Page 68 of Vengeance Becomes Her

She was done leading him on. No more teasing him, no more letting her desires or traitorous heart get the best of her. They were on a mission; partners. And partners kept their hands—and feelings—to themselves, with the exception of sparring.

The first step to keeping that promise was somehow getting out of this bed without waking him.

With the first shift of her torso, his eyes slowly drifted open. Three dazed blinks and then a lazy smile broke free. “Were you cold? Or you just couldn’t resist me?” His chuckle was low and gravelly with sleep. Her gut clenched in response.

Both were likely true, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Instead, she jabbed him in the chest with one pointed finger, which was enough to get his hands to unclench from around her. She took the opportunity to shimmy away from him. “Get over yourself, it’s called survival instincts. It couldn’t have been more than forty degrees last night.”

“Mhmm, of course, survival instincts,” He laughed, tapping his hand against her hip twice. It was too early for his mocking. Rhiannon grabbed the pillow from beneath her head, moving quickly, and slammed it against the side of his face. She held her breath, stifling a laugh as adrenaline coursed through her veins.

A muffled laugh came from below the pillow. “So, that’s how it’s going to be.” His voice was an octave lower.

Before she could jump up the pillow was launching at her, catching her full in the face. If it wasn’t for the strong hand that grabbed her wrist at the last minute, she would have slid off the bed and onto the floor.

Rhiannon whipped her head up in shock, ready to berate him, but her hair was wrapped around her face and clinging to her mouth. Tristain was in fits of laughter, reaching out to brush the hair away from her face. She freed the hand that had become trapped under her, pushing the hair off her face in a flustered hurry. When she could finally see, she gave him her most punishing glare, but his eyes melted into pools of affection when they moved over her face.

He moved a hand to her cheek, his thumb sweeping up and down in a gentle rhythm. Her breath caught in her throat, the insult she planned to sling sticking there. Then his hand was brushing her hair back from her face.“You really are stunning when you’re begrudgingly happy. Your smile’s sometimes a sight for sore eyes.”

Those words broke the spell the moment had held over her. She pushed off his chest with her right hand, her left steadying her on the bed. “Your smiles would be few and far between too, if you were me.” She rolled out of bed and into the washroom to get ready for the day. She needed to use the dye in her hair again and it was the perfect excuse to hide away with her thoughts for a while. The intimacy of the water over her body made her feel raw. The heat turned her skin red and relaxed her muscles until she was just a woman laid bare. His words prickled over her skin. She knew he needed someone who matched his lightness, his ability to brush things off and pick himself back up again. But that wasn’t her. She didn’t know why it hurt. It shouldn’t have. She didn’t want it to. She already knew this. But his words pricked some foolish, hopeful part of her and made it bleed. Her tears came silently as she took refuge in the hot water that washed away the feel of his hands against her skin. After indulging herself for a minute, she pulled herself together. She didn’t need his approval or want it. She had one goal and it was to kill his brother.

With her resolve intact, she washed the remaining soap off her body and got out of the water with her mind on her goal for the day—find the girl, learn what she knows, and figureout their next steps.

No flirting, no pining, no wondering. Focus. Focus. Focus.

She’d forgotten her clothes in her rush to get away from Tristain. Rhiannon emerged from the washroom in only her too-small towel that gave her the choice of leaving her front or back partially exposed—in this case, she sacrificed her back to the open air. She clutched the material to her body, cautiously bending down to grab her bag, ignoring his cocked eyebrow as she slammed the door behind her. A few minutes later she was dressed.

While he readied for the day, she took on the task of tugging on and lacing up her boots. They might’ve been a bastard to put on, but they were very practical—and they accentuated her strong calves and thick thighs.

When she was done, she flopped herself back on the bed, already mentally exhausted by the thought of what the rest of the day held for them. After what felt like an eternity, Tristain was ready. His hair looked suspiciously perfectly tousled. She couldn’t be blamed for the way her eyes traveled down the rest of his body. The deep grey tunic he wore with the left half tucked into the black pants gave him the perfect rugged look. She hated it. When she gathered her thoughts, she noted the smug look on his face. She didn’t get a word out inprotest though.

“I’m going to need you to stop staring at me like that.”

“I wasn’t staring at you,” she denied.

“Whatever you say, liar.” He winked and then went about his business, strapping on his knife and sword. Her hand itched to toss her dagger at him—not to hurt him, just to scare that smirk off his face. But she thought of a better weapon she had in her arsenal. She pushed herself into a standing position and began making her way toward him, crossing her feet as she approached him. Her hips swayed in the way that every man liked. He never saw her coming though. His back was turned to her. She wrapped her hands around his waist, helping him holster the dagger, but she let her fingers linger there. She felt his body still and couldn’t help but smile. Men were so easy. She slipped under his arm, placing herself in the space between him and the dresser. A knowing smile crept across his face as he looked down at her. He was always wise to her game, buthe would play.

He placed his right palm flat against the wall next to her head and leaned down toward her. “Rhiannon, do you really want to do this right now.”

Her breath hitched as he leaned into her, a thick lock of hair falling over his forehead.

She crossed her arms over her chest, reestablishing that all-important gap between their bodies. “I was just trying to help you get ready faster so we can get on with our day.” She looked up at him defiantly, but he only let out a laugh at her expense. She was so transparent to him, it was infuriating. So, she did the mature thing and stomped his foot with her boot. Something else they were goodfor, she noted.

He yanked his foot back, throwing off his balance and opening up a window for her to escape from her compromising position. She really did love having the last laugh. He shot her a glare as she opened the door and motioned for him to hurry on through. She was in a much better mood now that she’d regained some control.

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