He wore nothing but a leather tunic, spoke in an ancient
tongue . . . and he was standing in Professor Meredith
Foster's living room. The medieval historian told herself he
was part of a practical joke, but with his wide gold belt,
callused hands, and the rabbit roasting in her fireplace,
the brawny stranger seemed so . . . authentic.
Suddenly Meredith was mesmerized by his bronzed, muscular
form, and her body surrendered to the fantasy that Geirolf
Ericsson really was a Viking from a thousand years ago, sent
only to pleasure her. But as she tried to teach him to eat
spaghetti and use a computer, she realized he knew an awful
lot about the tenth century-and so little about this one.
And as he helped her fulfill her grandfather's dream of
re-creating a Viking ship, he awakened her to dreams of her
own. Until she wondered if the hand of fate had thrust her
into the loving arms of . . . The Last Viking