2. Chapter 2
Chapter two
A nslo watched the thoughts flicker across the orc's face. He'd been able to see the hint of interest in her eyes from across the room, and it was still there, but she hadn't made up her mind about him yet, he could tell.
He hoped she came to a favorable conclusion. She was a stunning woman, tall and lush, with curves and an undeniable strength he could sense from across the room. She carried herself with an air of aloofness and command that he found perversely attractive, but then, he'd always been attracted to the kind of woman who looked like she might step on him and make him enjoy it.
There was a softness to her, too; something timelessly romantic. It was the patient curve of her lips, perhaps, the long, thick braid of hair over her shoulder, inky black wisps falling against her cheeks. Or maybe her hands; long-fingered, green, and elegant. He'd like to feel those hands on his body.
She watched him as he studied her, his eyes following the neckline of her white tunic to the loose lacings between her breasts. The spotless white linen was tucked into a corset belt, the tawny leather old and worn.
She didn't object to his perusal. She didn't preen and encourage it, either. She merely observed him with a slight arch to one eyebrow, her expression inscrutable.
"You play well," she said softly. "And sing well. I apologize for heckling you."
"Not fond of love songs?" he laughed.
The woman next to her rolled her eyes, draining the last of her mead, and a sad smile tugged at Tam's lips. "Not these days," she said.
Anslo could sense the loss in her words, and he didn't pry. The kingdom of Seven Falls had been at war for years, and not a war of their own creation. He'd met many orcs over the last few weeks whose lives had been touched by war. It wasn't a pleasant subject for any of them.
"And what do you ladies do?" he asked.
"I scout for the army," the more boisterous orc said. "And Tam..." She chuckled. "She does everything, if she can help it. Very bossy, this one."
Tam scoffed and Anslo raised an eyebrow. "I don't mind a bossy woman," he murmured. Her gaze met his for a moment, intensity simmering under the surface, before she looked down at her hands folded on the table.
"Perhaps with that I should bid my goodbyes. Pleasure to meet you, Anslo," Zoli said. She shook Anslo's hand, then leaned close to her friend, whispering something in her ear. Tam cleared her throat lightly, her eyes widening for a moment. Zoli patted her on the shoulder and hurried out of the tavern. Anslo chuckled. He knew a set-up when he saw one.
There was a long silence between them for a moment. Tam's eyes wandered over his face and chest in a slow, calculated appraisal, down his arms to where he gripped the flagon.
"I'm afraid I'm not good at this," she murmured.
" This meaning..." Anslo asked.
Her gaze snapped back to his, a self-deprecating smile brightening her face. She seemed younger when she smiled, some of the tension leaving her. "Talking," she said. "Flirtation."
"That's alright," Anslo assured her. "I've been told I'm an inveterate flirt. I can handle that for the both of us."
She laughed, her shoulders relaxing. "And what have you done to earn this reputation?"
Anslo leaned closer, his knees bumping hers underneath the table. Her breath hitched for a second, her lips parting. They were lush, shaped in a pout around her gleaming tusks. He wanted to close the last few inches between them and take her lower lip between his teeth.
Instead, he said, "Surely you've heard that all bards have silver tongues."
Lust flared in her gaze. "Is that so?"
"Only one way for you to find out for sure," he teased.
Her lips thinned for a second and she leaned back slightly. "My friend said I should sleep with you," she said.
Anslo raised an eyebrow. "I'm not averse."
She laughed again, the sound rich and musical. He liked her voice, the warmth of it at odds with her slightly standoffish manner. "Perhaps I should," she said.
He leaned the rest of the way across the table to kiss her, but she drew back further, her gaze darting around the tavern. No one was paying much attention to them, but she still seemed uncomfortable.
"Am I too forward?" he asked. "You're a beautiful woman, but I'm not the sort of man who likes to take without asking. If you're not as certain as I am, I'm happy to leave you alone."
