Chapter 33 #2
She stepped out of the river, the water sluicing off her body as she did so.
She kept her attention trained on him, waiting to see if he would glance over to catch a sight.
His free hand curled into a fist like he was restraining himself.
The muscles on his jaw feathered and he turned his face further away.
The movements were so purposeful, so volatile.
Like he didn’t want to do something reckless and stupid.
Like touch her.
She still had that effect on him, she realized as she shook out her wet hair. Droplets flew over the clearing and a few landed on him, by the way he flinched. But still, he didn’t look her way again.
“Do you have a towel so I can dry off?”
Nikator muttered something in a language she didn’t understand—by the way he said it, she understood it to be a curse. “Princess … just put your fucking clothes on.”
Voice tight, uncomfortable and strained; he was barely controlling himself.
“But then my clothes will get wet,” she said.
Another curse.
The tension between them thickened and this time it wasn’t from rage and betrayal, but an unspoken desire that rippled between them like a bowstring pulled taut, waiting to snap.
Nikator dropped the pot and bowls and ripped his cloak off. He turned just enough to catch her image, and thrust the cloth in her direction. His gaze danced over her figure and his jaw clenched even tighter, his teeth grinding together. He turned away, the cloak hanging between them.
“Take it,” he said when she didn’t move.
Biyu stepped over to him slowly. Her fingers grazed his as she grasped the thick material, and he went unnaturally still. Like every muscle in his body was coiled tight.
“Are you sure? It’ll get wet if I use it like a towel.” She didn’t even know why she was pressing the matter so much, but seeing his reaction stirred something warm within her. She held the material to her chest, tilting her head so he would look her way again. “Nikator?”
“I’m sure of it,” he gritted out, still not meeting her gaze.
“All right, but don’t get mad if it smells like river water.” She had meant for it to be a teasing comment, but it only made him more tense. His breathing hitched, then steadied as he released a breath.
She walked over to her pile of discarded clothes a few feet away from him and began drying herself off with the cloak, dragging the material over her bare body.
From the corner of her vision, she noticed him glancing over at her—maybe to see if she was done—but she pretended not to notice.
This time, his attention remained. She could feel it snaking over her figure, dragging over every section of her that she passed the cloth over.
She was slow, deliberate, as she glided one part of the cloak over her heavy breasts, soaking up the water.
She did the same underneath them, and then when she bent down to dry her legs.
He cursed softly.
She dropped his cloak and picked up her dress. Her fingers danced over the hem of the skirt and she slowly slid it over her head. She relished the inhale of his breath as the material glided over her body and fell around her. She moved unhurriedly, unbothered, and hot.
Liquid fire danced in her veins with every piece of fabric she put on. She gathered her wet hair in her hands and pulled it into a messy bun before securing her last golden hairpin in place.
When she was done, he was staring at her like a starving man. Their gazes met and she could see the desire, the fervent hunger that simmered there.
For a moment, they remained like that. The air between them was heavy with unsaid words, with longing, with angst. And then he took a slow step back. He swallowed, then turned his face away.
“Go back to the horse,” he said, the words coming out rough and harsh.
She blinked at him. She didn’t know why she had expected anything more than that, but she bobbed her head. Despite the rejection, it didn’t sting, because she knew she’d had an effect on him. As much as he wanted to deny it, he wanted her.
Biyu gathered the wet cloak and walked over to him slowly. Her shoulder brushed against his as she passed him by and he stiffened once more, going still as a statue. He closed his eyes, nostrils flaring, a look passing over his face that she couldn’t describe.
“Here,” she said, holding the cloak out for him.
His eyes finally snapped open to stare at her. She could see the darkening of desire lingering there. But he was restrained by something greater than his lust—likely his loathing and fury. His gaze slid down to the cloak, and he took it from her slowly, wordlessly.
She knew her scent lingered on the fabric, and she wondered if he would dunk it in the river to rid her scent from it. She hoped he didn’t.
She tapped his shoulder almost playfully. “All right then. I’ll be by the horse.”
She could hear him cursing in a different tongue when she was a few paces away. Her heart fluttered and she couldn’t help the smile that twitched on her lips.