Page 41 of Truth's Blade

His arms were fascinating. He was shirtless and she could see the smooth golden skin and bunched muscles of his biceps, and she felt a familiar heating of her cheeks.

She really needed to keep her blushes under control.

She rolled on her side, toward him, and he looked over at her, his face so serious.

“You got some sleep?” she asked softly, suddenly worried he’d stayed up all night to watch her.

“I got plenty of sleep.” His gaze flicked to the door, and she saw he had wedged a chair under the handle. The key was onthe wooden dresser on the far side of the room. He lowered his voice. “No one bothered us.”

“I’m sorry I left you to it,” she said.

He put a finger to his lips and put his hand on the wall behind them, and finally, now she was concentrating, she heard the faintest shift of sound coming from the wall—a rustle of clothing.

“You hungry?” he asked suddenly, sitting up and turning to put his feet on the floor. “Because I’m starving.”

“I’m hungry, and I’m pleased at the idea of not eating travel food,” she answered.

“I’ll go down, see if I can have something brought up here,” he said, moving away from her, back still turned. She could see the definition of muscles in his back and on his shoulders. He wore soft, loose cotton pants that hung low on his hips. His clothes were draped over a chair set beside the fireplace, and he grabbed his trousers.

She caught just the smallest glimpse of him in profile, and then turned to give him privacy as he dressed, so glad she had an excuse to keep her face tilted away from him, because her cheeks were pink once again.

He was aroused.

She aroused him.

She was so delighted by the idea, she found herself smiling.

“Anything in particular you feel like for breakfast?” he asked, pulling his shirt over his head.

She lifted up a little on her elbows, letting him see the gleam in her eye and the fluster on her face. “Anything they have is good.”

He stared at her, rooted to the spot, and then shook his head, as if to clear it. “Got it.” He opened the door.

“Theo,” she called.

He paused in the doorway. “Yes.”

“Your boots.”

He looked down at his bare feet and shook his head again. Pointed a finger at her as if to say that was her fault.

She giggled, then slapped a hand over her mouth.

Had she ever giggled?

Maybe, when she was little. When it was just her and her father, and they had been somewhere safe.

He walked back, sat down and pulled on socks and boots in the quick, economical movements of a soldier, then left, locking the door behind him.

As soon as he was gone, she remembered the listener at the wall, and her breathing sped up.

Was it just another guest, sitting up against their pillows and making a noise they weren’t aware of? Or was someone trying to spy on them?

She had to assume it was a spy.

She got up, found her bag, and walked behind the neck-high screen Peggy had put up around the bathtub. She changed out of the cotton pants and tunic she had slept in, into thick trousers, a clean shirt and her usual boots.

There was a quick, single knock at the door and then Theo unlocked it and stood in the doorway, his eyes widening a little at the sight of her behind the screen.

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