Page 63 of Storm of Fury
The past shaped you. And you could either let it force you into the crucible others so desired, or you could use it to shape yourself.
She came up for a breath, wiping the water from her face. “Enough of such talk. You’ve asked your questions. And I have answered.”
“So you have. You saved my life yesterday,” he said, “and I still haven’t thanked you.”
“It was nothing,” she grumbled. “You would have done the same for me.”
“It was sweet.”
“Sweet?” Now she knew he was lying. “The cold has addled your wits. I’m not sweet, Tormund. I look after myself. I don’t watch over anyone else.”
“You were standing there between a furiousdrekiqueen and me with naught but your sword, daring her to come and get you.” The rumble of a soft laugh echoed through his chest, and his brown eyes warmed. “If you were worried about your own skin, you would have left me there.”
She looked away.
“Why does it bother you so much to admit that you care about others?” This time his voice softened. “It’s not a weakness.”
“It is a weakness. It gives you hope. It makes you believe that you will be protected, only to find out you have a weak flank,” she whispered. She’d spent years drilling in a shield wall, only to discover that the one time she truly needed someone at her back, they weren’t there for her. “The only person who will look out for me is me. And the only one who will watch my back is me. I learned that lesson, Tormund. If I protected you, then… it was a moment of stupidity. The battle rush. Nothing else.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t counter her. He merely cocked his head as if he saw straight through her. “I would watch your back.”
“Of course you would,” she said wryly.
Men would promise you the world, if only to steal their way beneath your blankets.
“Well, how about we settle on something we can both agree upon?” Tormund said, displaying the bar of soap. “If I promise to keep my hands to myself, will you let mewashyour back instead?”
That innocuous sliver of soap held the danger of an unsheathed blade in inept hands.
“You do trust me, don’t you?” he teased.
It took her a long moment to realize the answer was yes.
He was too honest. Too open. Tormund wouldn’t be able to betray someone if his life depended upon it.
Bryn slowly turned around. “I trust you,” she admitted.
“Well, that’s a start.”
It was herself she didn’t trust.
And perhaps he should learn that lesson too. She sighed. Why did this particular job have to be so difficult? Why had she ever agreed upon it?
Enormous soapy hands brushed her hair forward over her shoulder. Bryn shivered, tilting her head forward almost in surrender, as he slid those callused hands over her smooth skin. Not for him the practiced touches of the seducer. She’d expected those hands to delve lower, to accidentally brush against her breast, perhaps, but he was, as always, impeccably polite.
Gentler than she’d expected, for such a large man.
Each slow stoke of his hands felt like a caress, as if he was soothing a nervous filly. And tension crept through her, for she wasn’t nervous and she wasn’t innocent, and she wanted him to stop being so fucking polite—even though she’d been the one to set the terms.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered.
Everything.
“I don’t think I should let you do this,” she admitted. “It complicates matters.”
Those fingers brushed against her shoulder, and then he rubbed his thumbs up the column of muscle on either side of her neck.
“I thought it would simplify them,” he replied, driving his thumbs up under the hollow where her neck met her skull. “You want me. I want you. It’s easy, Bryn. All we have to do is enjoy each other.”
