Page 11 of Laird of Steel
She smirked down at him, clapping the finished task from her hands and quipping, “Och, how the mighty have fallen.”
By the Saints, she was breathtaking. Literally. She’d knocked the wind out of him.
But she was also beautiful. Even when she mocked him. Her hair looked like an angel’s bright halo, at odds with her devilish grin.
“M’laird,” a young knight urged. “Ye’ve got to get up.”
The others joined in.
“Ye can’t let her get away with that.”
“Show her who’s the best warrior in all Scotland.”
“Ye’d best watch out, lass. He’s a champion. He could break your neck like a twig.”
“Go on, m’laird. Don’t let a maidservant get the best o’ ye.”
Gellir gave his head a shake. He rolled up to his feet. This time when he faced her, he wouldn’t misjudge her.
The men shouted encouragements as he circled her like a wolf stalking a lamb, searching for a weakness.
Her knees were flexed. Her hands were loose. Her breath was calm. Her gaze was locked on him.
The instant she blinked, he charged forward, planning to gather her in his arms.
Somehow she was ready for him. She deftly stepped aside, and he sailed past her, crashing painfully into the armory grinding wheel. The men groaned at the dull thud he made as he struck the rock. Even the maidservant sucked in a sympathetic breath.
But he didn’t need her sympathy, no matter how his shoulder throbbed. He pinned her with a smug expression. Half grimace. Half grin. Then he lunged forward, trying again to trap the wee minx.
She instantly captured his forearms and pulled him aside. Sweeping a foot behind his heels, she knocked him off his feet. She eased him down to the flagstone floor, like a nursemaid putting a babe to bed.
Gellir should have been furious. A vicious slam to the ground was one thing. A gentle, controlled drop like this was a bald insult.
But he was too fascinated for anger.
She released his arms and smugly held a hand out to help him up.
He took her hand. Her palm was warm within his, triggering another pleasant memory—making their way through the dark of the sea cave, holding her small hand in his. It had been warm. Soft. Trusting.
For an instant, they exchanged tender glances. He savored the sensation.
Then he narrowed his eyes and gave her hand a sudden, brisk tug.
He was surprised she fell for the trick. It was one of Feiyan’s favorites. But in that instant of lusty distraction, she’d let down her guard.
Pulled forward, she landed in a graceless sprawl atop his body.
The men cheered. Part of him gloated in triumph. The other part realized he’d made a serious tactical error.
This close to her, he could see astonishment in her sky-blue eyes. Count each delicate freckle standing out in blushing relief from her pale cheeks. Feel her velvety breath upon his face.
If he eased an inch closer, he’d be able to capture her plump, rosy lips between his own. And he had an unruly urge to do just that.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. She no longer seemed like that little sister he’d once thought her to be. Her breasts were soft and pliant where they were crushed against his chest. Her legs entwined with his in a sensual tangle. And despite the audience and the inappropriate situation, his loins immediately began to respond to the wicked, warm weight of a woman pressing down upon them.
Quickly, before she could detect the bulge in his braies, he rolled her over onto her back, trapping her between his arms.
The men crowed and whistled over his manly triumph.
