Enslaved by the Viking. Harper George St.

before her, though facing away from her.

      Hard muscles worked beneath the golden smoothness of his skin as he folded the garment and placed it on a bench. Merewyn couldn’t help but notice how wide and powerful his shoulders were. His back was long and lean where it led to a tapered waist. It was marred by a patchwork of scars that she assumed were from battle. Perhaps from the nicks of the many blades he must have fought over the years. There wasn’t a spare inch of flesh on him. Even his buttocks were chiselled with muscle. He exuded strength and confidence. It was then she admitted that under other circumstances she might have found him handsome. If Alfred had presented him to her as a potential husband, she would have encouraged his suit—had he been Saxon.

      But Alfred would probably never present a suitor to her now, and it was all because of this Dane before her. The thought made her angry, so she was standing there with clenched fists when he turned around. She caught a glimpse of male flesh framed in dark blond curls before she pulled her gaze away, her face flaming.