you going to laze there in my bed all evening? If that’s the case, I might have to join you.”

She crawled from the bed, heart thudding. “Well, I can’t have that!” she said. Her pants got tangled in the bedding which had tumbled to the floor. By the time she managed to free herself from the dastardly hides and blankets, her pants were at her ankles. Reece had the audacity to chuckle.

“Get yourself a decent saucy-wench dress while you’re at it. I can’t have my gorgeous captive slave looking like a beggar.”

She scowled at him.

“You promised to play along,” he reminded her.

“In public. We are not in public right now.”

“We will be. The longer you stay in this room alone with me, the more obvious it will become that you are most certainly not a fair maiden.”

He stalked across the room like a predator seeking his prey. He stopped before her and stared down at her hungrily. “On second thought, that’s exactly what I want them to think.”

Lara squeaked when Reece’s arm circled her waist. He pulled her against him and leaned closer until she could see the green flecks in his hazel eyes. Her stupid body went limp, melting against his as she anticipated the kiss she craved. “You know if I kiss you now, I’m not going to stop,” he said. “Not until you call my name in that ***y way you do when you come really hard.”

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Her eyes ached as they widened to unnatural proportions. When she what? He didn’t really just say that did he? Heat crept up her neck and cheeks. She’d never been more embarrassed—or excited—in her entire life. How dare he speak to her like that?

“I still remember how good it feels to be buried in your hot, tight pu**y.” His tongue slid between his lips and brushed against her upper lip. She gasped, but didn’t move away. “Like a glove of warm, slick satin.”

Pull away, she thought. Don’t let him talk to you like that. It’s indecent... And so ***y. Lara’s heart rate accelerated out of control and she knew she was panting but couldn’t help it. Nor could she help that her ni**les were taut and her... pu**y was hot, swollen and pulsating with need.

“I’ll f**k you deep and hard, Lara,” he said, his voice low. “My fingers digging into your ass to hold you still so I can grind against your clit with each thrust.”

Every nerve ending in her body was alive with excitement. She didn’t understand any of this. She wasn’t the type of woman who got all stupid and excited over a man and a few vulgar words. It just wasn’t her. Was it?

He grinned at her. “Don’t look so mortified, sweetheart. It took me months to figure out that you like dirty talk. It really turns you on, doesn’t it?”

“Does not!” She shoved him away, too flustered to be angry about the knowing chuckle he emitted.

“Why don’t you go see if someone has something you can wear?” he said, as he continued undressing. “If you keep dropping those pants, I can’t be held accountable for trying to get in them.”

She scrambled out of the room, holding up her pants with one hand as she fled the room. She wasn’t going because he told her to. Or because she was so aroused that she’d probably let him get into her pants with no protest. Or that he was getting naked and she so wanted to ogle every inch of him. She was fleeing his presence because she wanted to. Yeah.

She closed the door behind her and went to find someone who looked like they knew what was going on. A tired-looking, middle-aged woman stood near the center of the main room, stirring a pot of stew over the fire. Along the walls of the longhouse were bunks built into the wall. Situated in front of the bunks were long, wooden tables. Some of the men were sitting on the bunks talking amongst themselves and enjoying enormous mugs of what Lara decided was mead.

As Lara passed one of the bunks, she heard a loud grunt. She caught sight of a large, blond man rhythmically thrusting into the flushed woman beneath him before he grunted again and collapsed on top of her. They were having *** right out there in the open! No one seemed to notice but Lara. Wide-eyed, Lara diverted her gaze and made a beeline for the woman standing over the fire.

“The chieftain would like some warm water so he can wash,” Lara said in perfect Norse, surprising herself again.

“Well, I ain’t about to get it. I’m cooking here, if you can’t tell.”

“I will get it. I just need to know how.”

Lara glanced down at the interesting stew bubbling over the fire. Various roots and chunks of meat floated to the top and sank beneath the rich broth again as the woman stirred. It didn’t look very appetizing, but it smelled edible. Lara’s stomach growled. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she last ate. They’d been offered no sustenance except for a bit of water on the boat ride here.

“Well, fastest way would be to grab a pot of snow and melt it over the fire, now wouldn’t it?”

Lara realized the woman was insulting her intelligence, but she had no choice but to ask. “So where do I find a pot.”

The woman nodded towards a wall near one of the bunks.

“Thank you,” Lara said, “My name is Helga.” She hadn’t meant to say Helga. She’d meant to say Lara. She tried again. “Helga, my name is Helga.” Every time she tried to say Lara, Helga came out instead. “Helga. Helga. My name—”

“Your name is Helga, I understand.”

“No, my name is,” Lara gritted her teeth, concentrating very hard to say her real name, “Helga.”

The woman gave Lara a very strange look, which she definitely deserved. With a frustrated huff, Lara gave up on niceties and went to collect a pot from the wall. She hurried to the end of the long house, tripping over the ballooning legs of her pants. She pushed the heavy door open and stepped outside. At once, she realized she was missing something important. Shoes! She’d taken them off soon after climbing into Reece’s bed. It was freezing. She did a high-stepped march to a bank of snow next to the cleared walking path, scooped snow into the pot and high stepped it back into the building. It had been a long day. She knew she had lost her reasoning ability, but walking barefoot through the snow seemed a tad over the top. But not nearly as ridiculous as being unable to say your own name.

