Chapter 8 #2
Now when their bristles tangled, they created a ghastly cloud of ash. But Merraid kept thrusting and blocking. Soon they were coughing and laughing as they continued their farcical battle.
He finally made some progress, backing her toward the hearth. But her eyes widened as she began to fall backwards over the bucket he’d dropped, waving her besom as she tried to catch her balance.
He reached for her arm, managing to keep her upright as the bucket clanged and rolled away against the hearthstones.
She wasted no time in thanking him. She immediately spun out of his grip, widening the distance between them.
In a show of intimidation, she began twirling the besom through the air. She traced swift, intricate patterns, as skilled as a quarterstaff master. While he stood thunderstruck, she whirled toward him in a graceful swirl of skirts. Then she swung the besom around in an upward arc.
Unfortunately, the bristles stretched out a few inches farther than she anticipated. She caught the clay pitcher on the table. It tipped. And rocked. And plunged off the edge.
Gellir dove for it. By some miracle, he managed to catch it in his hands just before it hit the floor.
Aghast at what she’d almost done, Merraid dropped the besom. She brought both hands to her mouth. Then she started laughing in relief at his dramatic rescue. Which made him laugh as well.
Shaking his head, he got up and replaced the pitcher.
She assumed the battle was over. “Shall we call it a draw ere we destroy Feiyan’s solar?”
“A draw?” He wasn’t going to let her off that easily.
Once the pitcher was safe, he seized his besom and kicked hers out of reach. Then he began sweeping at the ground before her. He brushed the hem of her skirts, forcing her back with a gaze full of amusement and dark promise.
“I don’t believe in draws,” he said.
“Ye cheated,” she squeaked, retreating as the bristles grazed her toes.
“Cheated? Ha!” He laughed. “You’re a fine fraud, calling me a cheat.”
Inch by inch, he advanced with wide arcs of the besom.
She danced back to avoid the ashy bristles.
“We really have no time for this,” she protested.
“You should have thought of that when you started this fight.”
“Me?” Her wide blue eyes were anything but innocent.
“Fine,” he said with a smile. “I’ll hurry it up.”
He swept furiously at her feet, forcing her to make a hasty retreat. Finally her back hit the plaster wall. He raised the handle of the besom sideways under her chin. Against her throat. Trapping her.
“I win.”
Merraid narrowed her gaze.
Just because Gellir declared victory didn’t mean it was true.
She had several options.
She could punch beneath his ribs and leave him breathless.
She could chop sharply at the ends of the besom and duck away.
She could drive her knee into his groin.
But what she most wanted to do was stand there in his power as he grinned down at her in triumph.
He was too close for decency. But she didn’t want him to move.
Here she could feel the warm breath of exhilarating combat on her face. Share the glimmer of heady delight in his eyes. Hear the low chuckle of victory rumbling in his chest. Inhale the intoxicating scent of him—all clean sweat and worn leather and ash.
Beneath the wooden staff pressed against her throat, her pulse throbbed. Her blood—warmed by battle and laughter—surged in her veins. Her eyes grew wet with desire. Heavy with passion. Her breath slowed. Deepened. Stopped.
Then she made the mistake of lowering her gaze to his mouth.
A smile lurked at the corners of his lips. His straight, wide, inviting lips. Where they parted, she could glimpse the moist mystery within.
She could no more resist tasting him than she could pass by a luscious blackberry hanging ripe on a vine. She slipped her tongue between her lips, imagining the sweetness.
His eyes dipped to her mouth then. What he saw made his nostrils flare with the same yearning.
He hesitated only briefly. Then he eased forward. Closed his eyes. Slanted his mouth across hers in the gentlest, most tentative of kisses.
She dared not move. Like a blossom offered to a bee, she feared the slightest shiver, lest she frighten him away.
But soon his feather-light caresses tempted her to answer. She moved her mouth beneath his. Savoring the yielding softness of his lips. The sweet entreaty of his breath. The hungering movements of his jaw.
He groaned once, low in his throat. The sound catapulted her to new heights of longing. She deepened the kiss, drawing closer to let her tongue explore the inner recesses of his mouth.
His tongue circled hers in a slow and sultry dance of desire. But with each moment, the dance grew more eager. More fervent.
Her head spun with joy and arousal. What she remembered of his kiss before was nothing like this.
That had been the quick peck of a lad.
This was the measured seduction of a man.
Her ears began to ring in sensual vibration. Her breasts tingled with need. Current coursed through her, sparking a dangerous craving betwixt her thighs. Her fingers turned to claws as she clutched the front of his tabard in desperation.
Deep within her heart, a tiny voice screamed at her to stop. Gellir was not hers. He didn’t belong to her. He would never belong to her.
But rapture muffled the sound. It felt so right. So perfect to be here in his arms. How could it be wrong?
A soft moan escaped her, driving him to more aggression.
He let go of the besom handle, caught now between their heaving chests, and delved his hands into her hair.
Angling her head, he explored her more fully.
He placed kisses at the corners of her lips.
Swept his tongue over them. Boldly claimed her mouth with his own.
Breathless and overwhelmed, Merraid felt gloriously helpless in his embrace. It was a heady feeling to surrender willingly. Bathed in an invigorating sea of ecstasy, she had no desire to fight the current. In the next moment, she would have gladly drowned in his arms.
But the door swung open. They split faster than a tree hit by lightning. The besom clattered to the floor.
“What the devil?” Lady Feiyan stood in the open doorway, taking in the ruins of her solar.