Hot and Heavyby Sandra Hill
Cross a tough, buff U.S. Navy SEAL and a beautiful, buxom, headstrong Viking maiden thousands of miles and years removed from her Norse homeland and what do you get? You get Hot & Heavy passion from Sandra Hill, author of the wildest, sexiest, most outrageously funny romance romps on the market today! New York Times and USA Today bestseller/b>/b>/b>
Cross a tough, buff U.S. Navy SEAL and a beautiful, buxom, headstrong Viking maiden thousands of miles and years removed from her Norse homeland and what do you get? You get Hot & Heavy passion from Sandra Hill, author of the wildest, sexiest, most outrageously funny romance romps on the market today! New York Times and USA Today bestseller Hill mixes laughter and love in equal measure, putting a breathtaking new spin on time-travel romance with a Hot & Heavy winner that is sure to please. No wonder superstar author Christine Feehan declares that “Sandra Hill always delivers.”
- HarperCollins Publishers
- Publication date:
- Sales rank:
- Product dimensions:
- 4.10(w) x 6.60(h) x 1.30(d)
Read an Excerpt
Hot & Heavy
By Sandra Hill
Copyright © 2005
All right reserved.
Playing possum ...
Ian blacked out for only a second, but he remained still, flat
on his stomach, arms stretched forward, one hand holding his
assault rifle. He deliberately kept his eyes closed to a bare
He waited while the woman circled him tentatively, checking
for signs of life, he would guess. First, she toed him on the
side to see if he would move, which he didn't. Then the
nutcase pinched his buttock ... as if that would cause him to
move. He barely felt a thing.
He'd only got a brief glimpse of her before being struck, but,
man, she was some kind of wild thing. She would scare the
bejesus out of someone in the dark, for sure. Plus, she
reeked to high heaven.
He could easily jump her now, but decided to wait and see what
she was up to. More important, who she was, out here in the
middle of Arab nowhere.
"Cat Two to Cat One. Contact? Contact? Cat Two to Cat One."
Cage kept saying into Ian's earphone.
When in hostile territory, real names were not used over radio
lines which could be intercepted. Since this was Operation
Rodent, each member of Ian's squad had named themselves Cat
One, Cat Two and so on. The upper chain of command had names
of well-known cats, such as Garfield and Sylvester. It was a
joke among the teams that none of the flag rankswould take
the name Puss, as in Puss in Boots.
When the woman moved to his legs, he whispered into his throat
mike, without moving his lips. "Cat One here. Do you read?
"Roger. I'm watchin' your six. Need help?"
"Not yet. Woman here. Watch for others. Alert team."
"Did you say something?" the woman shrieked, coming back to
his head area.
He made a soft groaning noise to cover up. Then went back to
"Bloody hell, I best hurry afore he wakens," the woman said in
an odd accent.
Ian decided to play possum for a while to see what was up.
* * *
My cave is your cave, honey ...
Madrene started to drag the man farther into the cave by his
outstretched arms. He was still facedown.
"Loki's Lips!" she swore under her breath. "He must weigh as
much as a war horse. Must be I am weakened by my escape ...
and lack of food." In the end, it took her a considerable
time to pull and shove his large body, huffing and puffing the
The villain appeared to be as tall as the men in her family,
from his helmeted head to his booted feet. Lean, but
well-muscled. Instead of Arab garb, an odd fabric covered his
wide shoulders, narrow waist and long legs. It was a mixture
of browns, green, and blacks ... a combination that would blend
well in a wooded area. His hands were covered with fingerless
gloves. In one of those hands had been a strange, molded
object made of iron, or some similar product; it had been
slipped from his fingers when she'd started tugging. Was it a
I should just kill him, one part of her said.
Yeech! the other part countered.
It would be done in self defense ... of a sort, her hardened
Hmpfh! Killing is killing.
Mayhap I will kill him later.
Yea, later is good.
Madrene had no idea why she hesitated. She had killed in the
past. She was not proud of the fact, but it had become a
reality of her life after being left alone to safeguard
Norstead. Fighting men needed a leader, and she'd been forced
to take on that role. But usually it had been done to save
her life or that of one of her hird of soldiers. And if she
ever faced Steirolf again, she would surely find a way to send
him to the cold halls of Nifhelm. She sighed with
resignation. She needed to know more about this man before
dispatching him to the afterworld.
Was he one of Fakhir's men, come to take her back for
punishment? That would merit death. Or some other man with
ill intent? That, too, would merit death.
What a fool I am! I should have killed him outright. But
she could not bring herself to do so until she discerned his
intent. It was a weakness of hers, she supposed. Her father
and brothers would not have hesitated.
I should turn him over and see if he has any hidden weapons.
