Whorespawn (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards #2 ) by Georgia Fox Page A

cropping at the leaves and shaking its mane.
    Now every inch of the man was displayed for her admiration. Although she was alone and hidden, Aelfa felt the blood heating her face, but she could not tear her eyes away. As he stretched, his stomach muscles lengthened, pulsed and then tightened, coming to rest again in a shape that might have been chiseled in stone by a master artisan. Lower her gaze traveled its naughty path to a cock that was sizeable, even in repose. Longer and thicker than her husband's. Magnificent. Terrifying.
    She crossed herself as she'd seen people do when they came on pilgrimage to visit the holy relics in the chapel of St. Benedict.
    It seemed like the right thing to—
    Oh, he'd just run his hand from the root of his cock to the head and now it stood firmer, almost fully erect, arching slowly toward his navel.
    A little knot of tension in her belly began to melt and the bones in her legs softened, becoming as useless as snapped twigs. She sank to the bracken, her eyes never leaving the man.
    Like his body, his facial features were cut with hard edges, the eyes a flash of fierce darkness, stunning and terrifying even from a distance. His lips were sealed tight, head tipped back as if in deep thought, and then he scratched his chest, long, lean fingers itching at a thin lacing of healed scars. Finally he stooped, reaching for his breeches and as she saw his heavy balls sway between his legs, Aelfa exhaled a sigh, wanton, wicked and wistful.
    Perhaps it was that tiny noise that alerted the man to her presence.
    He swung around and stared directly up at the trees behind which she hid.
    His eyes narrowed and then he sprang, still naked, into the saddle of his great, snorting warhorse.
     
    * * * *
     
    At first he thought the forest was on fire.
    He squinted, concentrating on that small, wayward flare, a spark of red that glowed bright through the trees. He could almost smell the brittle sparking of dry sticks and bracken, but when Sebastien d'Anzeray turned his horse in the direction of that flame, he watched it dodge about in a manner most unusual for fire. In his experience a flame traveled upward or sideways, never did it dance back and forth. He decided to investigate.
    Blinking as water dripped from his hair and ran down his brow, he ducked his head beneath the low branches and urged his horse forward. The flame stumbled and fluttered, but it was not long before he realized it was attached to a shapely young woman. Instantly his day improved for a little diversion was always welcome. Blood heat stirred, he quickened his pace. So did she.
    Clearly, from the speed with which she tried to get away, the woman was guilty of something. She'd been spying on him, it seemed.
    Sebastien spurred his horse forward and once they were out of the trees their speed increased again, the beast stretching its legs with powerful ease as they thundered across the deep grass of a meadow.
    There she was, no longer sheltered by trees. A redhead with the arrogance to think she might outrun a d'Anzeray.
    The anticipation of victory brought a lazy smile to his lips. He could already feel her soft body under his, all warm curves and gasps of indignation that would then turn to excitement.
    But his celebration was short-lived when suddenly, much to his annoyance, the little fox vanished.
    It was impossible.
    One moment she was there and then she was gone.
    His horse slowed to a trot, snorting and twitching its mane, just as infuriated as its master to find the prey gone from sight.  One hand resting on his bare thigh, Sebastien turned about in the field, aggravated.
    There could be only one explanation—witchcraft.
    But he did not believe in it. Women were fiendish enough and never needed supernatural spells and curses to cause trouble.
    No, she must be there somewhere, hiding. All he need do was have a little patience and wait until she showed herself.
    On that hot day, however, patience was in scant supply. He'd ridden a