White Goddess

An excerpt from White Goddess

Owen stood astonished before the golden-haired female chieftain of the natives. She was stunning, tall, Nordic in her looks, and wore nothing but a garland of leaves and flowers around her hips. How did she get here? Who was she?

"Imka Helmutsdottir," she said suddenly and extended her hand. The native warriors all around brandished their spears. Owen took her hand and shook it gently.

"You are white man," she said in broken Swedish. "You are from Sweden?" Her yellow tresses fell all around her; they were all that covered her marvelous breasts, like young ripe melons.

Owen tried to maintain his gaze into her eyes, but they were deep, blue, and frighteningly powerful. "No," he said. "I am from England. I am Owen Patrick, second mate on the Wanglow—that ship on the horizon."

She looked, brushed her hair back over her shoulder, revealing one of those perfect, astounding breasts. The other sailors behind Owen murmured. He silenced them in English.

"My father was from Sweden," she said. "He was sailor."

Owen smiled. "Yes. I'm sure he was." Imka came close to the raven-haired mate. She looked deeply into his dark eyes, examined his rough, black whiskers, so unlike the smooth-faced native men surrounding them.

Without warning, she kissed him on the mouth, softly, a wet kiss with open lips that caught him by surprise. He hardly kissed her back. He hardly dared to breath. The warriors all around could pierce him a dozen times before he got back to the launch. The men murmured again, but all Owen heard was the rushing of blood in his ears.

The girl chief stepped back, looked him over again. "You are handsome, Owen."

"Thank you, Imka," he murmured. He could hardly keep from staring at her beautiful body. "You are...very lovely and...shapely."

She turned suddenly and walked away. Owen's stomach dropped. Had he said the wrong thing? She paused as she passed a tall man with plumes in his hair. "Bathe him and bring him to my hut," she said.