Nay, I must needs restrain him first lest he awaken. With
quick efficiency, she removed his large cloth pouch with
shoulder straps off the man's back. Then she tore two long
strips from the hem of her robe, thus leaving it only
mid-calf. Wrenching the man's arms behind his back, she bound
his wrists tightly. She did the same for his ankles. After
that, she went outside the cave to survey the area for any of
his comrades that might be lurking about. There were none.
She swept the ground with a leafy branch to hide any foot
When she came back inside, she saw that he still lay facedown
in the same spot. She rolled him over with a bare foot.
"Eeeeek!" she screamed. It was a monster she had captured.
Not only was his face black with only his eyelids and lips
showing up white, but there was an appendage coming out of his
ear and around his face to rest in front of his mouth, like a
grasshopper. A man-beast, that is what he must be. A troll.
She had heard of such in the sagas spun by the skalds of old,
but never believed in them. Till now.
Bending over, she touched a fingertip to his cheek and saw
that some of the black came off. Ahhh. Face paint, like the
Scottish warriors wear when going into battle. So, this must
be a soldier of some sort. A troll-soldier. Hmmmm.
Just then, his eyes shot wide open, which made his appearance
even more bizarre, the white of his eyes surrounded by all
that black. Immediately, he tried to lurch upward but
realized that he was restrained hand and foot.
She jumped backwards, just in case.
He let himself fall back to the ground and looked up at her.
He seemed just as surprised and repulsed at her appearance as
she was at his. "Jesus, who are you?" he asked.
English. The troll-man spoke the Saxon English. Just my luck
to be saddled not only with a troll, but a bloody Saxon as
well. "Nay, I am not Jesus," she replied. The man's head
wound must have rendered him senseless.
"Jes ... what?"
"I ... am ... not ... Jesus," she said, very slowly, so he could
comprehend her meaning.
"Holy hell! I know you're not Jesus. Who are you?"
"Madrene," she said, before she could hold her tongue. 'Twas
not wise to give the enemy too much information.
"Yasmine?" he repeated, mishearing her. His eyes went wide
"Yea, that is who I am. Yasmine." What a dolt!
Narrowing his eyes, he reverted to the Arabic tongue and
asked, "Are you Yasmine?"
"I already said I was," she snapped back, also in Arabic. A
double dolt, that is what I have here.
"You speak Arabic." The troll-man smiled then, which made him
look almost appealing, and at the same time ridiculous in that
black face with white eyes and teeth. "Sonofabitch! Talk
about wandering in a field of shit and landing in a gold
mine," he muttered to himself, or was he speaking into that
Well perhaps not that appealing. "What is your name?" she
inquired in English, a language which came easier to her
tongue than the Arabic, since it was more like her own Norse.
He hesitated, then disclosed. "Ian MacLean."
"A Scotsman! I should have known," she said, throwing her
hands up with disgust.
"What's wrong with a Scotsman?" he asked, working himself into
a sitting position, then wiggling his arse back so his head
rested against the cave wall, his long legs outstretched.
"Hah! Sneaky thieves, that's what they are. Always stealing
cattle and such. And they eat that horrible haggis."
He shook his head as if he couldn't believe what she was
saying. Betimes she had that effect on men. "Are you the one
who knocked me out?"
Questions, questions, questions! Does everything have to have
an explanation? She shrugged. "Every soldier knows to take
the offensive. Attack before being attacked."
"You a soldier?" he scoffed.
"Betimes." I should have knocked him harder. She could tell
that her answer surprised him.
"What makes you think I would have attacked you?"
Now that is a silly question. "You were carrying a club."
She pointed to the iron object.
"That's a weapon, for chrissake. An assault rifle, to be
Madrene hadn't a clue what he just said.
"Let me go," he demanded.
Does this man truly not understand that I am the one in charge
here? "Are you demented? Nay, I will not release you. In
fact, I am thinking about killing you."
He arched his eyebrows. "What's stopping you?"
How do I know? "That is not for you to know."
He seemed to accept her answer ... for now.
The man is extremely calm, considering his position. "Are you
not fearful of death?"
He pondered her question a moment. "I'm not afraid to die ...
but I don't want to."
A logical answer, she decided.
"Your English sounds ... odd," he remarked.
"Nay, your English sounds odd."
"Now that we have established that we're both odd, what is
that ungodly stink in here?" He sniffed several times, then
looked pointedly at her.
Her face heated with embarrassment. "Well, you would smell,
too, if you had not bathed in more than a sennight, especially
in this heat," she said indignantly. In truth, her underarm
scent was enough to turn her own stomach.
"A sennight? What's a sennight?"
"Why didn't you just say a week?"
