Page 30 of Bride of Mist
“You don’t mean to bed me?” she asked, just to be certain.
“Ye sound disappointed,” he said, picking up the poker to jab at the coals.
Flummoxed, she couldn’t even sputter out a reply.
“Look, ye’re as bonnie as a blossom,” he explained. “But when it comes to beddin’ lasses, I prefer daisies to thistles.”
“Thistles?” she said, bristling at the insult.
“I’d suggest ye get some rest,” he said, sitting on a three-legged stool by the fire to take off his boots. “We don’t want to miss breakfast.”
His dismissal was infuriating.
Damn the knave! If he didn’t at leasttryto molest her, he would ruin everything. Somehow she had to goad him into action.
If he wouldn’t be provoked, perhaps he could be enticed. Her aunt Helena had taught all the cousins how to use feminine wiles to disarm men. It wasn’t Feiyan’s favorite defense. But she could make an attempt.
She removed her cloak and hung it on a peg. When she turned back, emulating her aunt, she made sure her surcoat had “slipped” off to one side.
When his gaze alit on her bare shoulder, the Westlander’s jaw slackened, and his hands froze on his boots.
She gave him her most wide-eyed and winsome gaze. “You’ll need help with those.”
Before he could close his mouth, she knelt strategically before him, giving him a clear view of her bosom as she took hold of his crack-heeled boot. Granted, her breasts weren’t as ample as her aunt Helena’s, but she could still use them to good effect.
His leather boot was still damp from the river, stuck tight. Still, she struggled at the task longer than necessary, letting him feast his eyes.
When the boot finally came off all at once, she would have tipped over backwards. But he caught her by the shoulder, preventing her from falling. She gasped. An inch more, and he would have felt the point of theyan zi fei daohidden in her sleeve.
Smiling sweetly, she placed his boot beside the stool, then held her hands out for the second boot, inclining forward again in sultry invitation. She was playing a dangerous game. But she was at her best when facing peril.
His silence as she tugged at his boot was as taut as the boot itself, relieved only when she slid it from his foot.
“Thank ye,” he choked out. He swiftly averted his eyes, but not before she glimpsed the naked longing in them.
This was working surprisingly well, considering she possessed fewer curves than her cousins and had little experience with such tactics. The sensation of empowerment and superiority was satisfying.
She rose then, retreating to the bed, where she perched on the pallet to take off her own boots. Slowly, languorously, she tugged at one of them, careful not to reveal thebishoutucked inside, while exposing a good bit of her leg.
Determined to draw him into an attack, she untied her stocking and slid it off with forced leisure. As she bared her foot, she felt his gaze slip to her ankle for an instant before flitting away.
She crossed her leg to take off the second boot. But for this one, she feigned difficulty, scowling and straining at the thing.
By his disgruntled frown, he clearly wanted nothing to do with undressing her.
He just as clearly couldn’t refuse to help her.
With a glower that made him look as if he’d been ordered to scrub a garderobe, he strode across the room.
“Here,” he said, offering his hand.
She leaned back on her hands and placed her heel in his palm.
Intentionally flexing her ankle in resistance as he tugged on the boot, she kept him close, allowing him a good long look.
She smirked to herself. Her aunt Helena was right. Men were ridiculously easy to bait.
As he tried to gently remove the boot, his gaze predictably strayed elsewhere. Coursed up the length of her leg. Skimmed over her hips. Grazed her shoulders.
