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“Notice them, did you?”
“It’s kind of hard not to with your nipples staring me in the face.”
Sal rose and walked to the chair where she’d slung her breeches and leather vest.
“Better?” she asked, shrugging it on without fastening it.
No.
No, it was not.
Now, it was a deliciously maddening tease, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her curved breasts every time the front gaped open.
The fact that I could feel something adjacent to arousal in my current state was a powerful testament to how astoundingly, mind-bendingly seductive this person was.
A loud crack from the fire caused me to jump, the chocolate’s weight yanking at the roots of my hair. I sucked in a breath as pain flashed through my scalp.
Sal was at my side in an instant.
“Are you all right?
I tried to nod yes, which only made it worse. To my horror, I felt the familiar tightness at the base of my throat. The stinging at the corners of my eyes.
You will not cry in front of the hot assassin lady. You will not cry in front of the hot assassin lady. You will not—
I’d never been what one would call a pretty crier.
My face bunches like a drawn curtain. My nose tends to leak just as much as my eyes and can create snot bubbles if my shuddery, childish inhales catch the nose tears just right.
As luck—or the lack thereof—would have it, now was one of those times.
I felt the tickle at the end of my nostril, the tiny pocket of heat followed by the wet little pop, and then all hell broke loose.
The humiliation made me cry all the harder.
“Someone tried to make my head into a truffle, and now I’ve snot on my face. So, I’m going to go with nay. I am not alright.”
Sal carefully sank down on the mattress beside me and fished inside her vest pocket for a handkerchief that she used to dry my tears before swiping it beneath my nose.
“That’s absolutely disgusting,” I sniffled. “I am so sorry.”
“You want disgusting,” she said, folding the damp cloth. “Try being on the business end of a Sigataur.”
“I wouldn’t even know which end was the business end of a Sigataur.”
Picturing the man-headed, moose-horned, ponderously large Centaur-esque creatures fabled to roam the forests of the Hebrides, either end seemed like it could be a significant problem.
“Count yourself lucky. Let’s just say the term cumbucket isn’t hyperbole.”
Suppressing a bark of laughter sent bubbles out of both nostrils this time.
Sal held the handkerchief to the end of my nose. “Blow.”
I blew.
She gingerly dabbed my nose and lip before sliding the handkerchief back into her pocket.
“Who taught you to do this?” I asked, gazing up at her. “Take care of someone, that is.”