"Huh? Were you sent by Fakhir?"
He frowned with confusion and repeated back to her, "Was I
sent to fuck her?" Then, "Fuck who?"
"Oh, you vulgar beast! I said Fakhir, not ... that other word."
He smiled again.
And Madrene felt an odd flutter in her stomach, not unlike
butterfly wings. She supposed it must be hunger pangs.
Just then, she could swear she heard talking coming from his
ear/mouth appendage accompanied by a sort of buzzing noise.
Rather like a bee buzz, she decided. He really was not human
then. "Are you a bug?" she blurted out. The buzzing, as well
as the talking, stopped.
"No, I'm a SEAL."
"That is ridiculous." I better watch him closely. My blow to
his head must have turned him barmy.
"No more ridiculous than asking me if I'm a bug."
Should I just humor the man? "Where is your glacier? Did it
melt in this excessive heat? Ha, ha, ha."
"I am not a bug. I am a SEAL," he said, not at all amused by
her little jest.
I have had enough of this nonsense. The lackwit is trying to
make me out the lackwit when it is clear that he fits that
description better than I. "You buzz like a bee. You have a
bug-like appendage sticking out of your ear. You're ugly as
a ... bug."
"Are you for real?"
"What? You think you are dreaming me? Methinks you might be
"There's only one idiot here, and it's not me." He exhaled
with a whoosh like men are wont to do when women have
outwitted them. "Have you ever heard the proverb, 'Silence is
"Are you saying I talk too much?"
"If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it must be a
"Is that another proverb? If so, it is lackwitted."
"I like proverbs, and that's a very good proverb. By the way,
how long have you been living in this cozy cave?"
"Since this morn," she answered.
"Are you alone?"
"Dost thou see anyone else here?"
He bared his teeth at her sarcasm. "Does anyone else know
about this cave?"
"I hope not."
"Why are you here?"
"I am running away." Now, why did I tell him that? Why am I
telling him anything?
"That bloody Arab who calls himself my master." My tongue
must have a mind of its own.
"Really? That's interesting. So, you're not with him by
"Of course not. Do I look like a harem houri?"
"Not like any whore, I've ever seen." He gave her a sweeping
head to toe scrutiny, and it was not complimentary. Her grimy
feet and exposed calves got special attention.
"I do not appreciate your insult." She put a hand to her head
and figured her hair must look like a haystack.
"Calling me a whore."
"Hey! I'm not the one who mentioned a whore first."
She tilted her head before understanding came to her. "You
halfbrain! I said houri, not whore."
He grinned then. "Someone tried to make you into a harem
The oaf! Apparently he'd known what a houri was all along.
"Pfff! Nine men tried these past three years. None
succeeded. I have developed a knack for making a sultan's
manpart wilt. So, best you not try any of that bedplay with
me." If I had a needle and thread, I would sew my mouth shut.
Be quiet, Madrene. He is quite possibly an enemy. Stop
giving him information.
His jaw went slack with astonishment. "This is the most
incredible conversation I've ever had with a woman. Let me
get this straight. You escaped from some Arab sultan, and-"
"The last one was a sheikh." It was a flaw in her personality
that she always needed to correct mistakes.
"You escaped from an Arab sheikh, in fact nine different Arab
"Three were sultans, two were caliphs."
"Interrupting is one of my talents, or so the men in my family
She could swear she heard laughter coming from his appendage.
He exhaled with exasperation, just like her father used to do
when she nagged him endlessly. "You escaped from nine
different Arabs who tried to make you their harem girl, and
you were passed from one to the other because you can make
their cocks wilt."
"Precisely." She smiled at him before she caught herself and
frowned some more.
"How did you get to be with the first ... sultan?"
"Ah, that is a long and painful story."
He glanced at his bound legs. "It doesn't appear as if I'm
going anywhere soon."
"I am a noble woman in my own country."
"You're not Arab?"
"Nay." Why he was surprised she could not say. Surely she
did not resemble Arab women, not with her light hair and fair
skin. Mayhap they had darkened during her sojourn in this
"Where do you come from?"
Once again, she cautioned herself not to disclose too much
information. She thought a moment and said, "The Rus lands."
"You're Russian?" Shock showed on his face and he muttered
something about the Pent-dragon going to be interested in that
One thing stood out to Madrene in his mutterings. The word
dragon. Yea, he must indeed be a troll who lived in the land
Just then, there appeared to be a lot of chatter coming from
"Lower the volume on my headset," he ordered her.
"Huh? Who are you to give me orders?"
"My headset. Turn it down, dammit."
"Why do you want me to turn down the set of your head? Does
"Adjust the frickin' volume, here, near my ear." He jerked
his head, indicating the part of the appendage that came out
of his ear.
