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“Have you ever even tried?”
“Would you care to take your life in your hands and have me start now?”
Olivia pales. “Oh, hell no. Where are the keys?”
“You look peaked. Mayhap we should postpone our trip to the city. You are barely recovered—”
“I’m not that tired.”
“You would be feeling better if you let me give you another proper good morning,” I murmur behind her ear. “This one longer.”
She shivers and whirls on me with a gasp. “Listen, big guy! I’m sore. You know, down there.” She fidgets like she’s embarrassed. “I’m new to all this, and you’re a lot to handle.”
If she seeks to shame me for worshipping her body and diligently maintaining her energy, she endeavors in vain.
“Am I?” I grin.
She raises a sassy brow at me. “Fishing for compliments?”
When was I last remotely tempted to laugh? “Merely clarifying your statement.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll be fine. Besides, I want to check on my gallery and stage your carvings.”
I am unable to resist Olivia’s body; I have no illusions about that. But now I am apparently unable to turn her down at all.
With a sigh, I point to the keys in the ignition, then stalk to the passenger’s seat, dragging my feet like a man heading to the gallows. I bloody well miss horses.
Inside, Olivia grips the wheel and starts the car, backing out smoothly down the long dirt road away from my cottage. With a competent turn, she finds the wider lane to the main road. In moments, we cruise down the motorway to London.
“You drive much better than Bram.”
“Thanks. I think.” She grins. “I’ll bet he’s reckless.”
“As if human life has little value.”
Mirth fills Olivia’s delicate face, and I’m taken aback by her ability to handle change in stride. Over the span of two days, she was abducted, lost her virginity, and learned she is magical, yet she still offers me—the man responsible for two of her dilemmas—help and can still somehow find humor.
“You’re crazy, too. You’re terrified of cars but willing to practically slice off your arm.”
“I am not terrified. Warriors are never terrified.”
“Is that right? Your white knuckles on the dashboard say otherwise.”
“Impudent wench.” I jerk my hands to my sides and glare, sending her my fiercest warrior stare.
She merely presses her lips together as if suppressing a giggle. “Let’s head to the gallery first. I want to set some of these carvings out before opening.” She slants me a shrewd stare. “You know, Sabelle doesn’t need to come watch my shop. I feel fine. I can work—”
“’Twas not our bargain. You will be healthy and protected, and I will do whatever I must to ensure thus.”
“But—”
“Do you want my carvings?” I ask, brow raised.
“You know I do,” she huffs. “Tyrant.”
“Indeed. You will tire quickly, so I will be watching to ensure you take proper care.”
She slants me a dubious stare. “Meaning you have chances to give me that frequent sex you mentioned?”
