Free Her Viking Wolf by Theodora Taylor Page A

she said. “I’m definitely not speaking Norse. And I guess that means you’re not speaking English.”
    “Nay. It would seem our being fated mates would serve as a translator.”
    She narrowed her eyes. “You’re saying our ability to use telepathy is allowing us to talk back and forth despite our language barrier.”
    “Telepathy—this be Greek for talk of the mind’s eye, yea?”
    “Yes,” she answered.
    “Then yea, that be my conclusion.” He patted the stove, as if that subject were thoroughly closed. “Now, you may prepare us a feast so we may break our fast before we mate again.”
    “Um, excuse me?” she said.
    He crooked his head to the side and his eyes hooded. “I can smell the strength of your arousal. You would have me again, and I would have you.”
    “Yeah, but…” Her throat went dry and her cheeks heated with embarrassment. Did he have to point out he could smell her?
    “Are you not trained in the woman’s arts?” he asked. “Have your engineers come up with…” He paused to remember the word. “…‘technology’ by which food may be prepared for you?”
    And that was how Chloe Adams, the woman behind one of the most popular do-it-yourself blogs in the United States, ended up fixing the werewolf who had crossed time and space to get to her a year-old frozen dinner as his first meal in her home.
    Fenris was fascinated by the “technology magic” of the microwave and that it “emitted no heat outside of its cage.”
    But he was confused by the meal itself. “It tastes good, but it does ring false on tongue,” he said, frowning.
    Chloe, who was at the stove, fixing herself an egg scramble and doggedly ignoring the fact that she could feel her heat dripping into panties, answered, “That’s the preservatives you’re tasting, all the chemicals they use to make the food keep for a long time. But don’t worry.”
    She pushed the egg scramble onto a plate, which she set in front of him. “You’ll like this better. It’s made with all organic products.”
    He shifted his fork away from the frozen dinner and dug into the scramble. After the first bite, he nodded, grinning as he chewed. “I should not have accused you of being untrained in the woman’s arts. Your skill does please my stomach greatly.”
    Chloe glowed a bit under the compliment. “Thanks.”
    He scooted back in his chair and patted his lap. “I would have you share this meal with me.”
    Even after what they’d done last night, Chloe could not help but feel awkward with this request. Yes, they were mated now, but that didn’t eclipse the fact that she still barely knew him, and she was still riddled with guilt about Rafe...
    “Actually, I can make another one for myself. Scrambles are really easy. Too easy, really. I usually put in more effort than this, especially with guests. I’m a little embarrassed, actually—”
    She cut off mid-ramble when his hand snaked around her wrist.
    “I would have us share,” he repeated.
    Before she could deny his request a second time, she found herself tumbling down into his lap, her back landing against his hard chest, her butt firmly nestled into his erection.
    He ate half of the scramble with his arm anchored around her waist, then he handed her the fork and watched her finish off the rest in a silence that almost seemed to crackle with sexual tension. It was all she could do to keep herself still on his lap as she finished their shared breakfast.
    “Tell me,” he said after she took her last bite. “Why have you so much looking glass on your cooking room wall?”
    It took her a moment to realize he was talking about the kitchen wall, which was lined in mirrored tile. “Oh, um, well, it’s kind of hard to explain. What you call the woman’s arts—that’s kind of what I do for a living.”
    “A living?” he asked, confusion in his voice.
    “That’s my job. Do you know job?”
    “Yea, I see, you cook for others. As a servant.”
    “Yes, but not really for