Page 46 of The Knight

“You know that for sure, do you?” Freya raised a brow.

Something blipped in his cheek. “Okay. If it will make you happy.” He unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall to the ground. The white bandage on his arm stood out starkly against his skin. He reached behind his neck, grimacing as he pulled his ripped t-shirt over his head. Thick muscles flexed as he moved, the action accentuating the sculpted contours of his arms. The motion revealed a torso that could have been carved from stone—washboard abs etched deep, a dusting of dark hair emphasizing rather than concealing the defined planes of his chest.

Against her will, her heart picked up speed as he tossed his top on a nearby rock and unbuckled his belt. “Fair’s fair. You should turn around too.”

Her mouth was parched. Was it her imagination or had his voice dropped an octave, his gaze grown darker?

Mutely, she nodded and turned her back to him. The slide of leather against fabric, the soft shush of clothing being removed—her ears were hypersensitive, tingling with each sound.

“You want to check anything?” His voice carried a hint of challenge.

What!Her pulse almost exploded in her head. She mustered everything she had to sound indignant. “Of course not.”

A soft laugh reached her ears. “Okay then. I’m clean. You can look now I’m decent.”

She spun. “Thank God?—”

Oh. My. God.

When he said he was decent, he didn’t meandressed. He stood before her wearing only a pair of tight-fitting shorts that clung to his body, leaving little to the imagination.

The chill in the air evaporated, replaced by a sudden, suffocating heat. She struggled to keep her eyes on his face, fighting the magnetic pull that threatened to drag her gaze lower. Just looking at him hit her bloodstream like Asta’s schnapps, leaving her giddy and off-balance.

Her resolve crumbled and she drank him in.

Every gorgeous inch of him.

Sculpted muscles flexed beneath his skin. She had never been with a man like this. He could overpower her with ease, and knowing that arrowed an inexplicable heat between her legs.

His broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist and a tantalizing trail of hair led down from his navel, disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts above powerful thighs. Scars marked his skin here and there, silent stories of past battles. Butrather than detracting from his appearance, they added to his raw, masculine appeal.

Goosebumps raced along her arms as the urge to trace those battle scars with her fingertips, to learn their histories through touch, almost overwhelmed her.

“Freya.” His soft throat-clearing snapped her attention back to his face. Humor danced in his eyes, but there was something else there too—something darker, more intense than she’d ever witnessed before.

Desire?

Freya swallowed hard, far too aware of the unaccustomed heat building low in her belly.

This man was dangerous in more ways than one, and she was in serious trouble

His smile ramped to solar. “Your turn.”

25

Abe turned his back,every muscle in his body taut. The approaching night air cooled his skin, while heat built within him. He strained his ears, desperate to catch any sound behind him.

The soft rustle of fabric sent his imagination into overdrive—Freya’s delicate fingers working the buttons of her shirt, her stepping out of her clothes, skin pebbling in the bitterly cold air, the press of nipples against lace?—

He willed the thoughts away.I’m a professional, dammit.

“This is ridiculous.” Freya’s exasperated voice cut through the charged silence.

Abe exhaled, frustration coloring his words. “We need to know, Freya.”And I need a drink. Or ten. Maybe eleven.

He tilted his head back, searching the sky above for some anchor of calm. White clouds scudded past, taunting him with their serenity. Even the cosmos was indifferent to his agitation.

“I think I would know if there was a tracker in my clothes.” Her tone swung between indignant and pouty.

---