Page 53 of The Hood and his Thief

“Why not?”

Ansel lifted his gaze from where it had been fixed on her leg, and it pinned Rhosyn with its surprising intensity. “Professional rivals don’t think about each other the way I think about you.”

Rhosyn’s breath caught in her throat, but Ansel didn’t seem to want her to speak anyways.

“Professional rivals don’t spend a whole day so distracted they can barely function, just from waking up to the smell of your hair. They don’t admire the snarl on your face when you throw a punch or the way your smile is slightly crooked. They certainly don’t spend hours agonizing over what it would be like to touch you everywhere—how warm you would be, if you would snap at me like you do in a fight or if I could make you into a mewling mess. How you would taste.”

Ansel didn’t break eye contact as he slowly deconstructed Rhosyn, piece by piece, with his words. All the barriers she had put up in her mind against him, the justifications that she couldn’t want him, caught fire as the warmth under her skin burst into flames.

Rhosyn wet her lips, reaching for the right words. This wasn’t their flirty teasing, hidden in the guise of adversaries, or even during a dance at a fancy party. This was something deeper. Heavier.

“I guess we aren’t professional rivals then,” she said, her voice hoarse.

Ansel let out a shuddering breath, mirroring the shiver that ran up her spine when the breath tickled the inside of her ankle, still held close to his face. His gaze tracked her movement, and slowly he lowered his head. His lips were a hairsbreadth away from her skin when he paused, eyes boring into her.

It was a bid for permission—a chance for her to recognize that this would change things for them, more than sleep-addled touches, that could be blamed on circumstances. Rhosyn still grappled with what she had done in robbing the palace, knowing it was a step she couldn’t take back. But this…this decision was already made.

She nodded infinitesimally, and Ansel lowered his lips to her skin. At first, it was feather light, barely a kiss as he dragged his mouth up from her foot towards her knee. Rhosyn choked down a quiet, desperate sound at the contact, surprised how affected she was by the one simple action.

Something dark flickered in Ansel’s eyes at the truncated noise. He nipped at the inside of her knee, startling a squeak out of her. That pulled a chuckle out of him, the sound lower and rougher than his usual laugh. She wanted to hear it again. She wanted to muffle it with her own lips.

At that thought, Rhosyn’s body moved with all the speed of a trained fighter, acting on pure instinct. She lunged forward, grasping at the front of Ansel’s shirt and crashing her lips to his.

He caught her, despite the suddenness of her actions, rocking back on his knees and arms wrapping around her easily. Rhosyn was distracted from the way he crushed her to his chest by the movement of his lips and the intoxicating taste of his tongue tracing the seam of her mouth.

Rhosyn pushed back against him, catching his bottom lip between her teeth. As she tugged on it, Ansel brought a hand up to her hair and grasped it firmly at the roots. It pinned her in place, letting him take control of the kiss.

Held like that, something heady washed over Rhosyn, the racing in her mind—the constant instincts to punch, run, do—quieted. All she could think about was Ansel single-mindedly devouring her mouth, as if he had thought about nothing else since she first chased him across rooftops.

So loud were the sensations of Ansel pressed against her in Rhosyn’s mind that she at first didn’t notice the shift in light that came from the tent flap swinging open. She only came back to herself when there came a commotion, jerking back as a familiar shout broke through the haze.

Her eyes snapped open at the same time Ansel whipped around, both turning towards the disturbance. Standing at the tent entrance, pistols drawn was—

“Kristoff,” she gasped, still on her knees. She staggered to her feet, unbalanced by several rapid changes in quick succession.

The barrels of his guns were trained on Ansel, but he quirked a brow, and a mischievous twinkle sparked in his eye. He ignored the handful of other circus performers hovering at the entrance, clearly unwilling to make a move that could cause him to shoot their leader.

“I came to rescue you, Rhosyn, but based on the sight that greeted me when I got here, there was no need.” He bent his arms, directing his aim up and away from Ansel and resting his guns on his shoulder. “I just didn’t realize what kind of kidnapping this was.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Ansel found his voice. “Well, not at first, at least.”

“It doesn’t seem wise to admit to the man holding the guns that you did kidnap his sister for less than honorable purposes…or at least the less amusing kind of dishonorable.” Kristoff looked at Rhosyn with a question on his face, as if asking if he should go ahead and shoot Ansel anyways.

At his words, something between a sob and a laugh bubbled up in Rhosyn’s throat, and she ended up releasing a hiccuping snort. Everybody looked at her questioningly, but a smile spread across her face.

She had been navigating protecting London and her little Lions using her own moral compass and ending up hopelessly lost. But here was Kristoff, calling her his sister and risking his life to find her. Nothing could feel that dire when faced with the sharp-shooter’s crooked smile.

She darted forward and threw herself at him in a bone crushing hug. To Kristoff’s credit, he managed not to shoot anybody or bang her head with his guns as he hugged her back. After a tight squeeze, he took her by the shoulders and held her back, looking at her.

“You’re alright?” His gaze darted over her rumpled clothes and her bandaged leg.

She nodded. “Somehow less banged up than usual.”

“That is saying absolutely nothing.” Reassured that Rhosyn hadn’t been mistreated, Kristoff’s attention turned to Ansel, and his gaze narrowed. “I do still require an explanation.”

Ansel’s gaze fixed over Kristoff’s shoulder, and Rhosyn followed it to the audience of circus members who had followed the commotion and now hovered, many of them seemingly unsure what to do with their hands now that violence didn’t seem eminent. With a wave, Ansel dismissed them. While a few lingered for a moment, obviously curious, they did as he asked.

Rhosyn extricated herself from Kristoff, standing between the two men, who sized each other up.