Peering closer, she decided it might not be a part of his
body, but a part of that thing in his ear. But she was taking
no chances. "Nay. It might bite me."
"Bite you? I have landed in a looney bin. No, bite me!" he
said with chagrin. If his hands were free, he would probably
be tearing at his hair as her father had been wont to do on
occasion when exasperated with her. She guessed she knew what
his expression meant. 'Twas like Askil the Angry used to say
"Eat my nose!" when he was especially angry.
"Bite me? Is that another of your ridiculous sayings?" She
raised her chin haughtily and said something she never in her
old life would have dared say, "Nay, I will not bite you.
Bite me!" She felt herself blush like a young maid.
His brown eyes-and, yes, she could see in the dim light from
the cave's opening that they were brown as clover
honey-almost bulged with astonishment. She was astonished
herself and wished she could take the words back, especially
since she belatedly suspected a different meaning to those
words. But she was ne'er one to back down once she'd taken a
"You are priceless, sweetheart," he said and began to laugh ...
and laugh ... and laugh.
"Mayhap I will kill you after all," she said.
The brute continued to laugh.
Excerpted from Hot & Heavy
by Sandra Hill
Copyright © 2005 by Sandra Hill .
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Meet the Author
Sandra Hill is a graduate of Penn State and worked for more than ten years as a features writer and education editor for publications in New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Writing about serious issues taught her the merits of seeking the lighter side of even the darkest stories.
and post it to your social network
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
See all customer reviews >
Over the past few years, Madrene's Viking family has steadily been vanishing; logical probability indicates that they are dead. Despite Madrene's valor, she finds her lands overtaken by invaders and herself sold into harem after harem as a slave. However, since she tends to have an unfortunate effect on her owners' ability to make use of her as a harem girl, she never stays anywhere long. Then, out of the blue, she finds herself free, and a thousand years in the future. Madrene does not know what has happened or what to make of this new world. When she is found by a group of Navy SEALS, they at first think she's a terrorist, but soon become otherwise persuaded. A marriage of convenience, or possibly inconvenience, is the only way to get her legally into the States, and Ian MacLean is chosen as the groom. He is sure that they'll be able to annul it after she's safely established as a citizen, but he hadn't counted on attraction bringing them into a real marriage. The only problem is, Ian is convinced he's married to a lunatic who might be a terrorist, whore, or burglar, albeit a pretty one. There is no way she could be so innocent of all modern things, yet she is. None of it makes a bit of sense. The only thing either is sure of is that they are falling for each other, and it can't possibly work. ...................................... **** Granted, this book is replete with places nitpickers can dismantle gleefully, such as how could a woman from the distant past, from the Viking lands, speak English? However, fans of Ms. Hill's broad humor will be pleased as she adheres to all her trademark mechanisms to create a story with zip and a heartwarming end. ****
Navy SEAL Lieutenant Ian MacLean leads his commando team on Operation Rodent; the objective is to eliminate terrorist leader Jamal ben Hassan in Northern Iraq. The SEALS safely land near their target with Ian entering an empty cave to use as the rendezvous point................. In 1013 Madrene Olgadotter is paraded naked and in chains by Steinolf the Vicious who has taken over her home Norstead. When she continues to display a vitriolic tongue, he sells her to a harem. Over the next three years she is sold nine times, but no one touches her as she curses her owners with a shriveled jewel. She escapes her last captivity in Northern Iraq and hides in a cave............................ Madrene surprises Ian and hits him with a rock. She binds him, but he easily escapes. He believes the sharp tongued beauty is Jamal¿s girlfriend while she thinks he is a caliph¿s slave. As they become acquainted during the dangerous mission, they fall in love, but neither is sure how much time she has although she will soon find her parents and siblings living comfortably in twenty-first century California................... The latest Viking time travel-SEAL romance is a fun tale starring two protagonists who belong together even if their birth dates are over a millennium apart. Madrene is terrific as she curses males with a shriveling ease until she meets Ian who thinks she is crazy but seems to enchanted by her with an opposite spell that leaves him in a permanent state of hardness due. Readers will enjoy Sandra Hill¿s latest romantic thriller starring this time a female Viking warrior and the SEAL she tames...................... Harriet Klausner
you will not regret it and Ms Hill wrote more if these.
This is a GREAT Sandra Hill story which includes Navy SEALS, Vikings, time-travel, with a Cajun thrown in, plus action, plenty of humor, emotions and loads of typical Sandra Hill asides. She managed to include it all. I LOVED it, my husband chuckled his way through the book and now I am going to loan it to my girlfriend who I also got hooked on anything with Sandra Hill's name on it. I highly recommend this book to all and the same goes for all her books.