The Viking in My Bed

Lightning Strikes Book One

Bailey Moore is a cynical, wise-talking college student who saves his mushy, romantic side for the historical romances he's addicted to--until he wakes up crushed under six feet three inches of aroused Viking warrior.

At first he takes Freyr Grímsson as a glorious odd ball obsessed with Medieval role playing--down to his rough hewn sword, but Frey insists Bailey is his guide in this new world and when Bailey is attacked by a mysterious creature, he's convinced that he and Frey have to wage a battle to drive evil forces off campus. But when his Viking conquers him in bed, Bailey is afraid Frey will also lay claim to his secret, vulnerable heart.

The title is the biggest hint about what a fun book this is. Jan Irving adds her very own brand of humor and imagination to a tried and tested type of story, and, viola, you’ve got a book that will make you laugh while trying to recover from the very hot between-the-bedfurs activity that is liberally sprinkled throughout the pages. Not to forget the slightly mystical angle and some very evil, disgusting monsters that seem to come straight from the underworld--Serena Yates, QMO Reviews.

Available from Total E Bound here.

Excerpt

Oh. That felt just toooo good.

Warm lips on my sweet spot. A lot of guys had made the mistake of thinking my sweet spot was in the obvious location, but I had a thing for having my right arm pit licked and suckled, right over this little mole.

Whiskers scraped my skin with just the right amount of pressure. I shivered, arching my body.

I was aware I was close to waking up, like a boat about to bump onto a beach but the hand stroking my bare chest felt so good I didn’t want to. What was good about Thursday? Thursday was rain, midterms, coffee with Candy, and maybe I’d be able to squeeze an hour boarding. Maybe.

Thursday was not vivid blue eyes staring into mine. A wide, delighted smile, like a kid’s smile. Ribbons of blond hair falling over a tanned forehead. Miles of muscle that I was...stroking?

I sat up.

“Good. This will be better when you’re awake, yes?” a heavily accented voice boomed.

He was so loud I covered my ears. The guy on top of me had a chest like a fog horn.

“What are you doing?” I squeaked.

I was naked. Since I’d moved into college residence, I could sleep naked which saved a lot of time on laundry. My two other roommates were guys, so it’s not like I was going to offend their tender sensibilities.

“I am making love to you, of course,” the gigantic blond bellowed.

“Stop shouting!” I yelled.

He frowned, looking like a puzzled golden retriever. “You shouted.”

“I live here!” I said with, I have to admit, very little logic. “Listen, Conan, can you get off me?”

He was built like Arnie and he was squishing me into my bed. This had to be a set up. I wondered who wanted to yank my, uh, tail--which was hard enough to wag right now.

But so was Conan’s.

“I am not called Conan,” he told me stiffly.

“Uh huh. So how much did my friends pay you?”

Focus, I scolded myself. I got out of bed and grabbed some briefs off the back of a chair.

Conan got out of bed and stood there, hands on his hips, as naked as Michelangelo’s David.

“Where’d you put your clothes?” I looked around, then sniffed. “Do you smell smoke?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” he noted.

“Is that a new kind of weed? What is that smell?” Had I left the boiler plate on again? Geez. It smelled like scorched earth in here. It hadn’t been that long since I’d done laundry.

“It is the mark of my passage to this world,” Conan said.

Great. He was some kind of geek. Gorgeous, but obsessed with role playing. Figures.

But he had a sweet smile.

And I had class in less than an hour.

I tossed more clothing, looking for a clean T-shirt. I found one with palm trees and camels my Mom had snagged for me on a trip to Cairo. It was clean. Now I needed my favourite pair of stone washed jeans.

Conan was still standing there, glowering at me like I was a servant boy who’d forgotten to dress his royal highness.

“Okay,” I said. “I gotta get to class. It was real funny. Now go, your lordship.”

“I am Freyr Skallagrimson.” He continued in a language I didn’t understand. Maybe it was Middle Earth. I found my jeans.

“There’s coffee and I think some left over pizza in the fridge,” I told him. “Bye.”

I sneaked one last look at him over my shoulder as I snagged my backpack.

He took my breath away. Glowing golden skin, glowering at me out of electric blue eyes, hands on his corded hips, the kind of hips with dimples created by muscles. He had scars on his body too. Holy geez. I gave him a wistful glance and then slammed the door behind me.

Copywrite: Jan Irving

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