Page 74 of Tusks & Saddles
Welborn slowly lifted his head. His eyes were bright in the light of the small fire. The sun had gone down—well, she couldn’t remember when. Before Welborn had mustered the courage to share his history.
“You—excuse me?”
Immediately, Beatrix wanted to straighten her spine and turn her back to him. A wall of defense, someway to protect herself from the vulnerability of it all. It was like being split open wide, like being at the top of a grand staircase with hundreds of eyes staring at her naked form. It waspainful, the shot of anxiety willing Beatrix to bolt. To jump straight into gunfire with the Sand Slithers if it meant escaping him.
But it was too late now.
Beatrix—for whatever ridiculous fucking reason—found herself reaching for her veil.
“Wait!” Welborn cried, taking hold of her wrist.
The motion caught Beatrix off guard and she swayed forward. Welborn caught her around the waist, gloved hand pressing into the small of her back. Beneath her veil, Beatrix felt her cheeks warm. Was it just her, or had the air suddenly gotten thin?
“I’m sorry,” Welborn said, his own breath rustling her veil. “I know you value your privacy, Miss Eaves. I didn’t tell you that story to make you feel guilty or like you needed to show yourself to me. As much as I want to to see you, I swear, that’s not why I did it.”
“I know that, Welborn,” Beatrix said. “Honestly, I don’t think your capable of manipulation. I saw how poorly you played your hand at Misfortune.”
He looked sheepish for a moment. “Gambling’s not my strong suit. I’d rather put my gold on a for sure thing. Like a meal or good quality paper or—”
“Welborn?”
“—ah, yes?”
Beatrix gently pulled her wrist free and shifted forward. Welborn was still sitting in the same cross legged position. A perfect opening for Beatrix to seat herself in his lap, thighs pressing against his hips where she straddled him. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, all the while his expression changed several times in the process. Brow furrowed in confusion, wide-eyed panic, and finally slack-jawed shock as Beatrix knocked his hat off his head.
She lifted her veil just enough to engulf him beneath.
“I’m going to kiss you now. May I kiss you?” Beatrix asked.
Chapter Nineteen
Welborn
“Yes.”
Welborn had barely managed the word out of his throat when Miss Eaves pressed her mouth to his. Her lips were dry—not surprising given the rough environment—but they were warm and soft. A shock to his nervous system at the gentle, if not firm, press of mouths.
He was understandably shaken by the abrupt change in their conversation, but Welborn also wasn’t acompletefool. Inexperienced? Absolutely! But a fool he was not. Eventually, his brain understood that he really should be kissing Miss Eaves back.
Welborn hadn’t done a lot of things with a woman, but when he was younger, he had kissed a girl. Or rather, she had kissed him. It had been a dare, a child’s game really. A moment that lasted all but a second and was gone just as quickly. He doubted the orc girl—who had been much taller than him—even remembered it or him. While his experience may have been lacking, Welborn had plenty of curiosity and enthusiasm to make up for it.
Or rather, he was determined to make up for it as he returned the gentle pressure of Miss Eaves’ soft mouth. Her lips were just asdry as his, but all of that didn’t matter to him. She was warm, even with the fire at his back. Her breath was hot, the air escaping through her nostrils against the side of his cheek.
It was new, strange, and exciting all at the same time. A moment that Welborn had only allowed to creep into his mind as he watched the horizon for danger. He had never thought she would willingly return his affection. In fact, up until a few conversations ago, Welborn had thought Miss Eaves would never speak to him again.
And now she’s kissing me!
The panicked thought filtered through Welborn’s nervous mind. He wasn’t even certain if he was kissing correctly when he noticed his hands were hanging limply in the air. Welborn hadn’t dared touch Miss Eaves when she planted herself into his lap, yet she was firmly pressing her own gloved hands into his shoulders. The heat of her crept past her gloves, past Welborn’s own clothing and armor, straight to his own skin.
He felt charged, felt anxious, and knew he needed to put his handssomewhere,but where was the best place? This was a kiss—or rather, had been a series of kisses now. Did a press of lips and separation count as a single kiss, or did it count once theyfullyseparated? These were some of the questions that Welborn felt like heneededto know in order to proceed. Yet another thing he had wished Boone had told him about before he ran away to pursue his education as a paladin.
“Welborn?” Miss Eaves whispered against his mouth.
He was so dizzy, the air so hot beneath her veil that he almost hadn’t heard it.
“I—what? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, silly holy man,” she chided, honeyed smoke that went straight to his heart.
