Page 30 of Darro

This thing between them amused her, he realized, as if it were some jest or game. That she could laugh while he was on the brink of madness and terror reinforced his belief that he should not have trifled with her.

He drew his hands away from her. “You shouldnae toy with a man, my lady.”

“I’m not toying with you yet, Chieftain. I want to, so much.” Her expression turned serious. “I really like you. So much that every time I’m around you all I can think about is being in bed with you. I wonder how it will be between us. I mean, you made me climax just holding me against a wall.”

Gods, had she no mercy? The fear returned, much stronger than before, making him shudder. “I did no more than hold you.”

“I want to do that again. Maybe you should let me have the first turn this time.” She tried to draw him back with her, and when he didn’t move she made a frustrated sound. “It is my turn.”

Before Darro could stop her she reached down between their bodies and brazenly pressed her palm over the front of his trews. He caught her wrist, intending to stop her, and then somehow she’d slipped her fingers into his garments and caressed his throbbing shaft with delicate fingertips.

“Having small hands is a plus sometimes,” Esme murmured. “I can just get mine around you. Oh, you’re so warm and hard, Chief.”

She seemed entirely absorbed in what she was doing, which allowed him the chance to pick her up and carry her over to the bed. When he put her on her back and leaned over her, his large shadow covered her like a murky shroud, emphasizing the difference between her wee sweet body and his heavy bulk. Slowly he straightened and backed away.

“You’re still upset with me?” she murmured, pushing herself up and looking up at him as if he’d sprouted another head. “Come here, mi vida, and let me apologize properly.”

“Dinnae fret, lass.” Refusing her was the same as being skinned, but he could not trust the hot flood of dark longing and the icy spikes of fear doing battle inside him. “Rest now, and I shall see you on the morrow.”

Darro heard her break into another rapid spate of her language as he strode out of the guest chamber, but her anger didn’t stop him. Nor did the soap crock she threw at the door as he opened it, which sailed through and smashed against the wall of the passage beyond it.

The shards of the crock fell to scatter before his boots, shattered just as completely as the remnants of his pride.

He considered going to Rory and asking him for help, but he knew the armorer was unable to do anything about Fae spells. That made him think of the other person who might help him overcome the fear.

The sound of the watchers’ horn made him run in the other direction.