Valhalla Cupcakes Read Online Free Page A

unable to tear her eyes off him. She had an idea and closed her eyes, counting to ten. When she opened them, he’d be gone, and then she’d call a doctor. “Five, six …”
    “You didn’t lose your mind.”
    She opened her eyes, not making it all the way to ten, and swore. “Do you want a cupcake?” she asked, unable to think of anything else to say. A mysterious Viking on top of everything else. It was impossible. Surely pausing for baked goods would fix things.
    “No thank you. I want the first thing I eat in five hundred years to be juicy red meat.”
    “Five hundred years,” she repeated, staggering to a chair. That was an awfully long time.
    He hurried to pull one out for her, kneeling in front of her. Way too close, her mind screamed. He put his hands gently on her knees and her breath hitched at the warm touch that jolted up her thighs. Oh, crap.
    She jerked the chair away and jumped back up, edging around him for the kitchen. She had to get things under control, figure out what was going on, and she definitely had to keep him from turning into the crazed barbarian he’d been portrayed as, though his expectant smile was just as nerve wracking. Answers. She needed answers.
    “Really, have a cupcake.” Again, Audrey? That was all she could think to say?
    His eyes changed from merry to confused, then his smile faltered for a moment. “Fine,” he finally said, standing stiffly and crossing his arms.
    She put the remaining cupcakes the mobster jerks had left behind on a plate and brought them out to him, still standing sentinel where she’d left him. He didn’t look nearly as cheerful as he had when she first came down the stairs and she tried to think what had put him off. Having a happy, flirtatious Viking was bad enough. What if he went completely berserk and tore the place apart?
    “Have a seat,” she said, placing the cupcakes on a table and sitting down herself.
    He looked like he went through an intense mental battle with the variety of scowls that passed over his handsome face, before taking a seat across from her.
    “Eat up,” she said encouragingly.
    Her cupcakes could put anyone in a good mood, especially a man who hadn’t eaten in five hundred years. He glared at her before taking a huge bite of a chocolate one. A little frosting clung to his lip and she insanely wanted to lick it off. Before she could control herself, she reached over and wiped it off for him with her thumb. The smile returned and he relaxed, taking another bite and nodding his approval.
    “So, tell me about the painting,” she said, almost cracking up at the ridiculousness of it. Making small talk with the man who’d been a portrait an hour ago. His smile faded and he dropped the cupcake.
    “I was cursed by a witch and imprisoned in that painting for over five hundred years.”
    Oh, wow, he really hadn’t wanted his picture taken. Still not quite able to believe it, she reached across and touched him again, running her hand down his shoulder. The fur of his vest was slightly matted and his bicep twitched under her fingertips. She had never seen, or felt, a man as big as him. Squeezing his arm, she moved closer, almost against her will. He felt real, there was no getting around that. Embarrassed at how much she enjoyed having her hand on him, she leaned back demurely and apologized. She felt her cheeks heat up when he raised an eyebrow at her obvious lack of restraint.
    “Uh, you speak English really well. I hardly hear an accent.” She wanted to ask him if he deserved to be cursed, but didn’t think she’d get an honest answer. Besides existing, which he couldn’t help, he hadn’t done anything so far to alarm her.
    “The painting moved around over the years. Besides English, I speak Japanese, German, French, Portuguese, and of course, my mother tongue, Norwegian.” When she looked astounded, he shrugged. “Five hundred years is a long time and I had nothing better to do than listen.”
    She felt more