But Howard was a berserker, a bear. If the bear's instinct was to kill her, could he stop it?

If she continued to see Howard, wasn't that akin to playing Russian roulette? What if he couldn't always control the bear?

A momentary lapse could mean her death.

Howard knew something was wrong when Elsa didn't answer his text message the next morning. He'd asked her to meet him during her break, but she never responded.

He'd half expected this. She had a lot to adjust to, and she'd said she needed time. But time might allow her fear to grow to the point that she rejected him.

He sat at his desk in the security office at Dragon Nest, contemplating his next move. What he needed was a new strategy that would convince her he could be trusted. The bear inside him wanted to haul her off to his nearby cabin and ravish her until she surrendered herself completely.

Howard snorted. The bear tended to think only in physical terms, and while it was true that he was dying to make love to Elsa, her surrender was the last thing he wanted. He wanted her to choose him. He wanted her to love him and come to him of her own free will.

For it wasn't just her body and beautiful face that attracted him. It was her bold spirit, her bright intelligence, her wry sense of humor, her creativity, bravery, generosity, vulnerability - everything that made Elsa who she was. The more he got to know her, the more he craved her.

He wanted to hold her, kiss her, make her moan with pleasure, and watch her shudder with release. He wanted to make her laugh. Wanted to wake her every morning with a kiss. Wanted to cheer her on when she crafted beautiful cabinets and woodwork. He wanted her to succeed. Be happy.

He thought back to the wish he'd made in the park. To love without regret. He wanted his love to bring Elsa joy.

Face it. You're in love with her.

The thought didn't alarm him. Deep in his soul, he'd known he was falling in love with her, and he'd never been tempted to stop it. It felt right. They felt right.

The only problem was the fear generated by his being a berserker. Any woman in her right mind would be afraid to date a man who could turn into a beast. And Elsa had it even worse, for she was descended from a long line of women who were apparently killed by berserkers.

Somehow he had to convince her she was safe with him. That she could trust him. He recalled what she said that night in the park. She'd wished that he could be trusted.

That meant that deep inside, she wanted to trust him, wanted to fall for him. He just needed to tap into that and give her what she truly desired. He wasn't going to give up. He wouldn't even wait.

He would press forward.

Later that afternoon, Elsa was alone, working in the kitchen. The other guys were in the front parlor and dining room, where they were lowering the ceiling by two feet to make room for plumbing and wiring. Madge and her crew had returned from New York City to record their efforts.

Elsa was avoiding the guys today. Yesterday, they had found the flowers and Howard's card on the counter, and now they were having fun teasing her.

She busied herself in the kitchen, removing the cabinet doors. Her plan was to sand and refinish the existing cabinets before building new ones that matched. But first the cabinets needed to be thoroughly cleaned, inside and out.

She was grateful for the hard work. It kept her mind occupied, kept her from thinking about the nightmare with Howard. Or the sexy lovemaking at the beginning of the dream.

She snorted. How foolish could she be? She wanted to think about him fondling her breasts, when his hands eventually grabbed hold of her neck?

Tired of being on her knees with her head inside a cabinet, she straightened and stretched. This was hot, miserable work for July. She pulled off her work gloves, then used some bottled water to wash her hands in the sink and splash some water on her face.

Her cell phone made a dinging noise, signaling a text message.

It was Howard. She groaned. How was she going to tell him she never wanted to see him again? Just the thought brought a pang to her chest. It was going to hurt him. It was already hurting her. And it was too cruel to reject him in a text message. But if she saw him, she didn't know if she could resist him. Huge, handsome Howard.

She read the message.

Look out the window.

She peered out the kitchen window, and her heart swelled. There he was, standing near the woods. How long had he waited there to catch a glimpse of her through the window?

He concentrated on the phone in his hands, and soon her phone dinged again.

I have a picnic basket.

She glanced out the window, and he was lifting a large basket for her to see. A bear with a picnic basket. Her mouth twitched, and she texted back. Did you get that at Jellystone Park?

Don't turn me in to Ranger Smith.

She smiled and texted back. Is it full of donuts?

Come and see what's inside.

He pocketed his phone, then reached into the basket to pull out a checkered blanket. He stretched it on the ground under the canopy of trees.

Elsa watched as he removed more things from the basket. Horrible Howard. He knew what a curious person she was.

She was also hungry and thirsty. It was after four in the afternoon, and she'd had only a salad for lunch. After long hours of physical labor, the picnic looked terribly tempting. No doubt it was cool and breezy beneath those trees, not hot and stuffy like the kitchen. And he was setting it up close to the house. There were a bunch of guys in the house, and her aunts were stationed on the front driveway. After a week of no action, they spent most of their time in the car now, reading and knitting, but they still had their weapons in the trunk.

It should be safe to meet Howard. For a little while. She wasn't much to look at, with her dirty work clothes, but did it matter, when she was just going to reject him? Another twinge jabbed at her heart.

She grabbed the hairbrush out of her handbag, then quickly brushed her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail.

She took a deep breath. Enough with the procrastination. Just get the rejection over with. A quick strike would be less painful.

She marched outside. Be kind, but firm.

He glanced back at her and smiled.

Dammit. The man's smile could melt an iceberg. Stay strong. Determined. Don't waver. "Is that . . . champagne?"

He filled a second wineglass with white fizzy liquid. "Sparkling white grape juice." He handed her a glass. "I thought this would be best in case you had to operate any machinery."

"Oh." That was thoughtful of him.

"Cheers." He clinked his glass against hers and drank.

Good Lord, she'd never realized how sexy a man's throat could be when his Adam's apple was moving up and down with each swallow. Don't think about that! She shook herself and took a sip. The juice was wonderfully chilled. She downed the rest of her glass.

