Lowe’s body didn’t move, though his eyebrows rose. “Miss Helm, are you propositioning me?” he said, more amusement in his tone than suspicion.
She snorted. “You wish, ranger.”
Lowe remained patient as a statue, something of a taunt in the bland smile he gave her.
“He can’t see me,” she whispered.
His gaze cut to the side, a furrow appearing in his brow as he noticed Brint. Lowe’s attention returned to Calya. “Avenor?”
“Plotting something,” Calya said.
“Pardon—” Brint started to call out.
“I don’t want to spook him.” Calya slid her hands up until she gripped Lowe’s shoulders. “Help me put on a show. Kiss. Me,” she ordered.
An amused huff sounded through his strong nose. But to Calya’s relief, Lowe deigned to lean forward just enough for his lips to brush against hers. It was all very polite and unassuming, as perhaps should’ve been expected for a kiss between two relative strangers of a tepid previous acquaintance. But such bloodless intimacy did nothing for Calya’s problem. A chaste little kiss was hardly the distraction she required.
Her fingers left Lowe’s shoulders to twine through the long, dark hair at her disposal. “Indulge in a bit of theater,” she murmured, pulling him closer and angling his head so he obscured more of hers from view.
It was an act, of course, but Calya could admit that she rather liked the idea of tasting the broody Sentinel. Wanted to see how the real thing stacked up against fantasy.
Lifting onto her tiptoes, Calya pressed her mouth to him, sucking his plush bottom lip in so she could lap at him with her tongue. The way Lowe went still, his surprise so overt she could feel it, made Calya smirk. A self-satisfied hum buzzed at the back of her throat as Lowe raised his hands to ghost across the sides of her face. His fingers shook. He’d gone taut, every lean, muscled inch of him firm beneath her touch, all but vibrating when Calya let her palm glide across his chest. He felt primed to explode at the mere suggestion of a spark.
“Oh, ranger, for shame.” Calya had never been overly fussed about subtlety. Deepening their kiss, she caught his lower lip between her teeth again and bit down, letting a soft growl roll out of her throat. “Must I lead?”
Nocren wasn’t the most devout, but when time allowed, he went to scatter salt and sand for the aspect of the air like a dutiful wind mage and farmer’s son. The wind was often a bit frisky after such visits, so Nocren hadn’t thought anything of how it had tugged him toward the harborside exit.
Until he’d seen Calya there, poorly hidden in the entryway. She was quick-witted and certainly full of pluck—but a spy, she was not. The curmudgeonly side of him had been tempted to walk away. From the little he knew of her so far, she was ambitious and reckless in equal measure. Where those two qualities went, in his experience, mess tended to follow. Gods all break, he’d pay money to not be involved with any of that.
The wind had no such qualms. Bursts of importance and change were loud in his head when he looked at the Helm girl. He gave in. But he’d meant to inquire of her motives just enough to sate the wind’s curiosity.
And now this.
Must I lead?
Whatever resistance—or turmoil—Nocren had clung to, it evaporated in the face of Calya’s teasing aggression. His answering growl was louder, maybe a tad exasperated. It also heralded a new level of enthusiasm. There were no polite, neutral touches to be found in the way he gripped her chin and tipped her head back. She didn’t seem to mind, not with the way her lips molded to his as he claimed her mouth. When Calya opened for him, she made a pleased sound at how quickly, without a drop of hesitation, his tongue swept in.
She tasted like a mistake. The acknowledgment burst across his mind the same moment he put his tongue in her mouth. Or maybe it had already been there when she’d sucked on his lip… and bit him.
It didn’t matter. While Calya Helm might taste like a mistake, Nocren could not find a drop of regret. Rather, his head and his cock wanted to see how far down the well he could go before hitting disappointment at the bottom. And he would—it was inevitable. Yet, it didn’t stop the more feral part of himself from wanting to know more. To see if Calya could be tamed. If, instead of giving orders, she could be made to beg.
The breeze kicked up, causing his hair to whip around her face. Which was good; all the better to sell the illusion of two lovers taking advantage of any morsel of privacy. All just theater, as she called it.
But then Calya sucked on Nocren’s tongue. His cock thickened in response, and she noticed, her mischievous hum echoing into his mouth.
It shouldn’t have happened. He was unflappable. Indifferent. Captain Malek’ko had gone so far as to call Nocren standoffish on more than one occasion. Descriptors that, usually, Nocren agreed fit. To a fault, if one was inclined to consider said labels as negatives. He did not. He wore them like badges of honor, for rarely did disinterest and drama go hand in hand.
Drama, however, had found him in the form of Calya. And, against his better judgment, Nocren admitted his interest in her was more than a passing one.
He was gone, all thought of acting drowned out as lust roared through his head. When her hand drifted down, a single finger tracing his outline, Nocren groaned.
She smiled against his lips, her little puff of amusement tickling his skin. Her touch grew bolder, shifting to more of a caress. It teased, or threatened, to become a grip.
Couldn’t have that. He might not be much of an actor, but Nocren had enough presence of mind left to know he was dangerously close to overselling their foolish ploy.
Calya pouted when he caught her roaming hand and pinned it next to her ear. Her knee bent, drifting slowly up as she pressed against his thigh. He shuddered, fighting the urge to lean against her.
A trickle of wind threaded between them. Calya’s face flickered through Nocren’s mind. Not as she was now, with a pink tinge to her cheeks, lips looking so thoroughly kissed. The wind’s version of Calya, her brown eyes serious as she gazed at him, ghosted across his vision.
