Page 25 of To No End

The barkeep laughed back at us and said amusingly, “Lucky for you two lovebirds, we only have one room left.”

I couldn’t believe he had called us lovebirds, and the same thought was written across Trace’s face as he looked up, clenching his jaw.

Before I could interject, Trace responded, “Fine. We’ll take it.”

He handed him a few coins and the barkeep smiled at us both, unable to hide the pleasure of having unintentionally orchestrated this conundrum. He laid down the key in front of Trace as if it were already his room, and I reached across the table, snatching it so fast it probably gave them both whiplash.

I stood up from the booth, thanked the bartender, and made my way to the staircase leading to the inn portion of the tavern. With each step, I swayed my hips and walked as gracefully as possible in front of Trace.

He followed behind from a farther distance than I’d like. It was probably a good thing, since my conscience was fighting with what was left of the alcohol still in my system about sharing a room with a stranger. One that I desired, badly. I was playing a very dangerous game and the excitement made me tingle.

The key slipped into the lock snugly, but wouldn’t budge. Hearing Trace’s measured strides reach the top of the stairs behind me, I began to turn the key back and forth frantically, desperate to have this situation under control. I gave it one last emphatic turn and tried the handle. Nothing.

“I think the barkeep gave us the wrong key.”

“Hmm. Possible, but unlikely, since it is the last room and all the other patrons are clearly in theirs—not locked out,” Trace said, with what I determined to be way too much sarcasm.

“Excuse me…” I started, indignant but then relieved when he clutched my shoulder and moved me aside and, with one swift motion, unlocked and opened the stubborn door.

The room was pitch black, and for a moment we both stood there in the dark, close enough to be touching. Close enough that I could feel the heat between us, despite the chill of the room.

Before I could break the awkward silence, he turned his back on me and bent down in front of the fireplace, working quickly to establish some light and heat other than our own.

“I admire that you took the time to make a kindling rather than just relying on simple magic.”

He glanced back, eyeing me sharply, the flickering light of the fire creating shadows across his handsome angled features.

“Everyone should know how to make a fire. People should be prepared to help themselves.”

I could hear my father’s voice echoing in his sentiment, and something about that made me feel more at ease.

Once lit, the fireplace allowed me to assess the tiny room. The space was tight and, by all accounts, plain. There was a medium-sized bed against the back wall that could fit two people if they managed to lay very close. By the fire, there was a tattered-looking armchair, still plush, nonetheless. And lastly, a small writing desk to the right.

“Well, it’s not the royal palace by any means, but it will do for the night,” I proclaimed, setting myself down on the edge of the bed, trying to sound friendly and amusing.

Trace had such a hard exterior shell about him, I had to find a way to soften it. I wanted to show him that I wasn’t a threat and that he could relax a little. All he offered me was a small grunt in agreement.

He continued to stand uncomfortably in the center of the room, as if remaining there was going to make the reality of only one bed disappear.

I began to unlace my boots and placed them by the bottom of the bed, leaving my stockings on. He started to carefully disrobe, removing his cloak, gloves and weapons. A sword, two daggers, and another small blade. He had been concealing all of that under his cloak. I quickly recognized the small blade as being the one he had held against the gambler’s neck earlier.

My throat bobbed with a small tinge of fear that this beautiful stranger was indeed very dangerous. This combination of fear and lust was a new sensation for me. His long sleeves hid that tattoo I was still curious about. I hung my cloak on the wall next to his, made my way back to the bed and laid down in the middle, propping myself up on my elbows.

I eyed him up and down. Trying to make it obvious just how much I wanted him; how much I liked what I saw. He had chosen his words carefully thus far; but I wasn’t here for his words, just that mouth of his.

“Which side do you prefer, the left or the right?” I asked playfully.

Without hesitation, he retorted, “I’m not sleeping in that bed with you.”

There was no way to hide the rejection from my expression.

I snapped back harshly, “What, you’re afraid I bite? You don’t give an inch, do you?”

He looked down at me and surveyed the length of my body sprawled out across the bed. Once again, I got to witness that wicked smile of his when he responded in a deep, eerily calm manner, “Oh trust me, I give...”

He stared at me intensely, and I could feel the space between my legs begin to pulsate with heat from that look. Against my better judgment, I mustered every ounce of courage I had andgave him an equally wicked reply, “Prove it.” I slowly began to spread my legs apart in a seductive welcome.

In a split second, I felt him grab my ankle and abruptly pull my whole body down, sliding me across the top of the bed closer to him; now I was lying flat beneath him. He hovered above me, still holding my ankle firmly, not in a painful way but possessively.

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