She nodded slowly, chewing on her lower lip. "I'm not usually a cautious person," she chuckled. "But... perhaps I haven't done this in a while."
He sat back in his chair and finished his drink, waiting for her to make up her mind. He'd never been praised for his patience, but he had enough of it. The spring night was chilly, and she shivered. "I'd offer you my coat but it's up in my room," he apologized with a smile. She tilted her chin at the fireplace across the room.
"Fire's good enough. Can I get you another drink?"
"No, thank you. You?"
She shook her head and stood, leading him to a bench in front of the fire. The other orcs gathered for warmth scattered at her approach, the tavern emptying further. He frowned but she didn't seem to notice it.
"So," he asked. "Why haven't you done this in a while?"
She sighed. "I was married for a time. It's been a few years."
Anslo leaned his elbows on his knees, warming his hands in front of the flames. "What happened to him?"
She hesitated, her mouth opening and closing. "He died," she said finally.
He almost said he was sorry, but that was a useless thing to say at such a time. "Is that why you don't care for love songs?" he asked.
She laughed sharply. "Yes."
"I can't pretend to know what that's like," he said softly.
"Pray you never find out," she said with a wry smile. "What about you? Never married?"
"Never found the right person." He grinned. "Most people don't want to be dragged around to a new city every month, and I don't blame them for that. And I never found the right person to settle down for. I've been on the road since I was seventeen. It's hard to imagine giving that up, now."
He'd left home after his parents and soon-to-be in-laws had found him with the baker's son behind the garden shed. They'd already arranged a marriage for him, picked the date, paid the bride price. He'd been indifferent to the girl they'd chosen and told them so, but they had their hearts set on joining their family with the local baron's. They'd been mortified to discover him with his pants around his ankles, bollocks deep in a brawny young man. He'd refused to apologize to his would-be bride's scandalized parents and packed his things.
He hadn't been back since. He didn't still hold a grudge against his family, but he had no wish to be a part of their social-climbing schemes. He'd fallen in love with life on the road, seeing new places, meeting new people. He'd made a few friends he visited occasionally, but most of the time, brief affairs with a definite end date were enough for him.
"How many years ago was that?" she asked.
"Ten."
"You're young!" Her nose scrunched up as she frowned.
"Twenty-seven isn't that young," he laughed. "Am I too young for you? Because I won't believe you if you say you're too old for me."
Tam looked at him askance, her eyes crinkling in amusement. "I'm thirty-four."
Anslo shrugged. "Not much of a difference. And it's not your age that matters." He shifted slightly closer to her on the bench. "If you're not comfortable with this, then you shouldn't let your friend push you. Grief takes time. If you're not ready for something new, it doesn't matter how young or old I am."
She seemed to think about that for a long moment. "I am," she finally said. "A distraction would be good for me." The corner of her mouth quirked up. "You're a very distracting person."
Anslo bit back a smile. He liked her subtle sense of humor. "I am?" he asked. "How so?"
She raised an eyebrow, pinning him with a heated stare. "Where to start? Your hands, perhaps. Strong, nimble. I have a feeling you're good with your hands," she murmured. "Am I right?"
Lust rushed through Anslo at her words and he inclined his head. "A lute player has to have good hands. Shall I show you?"
"Just like a bard has to have a silver tongue?" she teased. "I think I'd like to test that as well."
"I wish you would." He leaned closer still, inhaling the sweet scent of her. "Because you smell like nutmeg and honey, and I'd like to have a taste."
"That's just my soap," she laughed.
He licked his lips. "Lucky soap, to get to touch your naked skin."
She looked almost taken-aback for a moment. "You do have a dangerously smooth tongue."
"Only if you think pleasure is dangerous," he retorted, moving closer until his thigh was nearly pressed against hers. He reached out, his fingers itching to caress the dip of silky skin at her collarbone. "May I touch you?"
