In time, as we become better acquainted, will she eventually seek comfort in my arms during her times of distress?
“I hope I did not disturb you further earlier…” I begin, though my voice soon trails off.
She gives me what looks like a forced, polite smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, those lovely dark eyes that I could easily lose myself in.
When her stomach abruptly growls, her face turns an even darker shade of pink, and she sucks in a sharp breath and peers toward the balcony. My attention drifts to the kitchen table for a moment.
“Come,” I say, gesturing toward the waiting meal. “You should eat.”
She hesitates in the doorway, and I once again find myself wishing I could sense her exact thoughts. I take two steps closer and hold out my hand. She swallows hard and shuffles forward, though I don’t quite see her take a step since the oversized robe hides her feet.
Pleasure ripples through me when she finally places her hand in mine. I thread my fingers through hers and give her hand a brief squeeze. I also endeavor to give her a gentle smile.
She smiles back, and this time her eyes twinkle just a bit, bringing me a wave of relief.
Perhaps she will keep opening to me like this, little by little, until she views me as more than her master. Until she senses the mating bond and cannot imagine us ever parting ways.
I pull her forward, then reach for her hair with my free hand. I tuck a strand of her damp hair behind her ear, allowing my fingers to trail down the slope of her neck. The fragrant aroma of lavender reaches me, along with another scent that beckons me to step closer. Beneath the soap and the bath oils, I swear I detect the honeyed warmth of her desire.
My cock instantly lurches in my pants.
Is she aroused, or am I just imagining it?
My nostrils flare as I take a deep inhale.
No, I am not imagining it.
She’s becoming slick between her thighs. There is no mistaking the sweet but pungent scent that fills my lungs as I continue taking deep breaths, savoring the scent of her femininity.
She desires me.
I glance at the hallway beyond her, toward the large bedroom, as the urge to claim her makes my blood heat. If I laid her upon the bed and coaxed her thighs open, would she let me taste her? Would she eagerly shatter against my mouth? Or, despite the desire I know she’s experiencing, would she resist my advances?
Before I can consider it further, her stomach emits another loud growl.
I draw myself up taller and start guiding her toward the table. I can’t claim her. Not now. Not until she’s properly fed and rested.
Tomorrow, I promise myself.
Tomorrow, I will do my best to woo her and make her want to belong to me.
I pull a chair out for her and assist her in taking her seat, mindful of the robe dragging on the floor with her every step. I don’t want her legs to become tangled in the fabric and cause her to fall. Hopefully the clothing I asked the proprietor to procure will arrive soon, though I must confess, I like the sight of her in the robe. She’s not wearing anything beneath it, and it would be far too easy to reach inside and trace a hand along her bare skin.
Is the slickness of her desire rubbing between her thighs with her every movement? I nearly growl at the prospect, and my mouth waters with the urge to taste her.
Instead, I summon control I didn’t know I possessed and take a seat across from her. I set a plate in front of her and remove the lid. Steam wafts upward, and her eyes widen as she stares down at the meal, heaping portions of roasted chicken, steamed vegetables, mashed potatoes, baked frost-apples, and fresh bread.
As she gapes at the meal, I sense her utter astonishment through the bond. But even without the growing bond, I wouldunderstand. I already knew her family wasn’t well off. I doubt she’s ever seen a meal so sumptuous before. As she reaches for a utensil, she gives me an uncertain look, as though she’s waiting for permission to start eating. Or maybe she fears I’m going to snatch the food away, she fears I really might be planning to treat her with cruelty, and this is all a perverse trick.
I gentle my expression, reach for the other plate, and pick up my own utensil. As I uncover my plate, I make a sweeping gesture with my hand and give her what I hope is an encouraging look.
“Eat. Please.” I study her wariness that’s tempered with hope as she peers at the meal before her. “Go ahead, my dearest. I know you must be starving.” I don’t announce that I’ve heard her stomach growl several times already, since I don’t want to cause her any further embarrassment.
She takes a cautious bite of the baked frost-apples first. Her expression turns blissful, and she shuts her eyes for a moment. After she finishes chewing carefully, she swallows and slowly reaches for another bite.
She’s pacing herself, I realize, with a sinking heart.
Not used to eating such large meals—proper meals—she fears she’ll become sick if she eats too quickly. I haven’t yet gotten a good look at the curves of her body, since the dress she was wearing when I found her was a bit too big for her, and the robe hides even more of her body. But from what I have noticed, and the slight weight of her in my arms, she is probably malnourished. Perhaps she was already weakened by hunger before the deserters stole her away from the dungeons of Braemar Castle.
