Page 14 of Company of Thieves
“Oh.” She looked abashed, making an apologetic gesture. “Sorry. I get a bit shouty when I’m upset.”
“You don’t say.” He gave her a long look.
She smiled ruefully. “All right, I deserved that. I am sorry about yelling the fact that I don’t want to sleep with you. It’s been a really long day. Is that water for me?”
“For us both. You may wash up first if you like. I’ll take my turn in a few minutes, just as soon as I make sure that myNightwingis being readied for our journey.”
Hallie moved around the black lacquer screen that separated his sleeping quarters from the living space in the tent. “YourNightwing? I thought the horse’s name was Sampson?”
“Nightwingis my airship.” He peeled off his goggles, turban, and armor, setting it onto a chest for his servant to clean.
“Are you going somewhere?” she asked, pausing before the water.
“We both are.”
“I don’t think so,” she said in that outraged voice that never failed to make him annoyed. “I just got here, thank you very much.”
He shrugged. He had more important things to do than to stand arguing with her if she was determined to be left behind. “It’s your choice. If you wish to talk to me, you will need to be on theNightwingin the next ten minutes.”
“Alan?”
Her voice had him pausing at the entrance of the tent, even though he couldn’t see her through the screen. “Yes?”
“Thank you again for not freaking out on me.” She moved to the edge of the screen, her face red from the sun, freckles visible all over it, as well as her bare arms. She bit her lip for a moment, drawing his attention to her mouth. He wasn’t normally attracted to women who were almost as tall as him, with wide mouths and a direct manner of speaking their minds, but Hallie seemed to hold a fascination that he didn’t understand, and didn’t particularly want.
He did not have time for a dalliance, especially not with Jack Fletcher’s sister.
“My ex-husband used to tell me I was a big baby for being afraid of horses, and that the only way to stop being afraid was just to get on their back and show them who was master. It always ended up with me being stepped on, and kicked, and hurt when I fell off, and ...” She waved a hand. “All sorts of horrible things. It was just bad all the way around.”
He had a lot of things he would have liked to say about a man whose manner of trying to acclimatize a frightened woman was to make her more distressed, but there was no time. He simply nodded and strode out to make sure that the ship was ready, and that the men who remained behind had instructions.
By the time he’d taken care of that, theNightwingstrained at her mooring ropes, clearly wanting to be aloft.
He returned to his tent, automatically going around the screen, the sight of Hallie standing in front of a table bearing a bowl of water arresting him.
She’d removed her tunic, and was in the middle of washing herself, her breasts enclosed in some sort of short stays. He couldn’t help but admire them for a few seconds, noting that they might not be overly large, but they looked just right to fit in his hands.
“Hey!” Hallie said, glaring. “Eyes up here, buster.”
“Alan,” he said automatically, but dragged his gaze off those two perfect little mounds of breasts to catch her irate expression.
“Well, Alan, you can just stop staring at my boobs. You can’t tell me you haven’t seen any before,” she said, wringing out a cloth and spreading it to dry on the marble of the washstand. He murmured an apology while she shook out her tunic and slid it on over her head. “I take it we’re ready to go?” she asked.
“Yes.” He reminded himself that he was not looking for a woman, and especially not this woman, and went to the washstand, pouring out fresh water and plunging his head in it, quickly washing his face and neck before pulling off his tunic, boots, and leggings, tossing all of them onto a chair.
“I suppose I’ll go with you—holy marmalade and all the little jams!” Hallie had turned to address him, her eyes wide when she caught sight of him pulling out fresh clothing. “You are starkers, sir!”
He paused in the act of pulling on leggings, looking down at himself. “If you mean I am nude, yes.”
“Yes. So very. And can I just saywow?” Her voice took on a husky quality that thrummed within him. Although he’d managed to lose the erection her ass rubbing against him had caused, it threatened to return when her gaze crawled all over his body. To his surprise, she wasn’t staring at his genitals, as most women did. Her gaze seemed to be focused on his torso and arms. “You are really buff. You almost have a six-pack.”
“A pack of what?” he asked, part of him wanting to stand there and let her finish her visual examination of him, the other part wanting to lay her down in his bed and strip her unconventional clothing from her body, allowing him to stroke and taste and touch all of that smooth, freckled skin.
“Your chest. And stomach. The way the muscles ripple down to your pelvic area is called a six-pack. Can I ... this is so incredibly not at all politically correct, but would you mind if I had a wee peek at your behind?”
He was back to blinking again. He thought of telling her that her attempts to arouse him weren’t having any effect, but sadly, the proof of the opposite was going to be all too obvious in another few seconds. “If it pleases you, I have no objections, political or otherwise.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, hurrying around to stand behind him. “Glorioski! That is one amazing behind, Alan. It’s just ... and that part is so lovely ... I just want to put my hands right ... how do you get those swoopy bits on the sides? I really ... I’m sorry. You can yell at me if you like, but is it possible for me to gently, ever so gently, touch that bit right there?”
