War Bride (Battle Born #7)(6)

Rather than ask him to explain, she hid behind hostility. “Is there a point to your rambling dissertation?”

He chuckled and his expression softened from brutal to formidable. “You’re adorable. Are you always this feisty?”

She tried to lick her lips but her mouth had gone dry. “Just when I’m kidnapped by a madman.”

“I think you’ll find my logic is sound and my point is rather simple. Had you remained within your brother’s control, your joining night would not have been so different from what you’re experiencing now. There would have been some sort of ceremony and then you would have been expected to surrender your body to a male you didn’t choose.”

And the males her brother had chosen were far less appealing than her captor. At least physically. She knew nothing about this man, not even his name. Well, she knew he was ruthless enough to claim a war bride. She dragged her gaze away from his face and tried again to lick her lips.

“Are you sure you don’t want something to drink?” There was no challenge in his tone, no provocation.

She’d meant to be completely uncooperative, but her mouth was so dry she could barely swallow. Seeing no benefit to being stubborn, she relented enough to ask, “May I have a glass of water?”

“Of course.” He turned around and opened the compartment. It was a refrigeration unit stocked with an assortment of snacks and beverages. He found a shatter-proof bottle of water and twisted off the cap before handing it to her. “Shall we sit?” He motioned toward the couch.

She took a drink of the water as much to stall as to quench her thirst. “I’d rather stand.”

Without warning, he swept her up in his arms and walked over to the couch. She gasped as her feet left the floor and water splashed her hand. “It wasn’t really a question.” He sat down and held her firmly on his lap as she tried to wiggle free. “This would feel so much better if you weren’t wearing those thick skirts.”

Immediately she stilled and looked into his eyes. Was anger or arousal making the blue rings glow? He’d been polite until she rebelled, then he’d forced her to his will. The lesson was obvious. He wouldn’t tolerate defiance and he wouldn’t be denied. “May I please sit beside you?”

“Add ‘sir’ and I’ll consider it.”

The autocratic snap in his tone sent tingles down her spine. What in hells’ rings was wrong with her? She should be terrified, yet all she felt was a restless anxiety, as if she didn’t quite know what she wanted. “May I please sit beside you, sir?” Bending just this far was better than remaining on his lap.

He eased her sideways until her back pressed against the armrest, but her legs still draped across his lap. When she tried to lower her feet to the floor, his hand slipped under her skirts and lightly clasped her ankle. His smile and the sudden gleam in his eyes revealed his game. He wanted her to struggle, to give him a reason to touch her more intimately.

Rather than play along, she crossed her ankles and forced herself to relax. “May I ask a question?”

He eased her slippers off and tossed them aside. “You may ask. And if you pose the question with the proper respect, I might even answer.”

“Why do you know so much about me…sir?” She added the title after a short pause.

His large, warm hand returned to her ankle, but he ventured no higher. “This was no random act. You were chosen from a list of potential targets. Your abduction took weeks of planning and many, many bribes.”

“But why me?” When he acted as if he hadn’t heard her, she tried again. “Please, sir, will you explain what I possess that the others did not?”

He seemed to consider it for a moment. Unless his air of authority was a fa?ade, this was not a man used to explaining himself to anyone. “First and foremost, you have five sisters.”

“You’re hoping for a daughter?” How strange. On Bilarri titles and power were passed down from father to son. She’d presumed things were the same on Rodymia.

One of his brows arched and his fingers moved over her skin, or actually over her sheer stocking, which was no real barrier to his touch. “If that surprises you, you don’t know as much about the battle born as you think.”

Battle born. The phrase echoed through her mind and another tingle coursed down her spine. War brides gave birth to battle born children before they were sent back to their shattered lives and expected to carry on as if none of it had happened. Her soul shriveled at the thought. The possibility of being seduced by this man was not nearly as daunting as being parted from their son.

“Why would you prefer a daughter to a son?” His hand crept onto her calf and she quickly grabbed his forearm. “I’m sorry, sir. I meant no disrespect.” His hand stopped ascending, but it remained near her knee.

“Battle born daughters more consistently inherit their mother’s magic.” A muscle in his jaw twitched and he suddenly averted his gaze.

There was more to the situation than he was saying, but Skyla decided not to press. She took another sip of water, savoring the coolness of the bottle between her palms. She didn’t want to anger him, but the question of genetic compatibility refused to remain silent. “Do Rodytes feel sexual allure?”

“We call it the pull, but I’m relatively sure it means the same thing.”