Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3) by Jackie Ivie

stood.         
    “Have you any paintings I need to bring?”
    My inspiration has left me, Captain. How could I paint? She shook her head.
    “That does make it easier . Come.”
    He held out his hand, and she looked up his arm to his eyes before shying away . The man didn’t know what he asked, or Averill didn’t know how to playact very well. She didn’t dare touch him. Her façade was already weak.
    “I’ll follow you, Captain,” she answered, softly.
    “Here I go thinking you can’t possibly be a female, and then you go and act like one. Must you be so naive? I’m supposed to be showing the men that you’re back into my arms and my bed. There’s to be no doubt of it. I’m not finding it very pleasant either.”
    “ Oh. Merci ,” she answered sarcastically in French. “ Non. Merci beaucoup .”
    He had her in his arms before she finished. She thought about struggling, but he must’ve known. His arms tightened beneath her knees and about her upper body, making it difficult to breathe and impossible to lunge out. It could also be paining him. She guessed that was the reason for his wheeze of an expletive near her ear.
    She let herself go slack.
    “Perhaps you could pretend you’re enjoying this? I am.”
    She didn’t have the ammunition to fight him, even if he was pretending . Besides, it felt wonderful. She knew it wasn’t easy to walk across the sand, especially while carrying another, yet he was surprisingly sure-footed.
    She rested her head on his shoulder and breathed deeply of his scent. The shape of his ear peeked from beneath his burnoose, along with several strands of loose hair. He had a tan line at the base of his neck, marking where his burnoose usually rode on his flesh. She toyed with putting her tongue to it and tasting him, and couldn’t believe where that thought came from.  
    “That’s a bit too much pretending for my taste.”
    Averill jerked her head up. Tears smarted at her eyes and she blinked rapidly to stop them. She’d sworn she was done with tears, and here she was betraying herself yet again . She’d also vowed never to feel anything for a man, she reminded herself. Neither thought was working. It wasn’t possible to hide the short breaths she was taking from him, but she had to try. He was to have no idea what he did to her, or what she felt for him. It was her secret.  
    Hers .
    “We’ve arrived . Thank God.”
    The captain dropped to his knees and shoved her from him. Averill crawled as rapidly as she could, swiping her shoulders at her eyes at the same time. She had the tear evidence blotted away before she swiveled, pulling her knees to her chin. She watched as he turned the wick up on his oil lamp, and glanced away when he finished, in the event he looked her way.
    “It didn’t tear open . That’s a relief. Harvey’s ministrations will be the death of me yet. I swear.”
    Averill glanced up, saw the long slash mark across his chest and looked away with a vicious movement. His wound looked much better than the last time she’d seen it, but that wasn’t the issue. The skin he was displaying was forbidden territory.   
    “They’ll bring our sup before long . I don’t suppose you’ll leap back into my arms for show, will you?”
    Averill looked toward him and focused on his chin. She spent conscious effort ignoring his fingers as he buttoned his clothing. And then she swallowed in order to find her voice. “You just shoved me from them, Captain. Why would I want a repeat?”
    “Is that what you think?”          
    Averill’s heart flipped. She actually felt it. She almost clasped her hands there to hide it as her gaze moved up to touch his. Captain Tennison was on his knees, preparing to fasten his burnoose, and he was watching her. Averill had only a scant moment of contact before she looked away.
    “Well?” he asked.
    “I think nothing,” she answered the burlap wall at her side.
    “That is such a lie I can’t imagine you