4. Dexter
DEXTER
Come again?
I blinked as the giant Viking cocked a clenched fist the size of a toaster. Yeah, that was gonna hurt. I ducked, avoiding a right hook that sent him stumbling into my foyer. Fuck! I was more than capable of defending myself, but Viggo was huge and moreover, he was pissed.
Baby.
Shit. Freya had told him.
I held my hands up in surrender to stall him and plot my next move. I was a black belt and if necessary, I could end this quickly. But I’d prefer to communicate civilly.
“You’re not going to punch me,” I stated calmly.
“I am. I’m angry and I want to smash your pretty fucking face into the wall, punch your lights out, and leave you outside for the wolves to tear you apart limb from limb.”
That was oddly specific.
Viggo’s menacing glare indicated he’d make good on his threat if necessary, too. Christ.
It was hard to believe this was the same man who’d barely looked me in the eye at the mill earlier today. I’d thought he was either incredibly shy or antisocial. And maybe he was both of those things, but he apparently had a temper, too. And with it, I detected the slightest accent.
“Okay, stop,” I barked. “Enough! This isn’t how mature adults discuss issues. But also…fuck you. That’s my baby you’re talking about, and he or she is none of your business.”
Viggo’s brow furrowed angrily. It was kind of scary.
Funny enough, other than Mr. Fox’s initial warning, the word in town was the Big V was a sweetheart, a gentle giant, a kind man who went out of his way to help others. His elderly neighbor adored him. “Mr. Gustafsson might look like a berserker, but he’s an angel.”
His boss, Cooper, who happened to be Reg’s best friend, said Viggo was a talented logger and a veritable woodworking artist. “He’s quiet for sure, but I trust him. The guy knows lumber.”
Nice references overall. No one had mentioned that he was a hotheaded motorcycle-riding maniac.
Viggo heaved a sigh, uncrossing his arms as he paced toward the adjoining great room. I pushed by him, motioning for him to sit at the island.
Quick note: My house was a custom-built log cabin with state-of-the-art finishing touches: hardwood flooring, cathedral ceilings with exposed beams, enormous windows, an open concept contemporary kitchen, and funky chandeliers—like the starburst one in the entry and the modern globe pendants above the island.
And the panoramic views of Lake Norman were absolutely breathtaking.
Moreover, this was a nice home to raise a family in.
I poured two glasses of water and slid one across the island to him. Viggo grunted, but he didn’t sit.
“Freya is my business,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “She’s like family. And that makes the child my niece or nephew…or something like it.”
“Sorry, buddy,” I scoffed in my most derisive tone.
“That’s not how surrogacy works. You have nothing to do with this.
Nothing at all. And to be perfectly honest, I resent the hell out of you barging into my house, threatening me like a thug, and insinuating that I’m some deadbeat dad in the making who’s fucked with your girlfriend. ”
His blue eyes darkened as he reached for his glass. “You don’t know her.”
“Not well, no,” I admitted. “But I went through a respected family planning agency who vetted both of us. Unfortunately, her profile didn’t mention a connection with a psycho who lives in the same freaking town as me. That might have been a deal-breaker.”
“I’m not a psycho,” he replied in a clipped, serious tone. “I’m a concerned friend.”
I sipped my water and took the opportunity to study the angry lumberjack.
Viggo was a very large dude with a ruddy complexion, a trimmed thick beard, and full lips.
Oh, and he had massive biceps. The seams of his plaid shirt were in danger of popping loose…
something I’d noticed at the mill, too. I’d also noticed that his jeans fit him like a fucking glove and that his ass was a thing of beauty.
Not that I’d ever admit it. No way.
“I appreciate the concern, but—”
Viggo huffed irritably. “I’m not concerned about you, donut man. Only Freya…and the child.”
“Look, I’m going to spell this out for you one time only. She’s my surrogate, not my girlfriend, not my wife. We signed a contract. I’m paying her to have my child and—”
“Who will help you raise the kid?” he interrupted.
“Excuse me?”
“Who will help you?” he repeated, annunciating each word. “Do you have a partner, family?”
“I have friends.”
He narrowed his eyes. “The policeman? He’s your boyfriend?”
“What? No! Who told you that?”
“No one. I saw you together.” Viggo sipped his water…aggressively.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was upset about that, too. Oh, great. The big guy was a homophobe. Just what I needed.
“Let me preface this by stating that this is also none of your business, but Reg and I are friends. That’s all.”
“You kissed.” The barstool creaked under his weight as he shifted toward me. “Not a friend kiss.”
I frowned. “How would you know that?”
“Because I fucking saw you from the fucking roof.”
My jaw dropped while my voice went up an octave. “You were spying on me?”
“No! I was removing a tree. The policeman’s property is behind Mrs. Abrams’s. You were in his yard, and your tongue was in his mouth. You’re either his lover or his—”
I slapped my hand on the granite island and glowered. “Enough! That was months ago. We’re not—you know what? I don’t owe you an explanation. And I’m certainly not going to justify my personal life to a bigot I barely know. You can leave now.”
Viggo managed to look insulted and righteous at the same time. An impressive feat for someone who was so in the wrong, it wasn’t even funny.
“I am no bigot. I don’t care who you fuck. Man or woman, does not matter to me.”
“Oh, gee, that’s big of you,” I snarked.
“I’m big.”
I huffed a laugh. Was this lumberjack humor?
“Right. I can see that.”
I gave Viggo a thorough once-over. Not the sexy kind, though. This was more of a deliberate measurement delivered with a sneer I hoped signaled that I wasn’t intimidated. The problem was that my gaze stalled on his beefy thighs and, without my permission, checked out his bulge.
Whoa. Rein it in, Dex.
Viggo frowned. “I don’t care if you’re a homosexual.”
“Bisexual,” I corrected, crossing my arms.
“Me too. Doesn’t matter. The baby matters.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Fine. You’re going to need my help.”
He’d adjusted his tone to something more conciliatory and less…presumptuous. I felt my resolve soften for a beat, then quickly reminded myself that I didn’t know this guy.
“Thank you for you offer, but—”
“It’s not an offer. It’s a statement. You need help with the baby…and it will have to be me.” Viggo slid off the stool gracefully and carefully pushed it in, like a ma?tre d’ at a fancy restaurant. “Good night.”
“Hang on a second.” I marched in his wake to the front door and slipped around him, blocking his exit.
“I’m choosing to believe you’re here because you care about your friend.
However, your willful ignorance of the law is troubling.
You’re in no position to make demands, Viggo.
None. If I have to get a restraining order, I’ll do it. ”
He considered me for a long moment, rubbing his thick beard thoughtfully. “That is very serious.”
“Yeah, it is. ’Cause here’s the thing…I don’t know you.”
Viggo inhaled deeply, his piercing gaze boring a hole in my head. Geez, this man was intense. “There’s an easy solution for that. I don’t like it any more than you do, but…we’ll have to become better acquainted. Starting tomorrow.”
“Uh…excuse me?”
“I’ll buy an apple fritter in the morning. I’ll say hello. We can trade greetings for a week or so and go from there.” He opened the door and tilted his chin. “Good night, Dexter.”
I stood on the porch, my mouth a perfect O as I watched Viggo buckle his helmet, straddle his bike, and rev it to life.
I’d love to claim that I was frozen in place by his sheer audacity and that nothing about this burly man on a Harley did anything for me, but I wasn’t sure that was true.
I’d give myself a stern talking-to later.
For now…what the actual fuck was going on?