Chapter 9 #2
“And the night before as well, and the one before that.” He tilted his head, and a lock of his dark hair fell over his brow. It was unfair how even something so small was so becoming and enhanced his attractiveness. “I’ve noticed only ye since I met ye, Kinsey.”
His words left a pleasant heat unfurling in her stomach. Damn him.
“How many ales have ye had?” She eyed his mug pointedly.
“No’ nearly enough to make ye leave my thoughts.”
He gave her a lopsided smile, and her heart quivered.
“Ye’ve a pretty tongue on ye,” she scoffed.
He leaned closer and met her eyes with a burning heat. “I’ve a wicked tongue.”
Her breath caught. The way he’d kissed her rose in her mind, his tongue stroking hers, teasing over her skin.
She took a bite of the stew to keep from having to reply. The meat was riddled with fat and tough as shoe leather, but the gravy was flavorful and the meal warm.
A serving wench approached them, her eyes wide and doe-like as she regarded William. “Anything I can get for ye?”
And by “ye,” she obviously meant him. It was all well and good, for Kinsey would be retiring to her room after she finished eating. Away from Sir William, who was becoming harder and harder to resist.
He shook his head without glancing at the woman, and she shot Kinsey a petulant look before huffing away.
“Be honest with me, Kinsey.” William eyed her earnestly.
Something told her she wouldn’t like his query. She took another bite of stew, eager to be done and back in her room.
“Did ye enjoy my kiss?” he asked.
She drank from her ale to keep him from seeing the heat scorching her cheeks. When she set the mug down, she offered a shrug. “It was a kiss.”
“But did ye—”
“I’m yer archer,” she said, reminding him as much as herself. “Nothing more.”
She scraped up the last of her stew with a bit of bread. “I’m tired.” She rose from her seat, and he did likewise.
“Allow me to walk ye to yer room.” He gave a little bow.
She scanned the room to see if anyone noticed. No one appeared to be looking at them, save a redhaired serving wench who was scowling in their direction.
“That isn’t necessary.” She headed for the stairs, and he quickly joined her.
He met her accusatory look with one of innocence. “I’m tired as well.”
He was near enough that she could smell the wonderful masculine spice of him. Truth be told, she liked him at her side, and so she offered no further protest as he followed her to her room, where he paused outside the door.
She opened her mouth to bid him goodnight when he reached up to her face and gently caressed her cheek. She stilled, knowing she ought to pull away.
And yet, she found she was unable to do so.
“Ye’re so verra beautiful, Kinsey,” he whispered. “I canna stop thinking about ye.”
Her breath came faster. Would he try to kiss her again?
Would she let him?
She could imagine him too perfectly, lowering his head to hers, the heat of his mouth brushing over her lips. Her pulse quickened.
“Did ye like my kiss?” he asked quietly.
How could she deny it when he was so near? When she craved him so desperately?
“It isna a matter of liking yer kiss or not,” she said. “It’s a matter of who ye are and who I am.”
“So ye did like it?”
Kinsey sighed in irritation at herself for being honest with him. “Aye.”
“We could do it again.” He gave an arrogant smile.
She ought to have hated his reaction, but it only endeared her to him more. “Kiss?”
He hummed in reply. “And more.” He leaned toward her and rested his arm against the door above her head, his solid body lightly pressed against hers. “I saw yer blush when I mentioned my wicked tongue. Did ye wonder what I might do with it? How I might give ye pleasure?”
The familiar heat of lust whipped up through her like a firestorm.
“Did ye wonder what part of ye I might taste?” His breath tickled her ear and sent prickles racing over her skin.
Oh, aye.
“Nay,” she heard herself say.
He backed up to look at her. His high cheekbones left shadows on the chiseled structure of his face, and his eyes were dark with lust. It would be so easy to kiss him, to shed her excuses and draw him into her room.
But Kinsey had never respected those women who easily fell prey to a man’s charms. While she had never truly understood the draw of lust before now, she still refused to act on her passions. She had a task to perform, and if she were to be respected as a warrior, she could not also be a lover.
“Ye must stop,” she said.
He straightened from her, immediately putting space between them. “If ye want me to stop, I will.”
Her reply caught in her throat while her head and her heart warred for what response might emerge.
He waited patiently at a respectable distance for her answer. In the end, all she could do was nod.
Because she didn’t want him to stop. But she knew she must be firm in her decision.
It was the idea of someone seeing him leave her room, of the men knowing of their lust for one another, which influenced her decision most. For them to look at her as though she was little more than a woman to warm William’s bed, when she’d worked so hard to become a warrior. One who had earned the men’s respect.
His gaze lingered on her a moment too long, and then he bowed politely. “Sleep well, bonny Kinsey. I will see ye at practice in the morn.” He straightened and walked away, leaving her alone in the hallway, burning with shame and lust.