"Why would you willingly-I assume it is willingly-undergo the torture to become a Navy SEAL?"

Max grinned at his homing in on the most irrelevant of what he'd told him. "Seemed logical at the time. Vikings, SEALs, same thing, really. We both love the water, ships, fighting, drinking, sex . . ." He let his words trail off and winked, as if they shared a joke.

They did, except that the joke was on Trond.

Trond knew he'd have to answer Max's questions soon or he'd have both him and Nicole riding his ass. Nice thought, that, he mused with what was probably hysterical irrelevance. Oh crap! Is Max yet another SEAL I must save? No, there's no sin scent. No Lucie scent, either. Much more sniffing and people will think I'm one of those drug-inhaling addicts. Like I need another sin to add to my inventory!

"You find me amusing?"

Trond shook his head. "No, it's our situation that is amusing, and you will soon realize why."

"Cut to the chase, dude. The commander wants to see you ASAP, and we're wasting time here. Are you a time traveler, too?"

"Sort of. I was born in the year 821, and I died in the year 850. Yes, died. Since then, for one thousand, one hundred, and sixty-three years I have been bouncing around through all the time periods, back and forth, like a demented rabbit, on various missions."

"And you stay the same age?"

He nodded.

"Awesome!"

Trond wasn't sure how "awesome" it was to live on, and on, and on, or to have fangs, or to be forbidden some of life's greatest pleasures, like rampant sex. "I will be staying in present time from now on."

"And still staying the same age as the years go on?"

"Yes."

"Awesome!" Then he seemed to think of something. "Missions . . . you mentioned missions. For whom? Holy Thor! You haven't infiltrated the SEALs for some tango warlord, have you? If so, I'm gonna have to kill you, buddy."

Not gonna happen. In fact, can't happen. "My overlord is no tango."

"Are you working for Najid?"

"Who?"

"Najid bin Osama."

"No, I work for . . . uh, a guy named Mike." That's all he would say, for now.

Max narrowed his eyes at him. "But you are here on a mission, aren't you?"

Trond hesitated, then admitted, "I am."

"Fuck! Double fuck! I don't know what to do now. The CO wants you involved in an upcoming SEAL operation, but I can't in good conscience allow that until I know more about you and why you're here."

Trond put a hand on his arm. "Trust me. I suspect you and I are puppets whose strings are being pulled by the same master."

Max frowned. "Uncle Sam?"

Trond laughed. Looking up toward the sky, he said, "A higher authority than that."

"Good Lord!"

"Precisely."

Max was clearly unconvinced and confused. "Wait a minute. You asked me before if I was a vangel. What the hell's a vangel? Don't tell me, you're a bloody angel? Ha, ha, ha!"

You got the bloody part right. "Um."

"What? You can't be serious. A Viking angel?" Max hooted with mirth, slapping a hand on his thigh with delight at the idea.

"Better than that," Trond revealed. "A Viking vampire angel." Turning so that only Max could see, he flashed his fangs at him.

Max jerked back with surprise. If he weren't a Viking, he probably would have pissed his pants, the reaction vangels often got. As it was, all Max said was "Awesome!"

Eight.

Some women have a taste for pigs . . .

Nicole shouldn't have been watching the doorway for Trond, but she was. Darn it! What was it about women and gay men? Women knew they couldn't change them, and yet there was this innate urge to try. Especially when they were so sinfully good-looking.

To her embarrassment, Marie had to nudge her a time or two to pay attention.

Finally, after forty-two minutes, not that she was keeping a precise count, Max returned to the command center with Trond, and the two of them looked like long-lost pals. Not gay pals-Max was married-just birds-of-a-feather, swaggering, SEAL-type buddies. Plus, they were both of Norse origin, she recalled. Who could figure out male bonding?

Trond must have been working out all morning. He was wet and sandy and badly bruised on one cheek and a forearm. Perspiration soaked his T-shirt and shorts. Despite all that, he looked healthy and downright virile.

He spotted her then, and their eyes connected. For only a second. But it was a powerful second. She felt as if he'd zapped her with some erotic shock, just by gazing at her. Then she noticed the odd expression on his face, and she realized that he was equally affected by this strange attraction between them.

Holy moly! Maybe I'm going to be the first woman in history to turn a gay guy?

No, no, no! I am not getting involved with him.

Why not?

I can't believe I'm arguing with myself.

You haven't had sex in a year, and that one time didn't really count. A year and a half would be more accurate. A one-night stand with a sailor suffering predeployment performance issues does not equal good sex.

I want a low-maintenance guy this time. Trond Sigurdsson would not be low-maintenance. He would demand too much. Expect to be catered to. Too much work.

Yeah, but the rewards!

"Tassy!" Marie hissed into her ear. "You're drooling."

