Page 9 of The Orc's Innocent Plaything

“Is it Nan?” he ventured. “Is someone else ill?”

I often worked with his grandmother, the village healer, but I had not seen her since this morning. Mutely, I shook my head.

He opened his mouth—presumably to ask another question—then closed it and shook his head, sending the beads in his hair clanking against each another. He glanced at the table where he had clearly been working on a project, then blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“Can I offer ye aught?” he finally asked. “Food? Ale?”

You had better say something, lest he thinkyouthe one who is ill.

“I—I have had enough ale tonight, I think,” I croaked.

His dark brows rose. “Ye’ve been drinking?”

Slowly, his lips—those wicked, expressive lips I hated that I loved—drew into a wry grin. Nay, amockinggrin?

“Our innocent Myra has beendrinking? What did ye need thecourage for, lass?”

Innocent Myra.

I hated that he thought that about me. I hated that it was true. Mayhap ‘twas that knowledge that spurred me to stick out my jaw mulishly and blurt, “I do not want you to think me innocent any longer.”

Well,thatshocked him into silence. He studied me, and as the seconds ticked by, I could feel my skin responding to his gaze. It prickled, as if I were too cold and too hot at the same time, and I shuddered, a dull throbbing beginning in my core.

I saw Vartok’s nostrils flare as the look in his eyes turned speculative.

I hated that, too.

In the months since I’d been in Bloodfire Village, in the months since Vartok had been forced to take on the role of acting chief in his brother’s absence, he hadn’t seen me as afemale. Not the way he flirted with every other female in the village, at least. To me, he was teasing,mockingme almost. How could he know my innocence? Was it so obvious?

The fact that he was onlynoweyeing me speculatively told me I’d guessed correctly; he’d never viewed me as a female, as a potential conquest, up until now.

And I hated that I hated that too.

“Why are ye here, Myra?” he finally asked in a low voice that seemed to reach right down to my core, making me want to shudder again.

“I want to…”

Damn him, it was theinterestin his eyes which caused me to lose my courage. Caused me to trail off and look away.

But then he was stepping toward me, steppingtoo close.

“What do ye want, wee human?” he all-but-purred, his movements too sensual to be allowed. “What do ye want, that ye’ve come tomein the middle of the night? What could our sweet, innocent, learned, and haughty midwife want from lowlyme?”

‘Twas the mocking way he said it, as if he didn’t believe any of his words, that forced my chin up again, forced my glare to meet his eyes.

“I want pleasure,” I snapped out, daring him to say aught offensive. He towered over me, his muscles defined from years in his forge, but I wasn’t scared of him. I’d never been scared of him, had I?

“I want to learn about pleasure.”

And you are the male to teach me.

The words were unsaid in the air between us. I realized I was holding my breath.

Vartok’s expression didn’t change, but I saw his nostrils flare again. He leaned closer, just a few inches, and inhaled, his eyes never leaving mine. Had there always been that green spark in the middle of each eye? I couldn’t remember.

“Pleasure,” he repeated in a murmur, all hints of his earlier teasing gone in favor of an intensity I’d only seen from him at his forge. “I can teach ye about pleasure, lass.”

“I know,” I rasped, my throat too dry for someone who’d had three ales. “I want…”

---