Black Moon Draw(55)

If only I weren’t unconscious when he touched me this time. If that’s not the most embarrassing experience ever, then I don’t know what is. Did he notice the dimples in my ass in the full light of the room?

“Let me guess. You prefer hairy women,” I mumble. I throw off the blankets and walk away to a window that’s shuttered. It’s locked from the inside, and I fumble with the mechanism to open it, needing air.

“I had not thought of it, so long as a woman is a woman,” he says. “The smoothness is pleasant. How came you to have no hair?”

A glance at him is enough to show me he’s amused and regarding me with intense interest I find even more disconcerting. I’ve had the sense more than once since meeting him that he’s teasing me.

Seeing the glint in his gaze, I start to suspect I was right. He’s been screwing with me subtly. I’m not used to being teased and don’t expect someone like him to have a sense of humor at all. I wish he hadn’t chosen something so . . . personal.

“It’s . . . ah . . . Jesus why won’t this open?” I yank at the shutters. I’m fevered and embarrassed, about to cry, because I’m waiting for him to make some horrible joke about the birthmark on my hip or the fact my chubby thighs touch.

I hear him approach but am more concerned about the window. If I can open it, I can breathe, escape, or jump to my death before he says something to hurt my feelings.

“Because you are not calm enough to open them.” He rests a large, warm, calloused hand over mine and I freeze.

The Shadow Knight sweeps my hands down and unlatches the shutters with his other hand. His heat and strength are at my back, close enough for me to feel his muscular presence, his scent winding through my senses. Brownies have been a source of happiness since I was old enough to eat them and his smell calms me.

He pushes open one shutter, his hand remaining over mine on the sill. His left hand goes to my hip and he moves close enough for his hips to rest against my backside.

Do I move or stay? I’m so embarrassed, I don’t want him to see my face, but standing so close does things to my insides that make me feel like I’m crushing on my first love in high school.

I can’t feel this way. I know he’s taken; it’s pure physical attraction. Nothing else. It’ll fade when I see him with Disney Princess.

A cool breeze sweeps by me, distracting me. It’s a foggy midafternoon, judging by the muted glow of the sun ball overhead. The sexual tension between us is too heavy, makes me nervous.

“I was supposed to get married in three days, so I had a . . .” Brazilian. He’s not going to understand that and my face gets hotter. “. . . had all my hair taken off because I’d never done it and thought it seemed like a neat thing to try, since you’re only supposed to get married once.”

“Married. Bonding between man and woman?”

I nod.

“But you did not.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Why do you want to know?” I say in irritation.

“You are my battle-witch. I should know.”

“Fine. I disappointed him.”

“Ah. He wanted a capable battle-witch.”

Anger floods me at the implication I’m not good enough for Jason. “We don’t have battle-witches!” I almost shout. Turning to face him, I lean back against the wall and glare up at him. “There’s no war or magic or anything in my world! Can you get that through your head?”

He’s too close. Feeling it is one thing. Seeing the width and thickness of his impressive body is another. He appears unaware that he stands in my personal space or maybe he doesn’t care. He rests his hips against mine once more, one hand on my hip, the other going to my collar. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was considering doing something stupid like kiss me.

It doesn’t seem likely, given what he thinks about a battle-witch being pure. I can’t stand it, though, being so close but not close enough, knowing there’s an invisible woman and war between us even when our bodies touch.

“He just didn’t like me. You think I’m a terrible battle-witch and everyone where I’m from thinks I’m an equally lacking person in pretty much every way,” I hear myself say. “Now. You got something smart to say to that?”

I’ve never in my life spoken to anyone the way I do this man. My own words shock me because of everyone I’ve ever known, I should want to stay on the good side of the Shadow Knight. He’s strong and powerful, the ruler of a world.

Tilting his head, he seems to get my meaning, because he’s silent.

The tension between us is too much for me.

“He rejected me. So I drank too much wine one night and woke up here and have been failing at being what you want me to be since then. But I’m done with that and you and him. Think I’m a shitty battle-witch? Go find another one!” Upset and babbling, I slide out from between him and the wall and march across the room.

My whole body is wired, edgy. My hands tremble and my insides are shaking. None of this should be upsetting me this much, and I struggle to rein in my emotions and figure out why it does.

Jason. It has to be that issue along with being sick of people for judging me and not accepting me for who I am, even if I suck at almost everything I do. There are days I don’t know who I am, either.