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My shiver turned to a clutching in my chest as a gasp caught in my throat.
The next part of the dream was his belt as he wound it around my wrists, the thick leather tight enough to render me helpless, but not so tight it cut into my flesh. He pulled me to a hook on a post in the barn, lifting my arms, securing them above my head, then pulled a knife from where he’d stabbed it into the wood, bringing in down under my chin, tracing it down my chest, between my breasts, the sound of the fabric rasping as he cut away every layer, then the tip of the blade, cool and sharp, around a nipple, along my belly, centering itself between my legs…
“You don’t want to see me like this.”
I jumped when he spoke, so lost in the returning dream, a warm trickle of arousal soaking my undergarments as he ran his hand through his short-cropped hair and turned away.
Oh, how it broke my heart. There was such sadness in his words.
I set down my basket of cheese and bread. And then, mustering all my courage, I reached out my hand for his. “I do want to see you, though. I like you exactly as you are.”
He took my hand, meeting my eyes, searching. “You would not be the first to turn away.”
“That thought never crossed my mind.” I said, then added, “Were you a soldier? You can tell me how it happened if you’d like. I’d like to know.”
For a second, he said nothing. He stared at me, his eyes darkening as if he was battling with something. Then, he shook his head. “I can’t…”
“It’s all right,” I said, ashamed I’d asked something so personal from a man I barely knew.
Randal met my eyes, his brow tightening as a hardness took his face, his eyes glazed with what looked, not like sadness, but rage.
I stayed silent, and eventually he spoke.
“When I was a child,” he said, “I lived in the house of a very cruel man. I’ve never talked to anyone about it.” He blew out a breath and I took his hand in mine.
“What happened to him? To the man that did this…” I asked, a clench in my chest as I pulled my lips tight, holding back my own tears.
He sniffed as his lips pulled back from his teeth, he snarled, “I killed him.”
Chapter 7
Randal
Goddamn it.
Why am I suddenly having an attack of honesty?
The most surprising thing was, after we sat in silence for a while, I felt her hand on my shoulder and heard her soft voice. “It sounds like he deserved it. Sometimes I wish…”
Wish what?
She wouldn’t say. Did she want me to kill someone for her? That father of hers? The men who hurt her? I’d do it. They’d all be in the ground within a week. But somehow I didn’t think that was what she meant.
We finished up our food, I did all her work for her and started mending the barns as promised. The sun was hitting the treetops as she watched me finish up the last few boards, her eyes fixed as her tongue traced her upper lip.
“Think that’s it for today.” I brushed my hands together, knowing a goodbye was coming to close off this day and it felt like my heart was being torn from my chest. I wanted to be there. With her. Always. But how could I make it all happen? I wasn’t sure, but something I did know, was I needed something from her so I would make it through the night.
“I’m so thankful they sent you. You work so hard.”
That’s not everything that’s hard, I wanted to say, but instead I rolled my head on my neck, listening to the crack of the bones before steadying myself and taking the three steps necessary to eliminate the cavernous space between us.
“How thankful are you?” I bit into my bottom lip, my nostrils flaring as her scent once again swirled around me, making me twitch and seethe with need.
“What do you mean?” Her words weren’t filled with the naivete I would have expected. To my surprise, they were tinted more with teasing than a lack of understanding.
“Let’s do this,” I started, reaching down and pulling her long braid over her shoulder, taking the loose hair on the end and tickling her chest with it while I chose my words carefully. “A game. Of sorts.”
“Games are for children.”
I shook my head, tightening my lips as I twirled the last few inches of her braid into my fist. “Oh no. Grown-up games are much more fun that children’s games. You will need to trust me, Iris. Do you trust me?”
I watched her throat undulate as she swallowed. Still holding her hair to the side, I brushed the backs of my fingers along the flesh below her jaw, feeling the tap tap tap of her quaking pulse.
