Viking Heat by Sandra Hill Read Free Book Online

of these nutcase extremists are offering sex slaves to their loyal followers.” He tapped a pencil on the desk, then elaborated. “You’re mission essential, Nelson. We need you to infiltrate. And we need to engage the enemy in the act.”
    “Ah,” she said, beginning to understand why he’d said she would be well-suited. He must be referring to her boobs. They weren’t large, but they appeared so because of her thin frame. “There are sexier women than me.”
    “Sexy isn’t the best qualification. That would be too obvious. You’re unusual, and it’s not just your . . . uh, attributes. Your red hair, for example. You would attract interest right off the bat.”
    “I beg your pardon. Unusual? Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
    “You’re tall, for another thing. Some men, especially in foreign countries, like big women.”
    “ Big? Now I am insulted.” She was just waiting for him to say that some men were turned on by big butts. That would be the last straw.
    “These aren’t regular sex slaves that they’re offering. They’re . . . um, exotic.”
    She raised her eyebrows at that. Me? Exotic?
    “This is a duty billet, like any other,” he emphasized, letting her know she had no choice.
    Tell me another one! “You can’t be serious. When was the last time you were sold as a sex slave?” Immediately, she regretted her question, knowing full well it was breaking every military rule in the book to address a superior officer in that way.
    His ruddy face flushed with a combination of embarrassment and outrage at her blatant breach of conduct.
    She was saved by the bell . . . or rather, by a tap on the door.
    “Enter,” the commander barked.
    In sauntered six of the SEALs she would be working with. She’d met them all previously.
    One after another, they greeted her, “Red.” “Hey, Red.” “How ya doin’, Red.” “What’s up, Red.” “Lookin’ good, t’day, Red.”
    Joy hated the nickname they’d given her, but when she protested, they used it all the more.
    Omar Jones was half-Arab, half-American, and he would be giving her instructions on the culture she would be entering. The Cajun SEAL, Cage, winked at her. She lifted her chin haughtily, never having forgiven him for paintballing her in the butt. He just laughed.
    The Viking Torolf Magnusson, Max, was the only one married among the bunch. His wife Hilda was a real sweetie, even though some of the SEALs referred to her as Hilda the Hun.
    F.U. leered at her, as usual. She flashed him her Drop dead, dipstick! look.
    The mysterious and darkly brooding Italian, Kevin Fortunato, or K-4, could leer at her any time he wanted . . . which he didn’t, darn it. Apparently he was still in mourning, even after five years, over a wife who had died of cancer.
    And the handsome, equally aloof Luke Avenil, or Slick, who had taken on the role of big brother to her, almost as if he was reluctantly replacing the brother he had failed to save for her. And no doubt about it, he considered her a penance at times. Slick was single and determined to remain that way forever, due to an ex-wife who was continually raking him through the courts for more divorce money, or maybe just to piss him off; that latter being Slick’s opinion after the most recent proceeding.
    “Lieutenant Avenil will head this mission,” the commander told them, then stood. “I’ll leave you to it, Slick.”
    After he left, Slick told them, “We have five days to put this together before deployment, and a lot of prep is needed before that. Are we in this together?”
    “Hoo-yah!” they yelled, jacked up with enthusiasm. But then, they weren’t being sold as sex slaves. On the other hand, they would probably get a kick out of that.
    She had an awful feeling that this was going to be another in a long line of “What was I thinking?” decisions. But she had six well-trained SEALs to watch her back.
    What could go wrong?

He had a funny feeling . . .
     
    Winter was fast