The Warrior Trainer by Gerri Russell Page B

his brother's defense.
       Her shoulders dipped ever so slightly when she paused in the center of the cross. She placed her sword on the ground below the ropes. "Griffin's opinion of me will either shift or it won't. But the change must come from within him. You cannot do the work for him." She brought her gaze to his, and he saw something different in her eyes this time. Instead of the usual stoic determination, he saw hurt.
       "Scotia," he said, not really knowing how to make things right between them. He set his sword down beside hers, then reached for her hands.
       A shudder passed through her as he laced their fingers together, but she did not pull away. Beneath her gauntlets, he could feel the warmth and strength of her hands. "We must continue your training," she said.
       "Scotia—"
       "Nay, Ian. No more talk." She swallowed hard, and he could see a battle of emotions cross her face—tenderness, fear, desire, pride.
       "All right," Ian conceded, yet he did not release her fingers when she tried to tug them out of his grip.
       After a moment's hesitation, she said, "Move with me." She would train him even now. Scotia swayed first left, then right, winding her body through the different levels of ropes. Ian followed, focusing more on the feel of her hands tightening and relaxing around his own than on her movements. They stepped over a low rope, then ducked beneath a higher rope, synchronizing their movements through the web.
       A flush of pink stained her cheeks, and her breath came in ragged gasps much like his own. Her steps grew stronger, and the turmoil in her eyes shifted to satisfaction with a hint of something more.
       As her confidence grew, so did her gaze. Beneath the veil of her lashes she studied his chest, his arms, his thighs, and now, his lips. When they dipped beneath another rope the outside of his thigh brushed against the leather encasing hers. Despite the protection, she gasped at the contact.
       His body tightened, thickened at the brief touch. The next thing he knew, they were falling. She had tripped over the rope. He shifted his weight, taking the impact of the fall on his back and shoulders as he rolled her on top of him. Despite her armor, she felt light and pliant against his chest.
       Her green eyes widened, first filled with surprise, then horror. "That has never happened to me before," she breathed.
       "Nay." He smiled at her. "Most warriors find staying on their feet leads to better combat."
       "My apologies." She tried to pull away.
       Ian held her tight, not wanting to break the moment.
       At the contact, warmth flooded him. Then heat, fiery heat. She was soft and hard all at the same time. A heady combination. Her armor thrust against his chest, but he could imagine the soft rise of her breasts beneath. Her weight straddled his leg. Her well-toned thighs brushed against the most male part of him.
       She shifted her body, no doubt meaning to pull away. Instead she only brought herself into full contact with his growing arousal. Heat shimmered between them, causing his muscles to clench and flex. This woman stirred his senses, regardless of his efforts to keep his distance. Her touch, her scent, her words, all had the power to make him forget his own goals and think of nothing but holding her in his arms.
       "We should continue." Her voice was raw and jagged.
       Ian drew her up against his chest. "Continue what?" The rapid beat of her heart matched his. He breathed in the scent of soft spring heather and nearly groaned. Why did she have to smell so good? Was it not enough that every other aspect of her person intrigued him? Could she not have some flaw, some fault that would turn him away from what he wanted now?
       "The training," she whispered, her gaze once again on his lips.
       "Is progressing well," he said, even though his thoughts turned toward other things. Pleasure, possession, passion. He slid his hands up her