Page 94 of Storm of Fury
Because a part of her wanted to stay there. Forever.
She had to get out of here.
He was far more dangerous than she’d ever suspected.
Bryn lay still, listening to his breathing soften. Then she began to ease his arm from around her waist, slipping from the warmth of his embrace. Instantly the chill of the room bit her skin, but she was almost there, almost to the edge of the bed and—
An enormous arm clamped around her, hauling her back against his chest. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Bryn fell back into the nest she’d recently inhabited, cursing under her breath. “You’re awake.”
The rasp of stubble brushed against her nape, and then he was easing her thighs apart, slipping deft fingers between her legs and finding her still wet and slick with his seed. Fingertips brushed against her clitoris, and she shivered as her body practically melted into his embrace.
“One night, you said,” he breathed, then bit the back of her neck as she cried out. “And it’s not morning yet, my love.”
Eighteen
Morning broughtwith it the ache of last night’s exertions—teethmarks etched into his skin and the languid softness of spent muscles—as Tormund slowly roused. Blinking awake, he reached for the warm armful of woman he’d been dreaming about, only to find the sheets empty and cold.
“Bryn?” He lifted his head off the pillow, squinting at the slit of light that streamed through the curtains.
There was no sign of her.
Only loud footsteps outside the door and a man’s muffled curse.
The door slammed open, and Tormund sprang to alertness, reaching for the sword that was—
Not sheathed near the bed. Nor was his cousin an intruder that needed to be defended against, despite the smug grin on the bastard’s face.
Mother of Jesus.
Tormund collapsed back into the pillow, cursing under his breath as his cousin leaned a shoulder against the door jamb.
“Enjoy yourself, did you?” Haakon asked, arching a perfect golden brow.
“Until someone tried to fucking give me a heart seizure,” he grumbled, swinging his legs over the bed and waiting for his racing heartbeat to subside. Tormund scrubbed at the growing bristle of his beard.
She wasn’t here.
Indeed, there was no sign of her.
Haakon strolled inside the room, and yanked Tormund’s shirt off the chest by the door. “Here,” he said, tossing it towards Tormund. “Get dressed.” He paused. “She’s not here. I passed her on the stairs.”
“Who’s not—”
“Tall,” Haakon said, holding a hand up to his eyebrows. “About this high. Could kick a man’s head off his shoulders—or eat him alive, judging by the look of you. Bad temper. Is any of this ringing any bells? Or you can continue to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Fine. Tormund glared at him as he yanked his shirt over his head. “Maybe.”
Haakon shook his head. “She’s trouble, Tormund. You’re going to get your heart broken and nobody wants to see you sobbing into your ale of a night.”
Snatching at the trousers he found hanging on the end of the bed, he hauled them on. “There’s nothing wrong with heartbreak, cousin. It means you’re alive. And you should be one to speak.”
“I never cried into my ale.”
“No?” He pushed to his feet, yanking his buttons together. “You never shed a tear when your wife vanished. And maybe that was the problem? You’re ice, my friend. And I am fire. I was born to burn, and no matter whether she breaks my heart or not, at least it will be one hell of a story, one hell of a memory. Now, what brings you to my door so early in the fucking morning?”
Haakon scowled. “We have a prince to rescue.”
