Well Matched (Well Met #3)(60)

“Ahh. It’s kind of cute.” I followed her to sit on the end of the bench, brushing the surface with my hand before sitting down. “About as cute as you and Daniel, I bet.”

“Guilty.” She grinned at me and flapped her skirts around her knees in an attempt to cool off. “I mean, we try to keep it to a minimum, but you’ve seen him. I can’t keep my hands off him.”

“Hmm.” I frowned as I looked at Stacey. Sweat beaded her hairline and her cheeks were flushed. I was hot too, and sweating like crazy, of course. But I wasn’t wearing a million skirts and a restrictive bodice like she was. “You okay?”

“Oh, sure. Just a little warm. But you know, it’s July and all that.”

“How long till the show starts?” I checked my phone: five minutes to two. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

The tavern was just across the way, and it didn’t take long for me to duck under its canopy. They were doing brisk business, but the red-shirted volunteer caught my eye almost immediately.

“Water?” He was a mind reader, bless him.

“Please.” I held up three fingers, and he passed three icy cold plastic bottles of water across the bar to me. When I dug into my pocket for cash to pay, he scoffed.

“Nope. Volunteers get free water, you kidding me?”

“Eh, I’m feeling generous.” I stuck a five into the giant tip jar, and another volunteer rang an obnoxiously loud bell.

“Huzzah to the generous tipper!” Her voice was as loud as the bell, and I tried not to swear. Talk about no good deed going unpunished.

I jogged back to the chess field and slipped into my seat next to Stacey, passing one of the bottles to her.

“Oh, you are the best!” She uncapped the bottle and drank three long swallows, then screwed the lid back on. “Thanks for that. I keep forgetting to get water.”

“In this heat? It’s a wonder you’re still alive.” That came out harsher than I’d intended; the heat was making me cranky. But Stacey was used to me, so she just batted me on the shoulder while I took a gulp of my own water.

“Good morrow, ladies.”

Of course. Of course Mitch would choose that moment to approach us. Of course he would wait until I had a mouthful of water before he came over here, all shirtless and kilted and golden-haired and Scottish accented. Was he trying to drown me here?

But Mitch wasn’t looking at me. While I struggled to swallow my water, wishing desperately for gills, Stacey bounced to her feet and gave him a deep curtsy, and he turned his smile to her.

“Good morrow, sir!” Stacey trilled as she offered him her hand. “I cannot tell you how good it is to see you again, Marcus MacGregor. It has been too long.”

“It has indeed.” He took her hand and bowed over it, his lips brushing the top of her hand. I felt an answering jolt of heat even though he wasn’t touching me. I knew what those lips felt like. I wanted a refresher.

Nope. No lips. Stop thinking about his lips.

“Come to see the fighting, eh? I do hope you have a strong stomach!” Mitch—or Marcus, I guess—spoke in a deep, rumbling accent, the r’s rolling to amazing effect. I squirmed in my seat while trying to not be obvious about it. And he was full of crap. Strong stomach? Pretty sure Simon wasn’t letting him perform a ritual disemboweling twice a day on Faire weekends.

I must have made some noise—a scoff, probably—because Mitch turned to me. “And how are you enjoying the day, milady?”

I’d just swallowed a ton of water, yet my throat went dry. There was just too much to take in. Mitch’s green-and-blue-plaid kilt, brushing just below his knees. His surprisingly good Scottish accent, which did flippy things to my stomach. Those blue eyes turned to me, reminding me that beneath this brash and bold character he played at this Faire, he was just as brash and bold in person. When he gave you his attention it was worth basking in. I hated how much I’d missed that.

I had no idea how to put any of that into words that weren’t “take me home and to bed right this second,” so instead I sloshed my icy cold water bottle at him. “Hot.” The word came out sharper than I’d intended, but it was hot as hell out here and I didn’t feel like dealing with Mitch. Or Marcus. Or whoever the hell he was right now.

His eyebrows went up, and I knew he was bursting to turn it into an innuendo, but maybe it was out of character for him to do so, because he refrained. He stepped closer to me, taking the bottle from my hand. “That’s because you’re not cooling off properly.”

“Oh, really?” I crossed my arms and attempted a glare, but God, he looked too good. You couldn’t glare at abs like that.

“Really.” There were at least fourteen r’s in the word. “If you’ll allow me?” I nodded, even though I had no idea what I was agreeing to. I tried not to flinch away as he reached for me, his fingers skimming the back of my neck as he brushed my hair over one shoulder. A shiver went across my skin that had nothing to do with hot or cold and everything to do with Mitch touching me. Before I could say anything he laid the still-icy bottle across the back of my neck, and the sudden cold was a shock of relief.

“Oh, God,” I moaned. My gaze flew up to his and the cold I felt was almost burned away by the fire I saw in his eyes. He’d heard me moan like that before, and I could see in his expression that he was remembering it too.