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hung
down her back, almost to her waist. Strom resisted a sudden urge to pick her up
and bury his face in them.
    Ingrid had laid some food on a low table near the fire, and
he realized that he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten for five hundred years, give or
take a decade.
    “I’m sorry I haven’t had time to shop. It’s just smoked
salmon and rye bread and some cheeses. Oh and I found some Akevitt.”
    Strom sniffed the narrow glass of yellow-tinged liquor,
inhaling the scent of caraway seeds. It reminded him of his grandfather. He
raised his glass to her and downed the shot it in a single gulp, sighing with
pleasure as the alcoholic heat rushed through him.
    “Thank you for your hospitality.”
    “You’re welcome. Now perhaps you might like to tell me your
name.”
    A slow red tide crept up his neck. Damn. He had kidnapped
her from her office, had dragged her into a stolen car and had leered at her
extremely attractive butt up six flights of stairs, but somehow he had
forgotten to introduce himself. He stood up quickly.
    “My apologies, I am Captain Strom Hallstrom, at your
service.”
     
    It was her first opportunity to have a good look at him. He
had the most amazing face, with strong chiseled features and a full lower lip.
Ingrid stared at the mouth that had kissed her so tenderly earlier. Strom’s
eyes caught hers, and she blushed. He knew exactly what she was thinking. His
eyes raked over her long slim legs and he flashed an amused grin when she
caught him looking. Ingrid tried to tuck her legs under her and gave a yelp of
pain.
    “Let me see it.”
    Ingrid stretched her foot toward him and Strom muttered
under his breath when he saw the puncture wound. “Stay there.”
    He was turning alpha male again. Strom disappeared in the
direction of the kitchen and returned with a bowl of warm water and her
first-aid kit. Warm fingers lifted her foot onto his lap.
    “This is going to hurt a little.” He produced a pair of
tweezers and used them to remove a small, jagged object from her foot. Ouch
that hurt . Ingrid closed her eyes and heard the clink of something metallic
drop into the saucer. With deft fingers he strapped up her foot and replaced it
on the couch.
    “The other one.”
    That was a command, rather than a request, and Ingrid found
herself stretching her leg toward him. He wiped some dried blood away from the
underside of her foot and then his ministrations turned to her bruised knees.
For such a big man, he was surprisingly gentle. He massaged the tender skin in
slow circles with a cooling salve before planting a featherlight kiss on one
knee.
    Maybe it was the kiss, or perhaps it was the sight of the
blood-tinged water, but the earlier events of the evening suddenly hit her like
a hammer and Ingrid started to cry. Tears streamed down her face and she
couldn’t seem to stop them. David, Raoul and the others clamored inside her
head for attention and all she could think about was David lying on the
basement floor. It was all her fault he was there.
    “Ingrid. It’s just shock, Ingrid.” Strom’s voice seemed to
come from far away. Then he pulled her into his arms and she clung to him. He
stroked her back, murmuring softly to her as she cried.
    She kissed him first, a pleading demand for comfort, some
way of feeling normal again. He pulled away, momentarily surprised by her reaction,
and then Strom’s index finger brushed her lower lip gently and she closed her
eyes. His mouth touched hers, tasting her, and then began a slow, sensual
exploration. She kissed him back hungrily. Her palms stroked his broad chest,
sliding along his neck, and she fingered through the strands of his hair. She
couldn’t seem to get close enough to him.
    With a reluctant groan, the viking broke the kiss and eased
her down onto a pile of cushions, before taking her mouth again. Sliding her
hands along his muscled back, her fingers inched their way beneath his shirt
and she stroked the warm skin beneath. His mouth left hers,