“Lara. Lara. Lara,” she repeated under her breath on her way back to the fire. People were staring at her as she passed. Not that she blamed them. She could do this. She could tell the cranky, tired lady her real name. She set the pot of snow next to the fire and stood up confidently. “Helga!” she announced loudly.

The woman shook her head.

“Damn it,” Lara cried. “I give up. I can’t say Lara no matter how hard I try.” She glanced up at the woman. “I said it.”

“You said what?” She was obviously getting annoyed.

“My name.”

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“Helga?”

“No, my real name. It’s Helga.” Lara stomped her foot angrily. “Helga.” She huffed out an annoyed breath. Forget it! The snow was starting to melt. “Eirick…” She’d tried to say Reece, but Eirick came out instead. “Eirrrrrick…”

“What about Eirick?” the woman asked.

“Eirick told me to find appropriate clothing.”

“Ingrid,” the woman called to a young girl. “Bring this daft woman a dress to wear. She looks about Olga’s size.”

“Yes, mum!”

So she was labeled as daft? Well, she supposed it was fitting, the way she’d carried on about her name. What kind of lunatic tells someone her name twenty times? A few minutes later, the young girl brought Lara a woolen gown of deep blue.

“This will look very pretty with your blonde hair,” the girl said. She handed the gown to her and scampered away before Lara could thank her.

“Blonde hair?” Lara murmured, perplexed. She had brown hair, some reddish highlights, but in no way was she a blonde. She used the bottom of her linen shirt as a potholder as she picked up the pot of melted snow and glanced down at her reflection. Instead of her own familiar face, some beautiful blonde woman stared back at her. Lara screamed. She seemed to be doing that a lot today.

Chapter 4

Reece, aka Eirick, stormed out of his chambers, long sword in one hand, the look of a crazed warrior on his face.

“What happened? I heard a scream,” he said.

Lara looked up at him. Her eyes felt like they were about to pop out of her head. “It isn’t me.”

“It damn well was you,” cranky, tired lady said. “She’s the one screaming and carrying on like a crazy person. She might be easy on the eyes, son, but she’s about as smart as this spoon of mine.” She brandished the spoon at Reece. “I know I told you to bring back a wife, but I was hoping you’d be smart enough to go for more than looks, Eirick. Heavens, what kind of grandchildren can I expect out of this match.”

“Ah mother,” Reece said with a devilish grin. “She’ll settle down. I’m certain of it.”

He lowered his sword and approached Lara, wrapping an arm around her back.

“It isn’t me,” she said, shaking her head, still unable to comprehend what she’d seen in the water’s reflection. “It isn’t me.”

“Come,” he said gently.

Eirick’s mother was shaking her head sadly. “Fool men,” she said under her breath. “They’re all alike. Even my own son.”

Reece ushered Lara into his room and closed the door. He took the pot of water from her and set it on a table.

“What happened, Lara?”

“You mean Helga.”

“Helga?”

“Tell me, Reece. When you look at me, do you see a beautiful blonde Norsewoman, or do you see the real me?”

“I see the real you, of course. You see me, right? Not this Eirick dude?”

“I see you,” she said. “You should have warned me that everyone else was seeing someone else. I made a complete ass out of myself.”

Reece chuckled. “No, sweetheart, you made a complete ass out of Helga.”

That made her feel a little better. Just a tiny bit. She smiled, and then laughed.

“Well, Helga didn’t make a very good impression on her future mother-in-law.”

Reece chuckled. “There’s nothing unusual about that,” he said. “Do you mind if I wash up?”

Her eyes drifted over his hard muscled chest, sprinkled with dark chest hair. The tips of her br**sts tautened, imagining those course hairs brushing against her sensitive ni**les. She blinked hard and her attention shifted to the narrow, strip of hair that ran between his washboard abs and disappeared into the waistband of his pants. The ache centered between her thighs caught her off guard. Oh geez, she was picturing him above her again. Those narrow hips between her thighs. The secret in his pants thrusting deep into her body.

“Of course not,” she breathed, somehow working enough brain cells to remember his question. “If you smell half as bad as your bed, you could use a bath.”

“You want me.” He grinned at her.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She turned her back to him and examined the woolen gown she’d been given. It was quite simple—an A-line, floor length number with an empress waist, long-sleeves, and a straight-lined bodice.

“Don’t forget I know you, Lara. I know that look. And baby, let me assure you that it is so good between us. You don’t have to play coy with me.”

“Who’s playing? I don’t want you, okay?”

“I also know all your spots,” he added.

“I don’t have spots,” she said testily.

He chuckled again. “Oh Reece,” he gasped, mocking her higher pitched voice. “Oh, yes. Right there. Don’t stop. Oh, faster, Reece. Faster. Oh, yes, that’s the spot. Yes. Yes!”

“Stop that!” she demanded, turning her head to glare at him. “I know you’re making it up, because I never call out like that during ***.”

“You do when you’re with me.”

“Whatever!” She huffed and turned away again. He’s such a liar! She would never give herself over to passion so freely that she’d cry out like that. Her previous experiences with men had all been less than satisfying. If it weren’t for her trusty vibrator, she wouldn’t have known what an orgasm felt like.