Page 33 of Enchanted Warrior

He shifted, careful not to disturb Tamsin. She was draped across him, her hair scattered over the sheets like skeins of golden silk. Her face was soft with sleep, the rounded curve of her cheek almost girlish. He longed to run a finger over the arch of her brow, the upturned tip of her nose, but was reluctant to disturb her.

Laughter rang from the street below, followed by a puppy’s yap. The noise made Tamsin stir, her nose wrinkling as her eyes squeezed shut. It was adorable. Gawain willed her back to sleep, and it seemed to work.

He didn’t use magic—never that. By the time Gawain had grown tall enough to ride a horse, he’d discovered his mother’s spell cupboard and learned which potions could rot the flesh of a living man or destroy a village with a plague of boils. He’d seen her strike down a serving maid who’d dared to steal a ham from the castle pantry. The memory of the poor girl’s crippling illness still made his skin crawl.

And yet here he was, his heart reaching for Tamsin as if she were the sun. Little by little she had been slipping past his defenses, until last night she’d broken through. And why not? She’d given him back his brother. To him, that act shone like a beacon on the dark sea of terrible deeds he had witnessed. It did not chase back all the darkness, but neither could it be ignored.

Tamsin woke with a lazy stretch, reminding him of a contented cat. She lifted her head, strands of golden hair falling into her eyes. Gawain brushed them back, letting himself sink into the warm brown of her gaze. “Good morning,” he said.

She squirmed delightfully until her mouth reached his. “Good morning, my good knight.”

Her kiss was the brush of apple blossoms against his skin. Sudden hunger surged in him, demanding more bed play. “Come here.”

“No, you come here.” Tamsin straddled him, her hair falling around them like a curtain of gold. She kissed his eyes, his nose, his chin, taking her time to find his mouth again. When she did, it was to nip and suck, drawing out the simple act of kissing into an epic poem. Gawain cupped her breasts, their velvety smooth weight enticing. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, bringing them to straining peaks. She gasped and squirmed, sparking a flood of heat to his nether regions.

He chuckled, earning a searing glance that spoke of exquisite torments. Tamsin was an instinctive seductress.

“Are you ready to surrender?” she said in grave tones.

With little effort, Gawain rolled her over, tangling them both in the soft mounds of covers. He highly approved of these luxurious modern beds. “You have much to learn of warfare, Mistress Greene.”

“Are you going to lay siege to me again?”

“Indeed.” He dug her out of the billows of the comforter, appreciating her slender, smooth form anew. Her legs were long and lean, delicate as a doe’s. He positioned himself between them, leaning forward to run his tongue over the graceful planes of her stomach. “I intend to devour you.”

With that he bent to her most private entry, breaching the gates with tongue and teeth. Tamsin tasted salty-sweet and pure as April sunshine, and she shivered for him as he found the secrets of her inner chambers. “Are you ready to surrender?” he growled.

“Not so fast,” she said, though she was panting by then.

Then Gawain found the exact spot that crumbled her defenses. She came around his fingers, muscles contracting as she cried out. But when she finally stilled, she made it clear they were not done. “I see you have a tower in need of capture and demolition.”

Gawain let Tamsin have her way. Hot and slick, she closed around him, let her warm him with her playful teasing and the touch of her ivory skin. The sun seeped through the curtains, lighting her from behind like an angel in a church window, all gold and brightness. By the time her conquest was done, he was drunk on woman and bliss.

She slid down beside him, one slender arm thrown over his chest. “White flag?”

He closed one hand over her bottom. “I reserve the right to initiate an exchange of prisoners.”

“I thought you said last night that you didn’t take prisoners,” she said with a sly glance. “Change your mind?”

The moment was broken by a thump on the apartment stairs and a child’s bright laughter. The world was coming to life, however much Gawain wished to deny it. They kissed again, but soon she was sliding from his grasp and reaching for her robe. “We should see how Beaumains is faring.”

Gawain caught her hand. “You would leave me so soon? You’re my healer.”

“So?”

“I’m sure I have a fever that needs tending.”

She gave him a withering look. “I hear ice water is good for that.”

He sank back into the pillow. “You are a cruel woman.”

She knotted the tie of her robe, but sat on the bed beside him. Her fingers trailed along the scar that slashed his ribs. It was an unconscious gesture, but it pleased him. He liked that she was comfortable with his body, content to curl against him for comfort.

“Finding your brother was a victory, but there is so much to do yet.” She sighed, breath warm against the skin of his chest.

Gawain understood. “None of this will be easy, but I’ll be at your side.”

“You are my knight in shining armor,” she murmured, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. A smile lurked behind her soft brown eyes.

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