He shifted, and more water spilled over the edges, splashing on the floor.
A dangerous gleam glowed in his eyes as he crooked two fingers, beckoning her closer. Her eyes narrowed, and his smirk widened.
Slowly, she ambled across the room, her rebellious feet moving of their own accord. She crossed her arms, pushing up her breasts as she glowered at him, letting her silence speak for her.
“When you look at me like that, my cock aches.”
And when you look at me as though you’d devour me, I catch fire.
“I’m not bathing with you, Njáll,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.
“Your mouth says no, but your eyes burn with need. Did watching me train unravel you?”
Water sluiced off his shoulders, leaving him looking positively debauched.
A pink tongue darted out as she forced her eyes to stay focused on his face. And not the hard length of him bobbing beneath the surface.
“So pretty when you’re flustered,” he chuckled. “Some day, little flame, you will join me in this bath, and I will cleanse your soul with my tongue.”
Unintelligible noises muddled in her throat as her entire body flushed at his filthy words. Then, a moan parted her lips, the sound hungry and so unlike her.
“You are unfair,” she whispered, the sound breathless and wanting.
“Not unfair,” he whispered, his voice a sensual purr unraveling the last dredges of her self control. “Determined. If you will not share my bath, then perhaps you will bless me with your name? Or shall you remain my flame and nothing more for all eternity?”
A wide, predatory grin slid into place. She had the upper hand against him. Njáll raised a brow, leaning into the side of the basin, his wet hair dripping over the sides of the tub.
A challenge ignited in the depths of his eyes. One Elara wanted to meet. She knelt beside the basin, reveling in how Njáll tracked the movement. Their faces were a hair’s breadth apart, hot air swirling between them.
His eyes darted to her lips and back to her eyes, a muscle in his jaw ticcing as his fingers clung to the side of the tub. Elara rolled her lower lip between her teeth, and a feral sound rumbled in Njáll’s chest.
Smirking, she reached out, gently scraping her nails through the scruff lining his sharp jaw.
A deep growl vibrated between them at her touch, and she leaned in closer, her hot breath fanning over the shell of his ear as she whispered.
“Do you think yourself worthy of my name, Jarl?”
Twelve
Elara
Adizzying blend of roasting meat, woodsmoke, and ale milled about the hundreds of bodies gathered in the longhouse. Elara fussed with the silver brooches holding her soft wool overdress in place.
Astra had dressed her in so much finery. Elara felt the weight of gazes following her. Jade jewels accentuated the silver chain draping over her breasts, matching the beads in her braids.
Truthfully, she had never felt as beautiful as she did that night.
The way Njáll gazed at her—like she was the only person in the room—left her questioning her beliefs. Elara always considered herself a quiet, withdrawn woman. Pleasant looking enough, but often considered boring by most men.
Njáll made her feel like all her thoughts were a lie. That her mind betrayed her. That she was this beguiling, exquisite creature capable of bringing a jarl to his knees.
“You burn brightly tonight,” Njáll whispered, his hand searing the small of her back where it rested.
A breathless sound rattled her chest, his deep timbre doing terrible things to her insides. Sweat slid down the column of her throat, Njáll following the beads with rapt attention. Almost as if he barely restrained himself from tracing the lines with his tongue.
Fitted trews hugged his strong thighs; his bearskin fur draped over his left shoulder. Honeyed light glinted off the gold cuffs wrapped around his thick biceps.
Elara licked her lips, entirely too happy with the pleasing sight of the Jarl.
