Chapter 13 #4
His eyes darkened. “I am very curious,” he said, raising his sword and pointing the tip at her, “what you imagine my attractions to be.”
She grinned at him. So he was mortal after all, and like any man wanted to hear praise of himself.
“Your face is not unpleasant.” She circled the tip of her sword in the air before him. “Michelangelo would have made you his David if he could.”
“Have you ever seen Michelangelo’s David?”
“Sketches,” she admitted.
“In full?”
He was asking if she’d studied the unadorned nude. He’d already seen her come face-to-face with the discus thrower. She grinned wider. “Art is very educational. But we are discussing your attributes.”
“We can stop now.”
She ignored him. “You carry yourself well. You have good manners. You have an eye for beauty. In fact, you make a career of creating beautiful things. Beautiful and useful.”
She circled him, considering. “You are not frivolous. You are not a fop. You never say more than is necessary, which makes you seem mysterious and wise. You do nothing to curry favor or draw attention to yourself, and yet you possess a room when you come into it.” She tilted her head at him.
“That could be a very useful quality in an actor.”
“I am happy with my chosen profession, thank you. I wouldn’t wish for another long apprenticeship. Are you finished?”
“No, the list continues. You have a very pleasant voice. You smell divine. It’s quite distracting. And you certainly know how to wear a pair of pantaloons.” She touched the side of her sword, not sharpened, to the clinging fabric of his inexpressibles.
He jumped and knocked her sword away with his own, scowl deepening.
“You can dispense with the flirtation. I already said I would design your theater.” His eyelids flickered.
“And I will offer a fair price, because I like your group of players. You’re a sensible lot, which cannot often be said of the world at large. ”
“That’s why I like them, too. Why are you embarrassed if I should admire you?”
He raised his sword against her. “Attack again. Lunge in a straight line, and bring your arm up as your leg comes forward. Right now you lunge and then raise your sword, and that gives your opponent too much time to attack you.”
She did as instructed, driving her foil toward his shoulder. “I’m only fighting Kiddell. It’s not as if I’ll be challenged to an actual duel.” He didn’t believe she could truly admire him; he still thought her interest only a ploy. Did he not realize how maddeningly beckoning he was?
Or was he simply not interested in praises from her?
That roused the provocateur in her. Another sad failing to be held to her account.
He raised his sword to block her. Swiftly she let her sword fall and slipped past his guard, stepping close to his body into the arch made by his extended arm and bent knee.
He withdrew to a standing pose and stared down at her. His eyes flared as she stepped toward him again.
“I neglected one point,” she said, her voice low and husky. “You kiss in the most excellent fashion.”
That scowl. She’d scored a hit. “You are not to speak of kissing.” His gaze dropped to her lips.
“Am I not to kiss you again? Now that truly is a waste.”
His jaw tightened. “I told you my terms,” he said. “You can only take this charade so far.”
He didn’t want to kiss her. She’d misread him, badly. Hurt and shame scored through her, as if she’d taken a blow to the chest. Quickly she stepped back. “I see. I am sorr—”
With a groan he caught her, hands clamping around her forearms, and pulled her toward him. When she stumbled, he guided her arms around his neck. His face was an inch from hers, and the rumble within his chest vibrated inside her ribs, pressed against him.
She couldn’t find her breath. His gaze moved over every line of her face, and she wouldn’t breathe until she knew the answer to the question in his eyes, if he was satisfied with what he saw.
“This isn’t a ruse any longer, Cerys.” His voice came hoarse, as if he’d had the breath knocked out of him.
“I know,” she whispered, threading her fingertips into his hair.
He bent his head, and the gentle press of his lips surprised her, considering the roar in her ears. She’d expected obliteration, not this sweet mingling. She cupped his head and opened herself wholly to his exploration, giving herself up to discovery beneath his mouth and his questing hands.
He slid his palms down her arms and traced what he could of her, back, sides, the curve of her derriere in the breeches.
She let out a small squeak as he squeezed her rear, lifting her against him.
His manhood stirred, and an answering ache swirled deep in her belly, a desire she didn’t know how to sate.
“You,” he groaned against her mouth. “You are perfect.”
Far from it, but she was glad he thought so. She nestled closer, wanting every part of her body touching his. The inferno caught and consumed her. He looked so hard and polished on the surface, yet to the touch he was warm, pliable man, firm and yet able to be wounded.
She tightened her arms around his shoulders, stroking his scalp. He purred like a cat and changed the angle of his kiss, deepening the contact, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She whimpered with delight.