Page 10 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

“It’s underwear.”

“Because it’s underneath your shirt?” That would make the most sense, though I’d already discovered humans used terms for things that made absolutely no sense at all.

“Exactly. I’ll tell you what. Since my burn is in an area I can’t see unless I’m looking in a mirror, and you seem like a decent guy?—”

“Orc.”

“A decentorc.” Her lips curled up before smoothing, though the tension tightening her brow remained. She was in pain, and I was wasting time chattering when I could be helping her instead. “I’ll let you do this. But keep your fingers from wandering.”

I wasn’t sure how my fingers could wander when my brain would direct them at all times, but I nodded.

She lowered her shirt, exposing her bra and chest to my view. She really was pretty.

“Orc females are flat-chested,” I pointed out, tapping the side of her bra where it cupped her chest projections. “They don’t have these round squishy balls like humans.” I unscrewed the cap and made sure I placed it on the table so it wouldn’t go flying off someplace where I’d never find it.

“Breasts. The…round, squishy balls are called breasts, and they come in all sizes.”

I frowned and squirted some of the ointment onto the tip of my finger—that wouldnotwander. “I’ve seen varying sizes online.”

“I’m sure you have,” she said dryly.

I didn’t know what she meant by that tone, but didn’t ask. I was too focused on making sure I only barely touched her skin with my finger. The last thing I wanted to do was slam my hand against her again. One wrong move, and I’d fracture the thing between us I wasn’t even sure I was allowed to hope for.

Biting down on my tongue and leaning close, I gently spread the ointment across all the red areas, taking extra care with the three small blisters.

“Thank you,” she said, her lips quivering and her body twitching under my touch. “It’s feeling better already.” She eased away and held her hand up for the new shirt. “Thank you for this too. It’s sweet of you to bring me something clean to wear. I’ll pay you back of course.”

“It’s free.” Seeing an area on her chest I might’ve missed, I squirted more ointment onto my finger and spread it out until there was no more left.

That’s when my finger wandered—for some inexplicable reason I couldn’t define and didnotcontrol. It slid over to her arm that had no burns, impacting with her un-greased skin.

The space between my skin and hers crackled with something alive, wild, and wrong in how right it felt.

Fire licked up my arm from the touch, and I paused, frowning with my gaze flickering from hers to my finger. As if flames erupted beneath my skin, I hissed, jerking my hand back.

But it was already too late. Heat seared on my inner wrist, and when I flipped it over, I gaped at the circular symbol appearing there. Golden, and etched like human artists who drew and pricked human skin to leave an inked pattern behind.

No tat-of-the-too for me, however.

I gaped up at Gracie. “You’re…my fated one!”

Chapter 4

Gracie

“Excuse me?” I asked, blinking at Tark. “Did you say something about fated and…one?”

He appeared to be freaking out for some reason. And?—

“Such a thing,” Tark bellowed, springing to his feet. He stared down at me with his jaw unhinged. “Fated one,” he muttered. “Fated one!”

“Back up here a second.” I dragged the clean shirt over my head, stuffed my arms through the sleeves, and tucked it around my waist, feeling better once I was covered up. I’d liked his touch on my skin a little too much, to the point I’d quivered and struggled to remain still while he’d spread the ointment.

He was so sweet and cute, making sure my skin was carefully covered, and his gaze so sincere and honest, that I’d let him spread the ointment for me. I’d worried he might… I don’t know, maybe get really sad if I’d told him no. From the start, he’d come across as a gentle-orc, and I’d learned to trust my instincts.

When I was six, my instincts had told me joining a reality TV show with my parents was a bad idea. I’d told my mom that, but she’d said I had no choice. But there were always choices. Icould’ve put my foot down, crossed my arms on my chest, and refused to cooperate. They would’ve chided me, but there was no way they could’ve made me perform—something I’d learned by the time I’d turned eighteen. It took me a few more years to get up the nerve to quit, but finally, I’d put my foot down, crossed those arms on my chest, and told them I was finished. No more reality show for Gracie.

Mom had whined and pleaded, but when I said no, I stuck to it.

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