"Not here," she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the rest of the tavern. "You said you have a room?"
"Just up the stairs."
"Perhaps you should go to it." She fiddled with the hem of her tunic for a moment before standing. "I should settle my tab."
She marched to the bar and Anslo watched her, bemused, for a moment. She didn't look back at him. She rested her forearms on the counter and spoke quietly with the barkeep. She seemed determined to pretend he didn't exist at the moment.
He headed up the stairs, then paused at the top, waiting for her. A few minutes passed, the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses still filling the tavern below. He unslung his lute from his shoulder and leaned against the wall. More minutes passed. With a frown, he started back down the stairs.
"What are you doing?"
He spun around at the sound of her voice behind him. "What are you doing?" he gasped. She shrugged, smiling at him, and he peered behind her. "Did you come up the back stairs?"
"Yes." She stepped closer. She had a few inches of height on him, and in the dark of the hallway it felt as if she was looming over him, her gaze sharp with a predator's intent. Moving slowly and deliberately, her earlier hesitation gone, she licked her lips. His cock stiffened slightly as she backed him towards the wall.
"Are you ashamed to be seen with me?" he asked.
She didn't answer his question, her head cocking to the side. "You said earlier you don't mind a bossy woman. How little do you mind it?"
"I don't mind it at all."
"Indifferent?" She raised an eyebrow as his back met the wall, an eager breath leaving him as she stepped close enough for him to feel the heat of her body. "Or you prefer it?"
"What do you think?" he gasped as one of her legs slid between his.
The corner of her mouth quirked up and she cupped his cock through his pants, squeezing his hardness slightly. Anslo cursed under his breath, his shaft twitching as it stiffened further.
"I think you prefer it," she breathed.
He could take no more, the spicy sweet scent of her leaving him lightheaded as she stroked him. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers.
A soft sound of surprised pleasure left her, then she leaned closer with a groan, her mouth opening against his. Her hand stilled its exploration as her tongue slicked against his, her tusks hard against his lips.
She devoured him as if she'd been starved, and perhaps she had if he was the first lover she'd chosen since her husband. It felt as if she was unleashing years of passion on him. He could barely take a breath between her kisses.
He loved it.
Anslo wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her closer until her front was pressed to his. She released his cock, her hands skimming over his hips and sides. He barely missed the touch as he ground himself against her thigh, desperate for the touch of any part of her body. She pulled back and looked down at him, a slow smile spreading across her face.
"When did I say you could kiss me?" she asked. Her breathlessness belied her stern words, and Anslo chuckled.
"I've never been known for my patience."
"Or perhaps you want to be punished," she mused. Bloody hells, this woman was far more dangerous than she'd appeared at first. He whimpered, his forehead dropping to her shoulder.
"You can't make me so wild for you and then punish me," he protested.
Tam planted her hands on the wall beside his head, caging him in. "Go ahead, then," she murmured. "I won't deny you if you're so desperate for release." She pressed her leg more firmly between his, leaving him almost no room to move. He couldn't help himself. His hips flexed, rubbing his length against the top of her thigh. She hummed in approval. "Pleasure yourself," she encouraged him.
He thrust, riding her thigh, the friction of her leather leggings against his pants painfully warm. He gasped a few incoherent words against her neck and she clicked her tongue, her lips brushing his ear as she leaned close. "Not so loud," she whispered. "Someone might come up the stairs to see what the commotion is."
"You're evil," he said through gritted teeth.
A surprised laugh escaped her before she clapped her hand over her mouth. "Never been told that before," she said. "I think I like it. And I know you like it."
That was without question. Though the hall was too dark to see, he'd bet there was a sizeable wet spot on the front of his pants. Before he could get any closer to release, she stepped back. He stumbled after her, his legs feeling weak. Anslo reached for her again, no dignity left in his pursuit of a climax, and she clicked her tongue again, picking up his lute.
"Where's your room?" she asked.