"Good?" He watched her, his mouth curled into the half smile that caused his cheek to dimple.

She nodded, aware of a tingly sensation in her mouth.

"Have a seat." He motioned to the blanket.

"Well, actually . . ." She eyed the plate filled with green grapes, red strawberries, water crackers, and slices of cheese. Another plate held an assortment of Ghirardelli chocolate squares. Would it hurt to share a few bites with him? He'd gone to so much trouble.

"All right." She sat on one edge of the blanket.

He sat on the other side with the plates of food between them. "Let me refill your glass." He leaned closer to pour more juice into her wineglass.

She took a sip. "This was very kind of you."

He popped a grape into his mouth. "The cafeteria lady loaned me the basket. I told her I needed to impress a beautiful woman."

Elsa snorted. "I'm a dirty mess today."

"You're strong and talented at what you do. It's part of what makes you beautiful to me."

She groaned inwardly. Rejecting him was so hard.

"Have some food." He stacked a piece of cheese onto a cracker and bit into it. "How's your day going?"

She nibbled on some cheese. "The guys are teasing me something awful."

"Why?"

"When I followed you yesterday, I left the note on the kitchen counter. You know, the note you wrote . . ."

"Let me prove that I'm worthy of you?"

She nodded, her face growing warm. "Now every time they see me, they bow down and say, 'I'm not worthy'!"

Howard chuckled. "Sorry about that."

She ate another piece of cheese with a cracker and looked about. Three squirrels and a raccoon were watching. A deer was crossing the clearing, headed toward them. "Sheesh, it doesn't take them long to find me."

"Shoo!" Howard waved a hand at them and they scattered.

She huffed. "You don't have to frighten them."

His eyebrows lifted. "Spoken like a true guardian. A week ago, they were freaking you out, and now you're acting protective."

"They don't mean me any harm."

"You can't be sure. I don't think those feral pigs were impressed by your guardianship."

Frowning, she picked a few grapes off the stem. "What do you think? About me being a guardian and all."

"I . . . found it hard to believe at first. My grandfather told me the story a million times when I was growing up, but I always considered it a fairy tale. But now . . ." He sipped some more juice, deep in thought. "It makes sense. Werewolves and were-bears exist, so the guardians should exist, too. You made us who we are."

She swallowed hard. Was this why the berserkers killed their guardian? "Do you . . . resent us?"

"For what?"

She winced. "My ancestor turned you into beasts. Doesn't that make you angry?"

"No. Elsa, I'm perfectly happy with who and what I am. I'm super strong, super fast, have superior senses, and I can live for about five hundred years."

Her mouth dropped open. "Are you kidding me?"

"No." He smirked. "How old do you think I am?"

She gasped. "You're hundreds of years old?"

"No! I'm thirty-eight." He dragged a hand through his thick brown hair. "Holy crap. I thought I looked a lot younger."

"Oh. You do." She bit her lip to keep from laughing when he gave her a dubious look. "Sorry. When you said five hundred years, I thought . . ."

"Never mind." He ripped open a foil package of chocolate and stuffed it into his mouth.

"You don't look a day over thirty."

He grunted. "My point is I don't resent being what I am. I like it. And all the were-bears I know like it, too. So you have nothing to fear from them. Or me."

"But we still believe that my grandmother was killed by a berserker. And her grandmother before her."

He grimaced. "I'm really sorry about that. But that happened in Sweden, right? Maybe the berserkers there are a bunch of miserable SOBs. I can tell you for a fact that the were-bears in Alaska are a jolly bunch. We would never harm a woman."

Could that be true? Could the berserkers who left Scandinavia be different? "How did your people end up in Alaska?"

Howard shrugged. "According to my grandfather, they left about a thousand years ago and migrated all the way across Russia."

"How did the line continue? Did they find female were-bears?"

"They didn't have to. The were-bear gene is always dominant, so they were free to marry whomever they pleased."

"And the children were always were-bears?"

Howard nodded. "According to my grandfather, the berserkers did find some were-bears in Alaska. Local shamans who could turn into Kodiak bears. Our line mixed with theirs, and that's why I'm a Kodiak bear."

"Oh." She considered this news. Howard's line of were-bears could be quite different from the berserkers who had remained in Scandinavia. Maybe the curse hadn't followed his people. "But your grandfather still believes you are cursed?"

Howard waved a dismissive hand. "It has no power unless you believe in it."

She nodded. That's what she'd always thought. But the curse had been much easier to dismiss before she'd learned that berserkers were real. "I'm still a bit worried - "

"I know you are. And I've been racking my brain to come up with ways to convince you that I can be trusted." He leaned toward her. "Look me up on the Internet. I used to play for the Chicago Bears."

She blinked. "Football?"

"Yes. I was a defensive - "

"The Chicago Bears?" She gave him an incredulous look.

"Yes." His eyes twinkled with humor. "I realize the irony. Anyway, I was a defensive linebacker. I took hits for a living."

"You were a professional football player?"

"Yes. Huge, three-hundred-pound linemen tried to mow me down on a daily basis. Usually, I mowed them down, but believe me, they were trying to hurt me."

"You played professional football?"

His mouth curled into a half smile. "Is there a problem with that?"

"No." Gosh, no. She sat back, her cheeks growing warm.

"Well, as I was saying, I was paid to take abuse and annihilate the other team. I sacked a lot of quarterbacks. I realize that sounds . . . aggressive, even violent."

She nodded, restraining an urge to fan herself. When had the afternoon gotten so hot?

"My point is, I was taking hard hits but hitting back even harder. You would think that would anger the beast inside me, right? But with all that violence, I never lost control. I never seriously injured anyone. Even the quarterbacks I sacked were able to jump up and keep on playing."

A vision of him sacking her flitted through her mind. Except when he tackled her, they would land in bed. Touchdown.