Nicole felt her face flame. Luckily no one else noticed since the commander was addressing Trond. "Captain Sigurdsson, has Lieutenant Magnusson brought you up to speed on what we have planned?"

"Briefly, sir."

"Are you interested in joining our effort?"

As a visiting elite force member, not an actual SEAL, Trond did have a choice. "Definitely, sir. As you're no doubt aware, Pashto and Dari are the two primary languages spoken in Afghanistan. Mostly Dari. But the Turkish language is also prevalent, Uzbek and Turkmen, along with other languages, like Baluchi, Pashai, and Nuristani."

Okay, that's impressive. I have to give him credit for having a brain, darn it.

"In other words, we won't know till we get there what language or dialect is being spoken in the drop area," the commander concluded with an exhale of disgust.

"Correct," Trond said, "but if we look at a map of our insertion place, we can make an educated guess . . . subject to change, of course."

"And that's where your expertise would be invaluable," the commander commented.

Trond gave a nod of thanks at the compliment. "There's another thing, though." He paused and wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of a forearm. He and Max were still standing near the closed door. "My Jaeger comrade who came here with me, Karl Mortenssen, is just as adept at languages as I am, possibly better. I would respectfully suggest that you add him to this team, as well."

"We'll consider it," the commander said. "Is your participation conditional on our accepting Mortenssen?"

"No. I'm in, regardless, but it would be a lost opportunity for you . . . in my opinion, of course . . . not to utilize all the talent available. Sir," he added at the last.

"As I said, we'll consider it and let you know shortly. We'll catch you up later on what you've missed this morning after the lunch break, which we'll take at thirteen hundred. In the meantime, have a seat. Everyone," he said then to make sure the entire room was paying attention, "relax for a few moments while we set up the daily schedule for the next three weeks. Be prepared to work your asses off."

Max took his previous seat near the front next to Cage and JAM. For some reason, Nicole was not at all surprised when Trond, on the other hand, walked to the back of the room and sat down beside her. She heard Marie snicker on her other side.

While the commander and Slick were directing Geek on which slides to put up next, Nicole asked Trond in a whisper, "So, is Karl your lover?"

He didn't flinch at her question, which was rather disappointing. Had she been expecting him to tell her it was all a joke? "Nosy little bird, aren't you?" A slight grin twitched at his lips as he stared at her mouth.

Was her lipstick smeared? No, she hadn't had time to put makeup on. Maybe she had dried milk from her breakfast cereal. She licked her lips quickly to make sure.

His grin was full-blown now.

"Cut it out, birdbrain."

"Huh?"

"Stop looking at my lips," she said.

Blinking with surprise, he inhaled and exhaled with an odd hissing sound, and blinked several times more.

Crime-in-ey! Was there anything sexier than a guy with almost no hair and eyelashes like silky black fans? It made her wonder about other hair. Like, did he have a sweet Happy Trail veeing down to . . . oh my God! Her mind was out of control. She coughed to clear her throat and barely choked out, "Are you still in the closet?"

"What closet?" Seeing the glower on her face, he concluded, "Oh, you mean is my sexual activity a secret?"

She nodded.

"You could say that," he said, then muttered something that sounded like "More like nonexistent."

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone." She put a hand on his thigh and squeezed in a gesture of reassurance.

"Oh no!" Almost immediately, the front of his shorts tented. He glanced around quickly to see if anyone had noticed, but everyone was busy with their own little conversations, and the commander and Slick were still speaking with Geek as he showed them something on his computer screen.

She jerked her hand back and tried not to look, but it was like watching a car wreck. You couldn't look away even when you knew you should. Tilting her head in question, she started to ask him to explain, but he beat her to it.

"It's a miracle!"

Nicole didn't believe in miracles, and the expression on her face must have told him so.

"Don't rub the lamp if you don't want the genie to come out."

"I did not rub your . . . lamp."

"Well, if it's not a miracle, maybe some cocks are dumb and blind when it comes to male or female hands," he surmised, taking her notebook from the floor and setting it on his lap with a decided whack. He was teasing her.

Beware of men with teasing eyes.

"Dumb cock!" she concluded with a shake of her head.

"For sure!" he agreed.

"I think this is all some nefarious charade you're pulling on me."

"Nefarious?"

"You're a liar," she explained.

"I never lie."

"Is that a fact?"

"Practically a fact. Mostly a fact. Ninety-nine and seven-eighths percent a fact."

Despite herself, she laughed.

He turned fully in his seat and smiled, probably thinking her laugh was a signal that all was forgiven . . . or forgotten. Not a chance!

He smiled some more.

Beware of men with smiles.

It was one of those wicked, all-male smiles that women should take as a warning: Hold on to your panties, baby. The seduction is coming.

"I have an idea," he said, tapping his closed lips thoughtfully.