Forbidden Warrior (Midsummer Knights)

He shrugged. “Bright as day out when you’re out from under the trees.”

He expected her to scold him, or at least scowl, but her face brightened.

“I would indeed.”

She got to her feet and took a limping step forward. His heart did a strange twis

t. Without thinking, he reached out and scooped her up.

One would almost think he wished to be holding her in his arms.

She gave a little cry of surprise but did not resist. This time, her body was not as stiff.

Her knees rested in the crook of his elbow, her spine curved against the other arm, and her hip pressed against his stomach…right on the erection that was stiffening his cock.

He had no idea how much experience she had with male desire, up close and personal, so there was a chance she might not detect it.

He realized, dimly, that he was constantly seeking ways to touch her. Teasing, baiting, testing; anything that might get a rise. Anything that might allow him to tread closer. Any reason to touch her. For each time it was like lighting him on fire.

Which made sense. Cassia was battle, and battle, for Máel, was both fuel and flame.

He wanted to burn her down. Loose the ties of her gown, spread her knees, bury himself inside her until she threw her head back in abandon…and mayhap whisper his name again.

He carried her to the edge of the river and set her down on the bank, beside a large boulder. He handed her a rag and a lump of soap.

“I will be back,” he warned. “Be quick, and don’t fall in.”

“I will not fall in,” she assured him with great dignity. The idea…

He gave her a long, silent look, then disappeared around the other side of the boulder.

Cassia delicately removed her overtunic and set it on a crag in the rock, listening to the sound of him moving only a few feet away.

One by one, items of his clothing began appearing atop the rock.

Her breath slowed down.

She heard the heavy slide of armor, then a sword belt plunked on the rock with a pling of steel. A moment later, a mail shirt. Two boots appeared on the bank of the river, then she heard the soft rustle of a tunic being removed.

A moment later, the tunic and a pair of hose appeared atop the boots.

He was naked.

Her spine jerked straight. She stared straight ahead, across the wide, gentle, moonlit river. The moon was so bright she could see everything.

But she would not look. She would not look.

She knew very well what had pressed against her back. She’d seen enough male shafts over the years, outlined inside tight-fitting hose. But she had never been so close to touching one…and such a magnificent one.

Splashes of water proved he’d taken to the river. Keeping her chemise on and staying firmly in the shallows, she quickly washed.

The river coasted by, lazy on its summer path. Ripples of white and blue moonlight ribboned along its surface. The air was mild and fresh. The world was quiet but for the sound of him splashing.

Wrapping an arm under her breasts, she tipped forward and peered around the rock.

He’d removed himself to an outcropping of high stone. He stood half behind it, his back to her. He lifted an arm and soaped beneath it.

Sucking in a breath, she looked away.