Unleashed

“Only if you find happy, satisfied and loyal employees problematic. I do not.”

He kept one hand in the small of Margot’s back as he moved her through the big bar doors and back into the gleaming lobby, as much to maintain contact with her as to guide her anywhere.

And also because he suspected any hint of chivalry would irritate her. The more irritated she was, the more likely she was to stay off balance.

And Thor had a powerful urge to rattle this woman, just a little. Just enough. To peel away her composure and see beneath it.

He had thought she was attractive from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, stalking across his hotel and then sitting as far away as it was possible to get from the place while still being in it. But it was something else again to talk with her.

Especially when she’d been so committed to shutting down what she’d seen as his unwelcome advances. Thor couldn’t remember the last time he’d been rejected. He’d enjoyed the experience, if he was honest.

And he’d enjoyed her.

Thor liked her brain—especially when he could see her using it.

At him.

He’d always had a thing for smart women, but he found himself particularly intrigued by Margot, who seemed to be so delightfully unaware of her own body’s needs and the way she was broadcasting them. He could feel her anticipation even now. It was like a hum just beneath her skin and he could feel it in the fingertips that grazed her back.

Thor led her across the lobby, smiling at Freyja behind the main desk, and headed for his private elevator far in the corner.

“Let me guess. You’re taking me to your dungeon.”

Thor studied Margot as they stepped into the lift and she put as much distance between them as it was possible to get in such a small, enclosed space.

“I can tell that you are joking,” he said after a moment. “But perhaps not entirely joking, yes?”

“Of course I’m joking.” She sounded fierce. But Thor noticed that it wasn’t until the elevator doors were closed behind them and the lift moved upward that she released the breath she was holding. Her shoulders inched down from around her ears.

“Professor, you must trust me on this, if nothing else,” he murmured, enjoying himself far more than he should. “You are in no way ready for the dungeon.”

He was fascinated anew by the flush that stained her cheeks and swept down her neck. And the suggestion of heat—and a thousand questions—in her gaze.

And more than all that, the fact she didn’t reply.

Thor felt certain that her silence said a great deal more than she likely wished to reveal.

“Why no kissing?” he asked mildly as the lift rose, slow and steady. He lounged across from her, crossing his arms and his legs at the ankle as if they were off to discuss something prosaic. Numbers, perhaps. Or taxes.

Margot frowned. “You agreed.”

He couldn’t quite hide his smile. “I agreed, yes. I’m wondering why.”

“Because it made more sense that way.” She blinked, as if she hadn’t wanted to say that. Or not quite that way. “Kissing is too...”

“Intimate?”

He watched another flush of color move over her face, deeper this time, making an interesting counterpoint to the lavender of her hair. It made her look prettier, though that shouldn’t have been possible. It made her look delicate, and oddly young in contrast to the scowling severity she had exuded down at the bar.

And he felt that like a long, hot lick down the length of his cock.

“Kissing is something you do in a relationship,” Margot declared as if she had a doctorate in the subject. It was possible she did. “It has no place in this sort of arrangement.”

“You say that with great authority. Have you had many such arrangements?”

“We already agreed that this is for research, Mr.—” She stopped herself. “Thor. There’s no need to confuse the issue.”

He shrugged. “I cannot say that I have ever found kissing confusing.”

“You also consider sex to be about as intimate as a handshake. It’s possible that you’re not really the ideal control group for this experiment.”

That amused him. “I can tell the difference between sex and a handshake.”

He wondered if she realized that she had crossed her arms over her chest, too. Mirroring him, perhaps. Or Thor supposed it was possible she was simply naturally defensive. Either way, that awkward bristling, endearing as it was, melted away the more professorial she got.

He filed that away.

“You said downstairs that you get to know people through sex.”

“There is little that’s more revealing. I mean that literally, of course.” His mouth curved. “As the participants are usually naked.”

“And modesty is not a huge concern here, is that right?”

“It is my belief that false modesty has no place anywhere,” Thor replied. “But Icelanders spend a lot of time in the baths, as I’m sure you know. We are used to seeing all sorts of different body shapes. It is not like America, where you are bombarded with images of unhealthy bodies constantly. It’s a wonder that Americans ever take their clothes off at all.”

Margot nodded as if he’d confirmed something for her. “So your position is that sex ought to be as casual as a trip to the hot tub. And you would prefer to start with sex rather than beginning with a coffee or a dinner date, which I’m sure you know is more common in other countries.”

He laughed. “It must surely be far more awkward to share a meal with someone who, for all you know, will completely fail to satisfy you in any way sexually. Why waste all that time?”

Thor was being somewhat facetious. But there was something about the way she frowned at him. There was something about the way her theories seemed broadcast across her face. He could see her turn over the things she thought, one after the next. He wasn’t entirely sure why he thought it was so hot.

And why not play into her ideas about their cultural differences? She wasn’t entirely wrong. Thor had spent a very informative year in America when he’d been of university age. He had been amazed at the gulf between the permissiveness of the American media, in all its forms—like bikini-clad models on hand to sell a hamburger—and the actual behavior of its citizens in private.

“Do you consider yourself a sexual libertine?” she asked him, in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, as if the word libertine was one people usually threw about so casually in conversation.

“Are you asking for personal reasons, given what we’re about to do? Or is this more of your general research?”

“Research. Of course.”

“I have been called many things in my time,” Thor replied. And then laughed. “Why do you ask?”

“Yours was the name that came up repeatedly while I was doing interviews on Laugavegur. I’m trying to decide if you’re different from the average Icelander or if you’re a decent representative of Icelandic mores.”

“I consider myself a unique little snowflake, of course.”

“Well, there are a lot of those in Iceland,” she said. She smiled. “Snowflakes, I mean.”

Thor liked that. He liked the glint of challenge in her hazel eyes that looked gold in the elevator light. And he was looking forward to getting his hands in all that hair.