Chapter Three
Christian watched her march toward the stables. Would she do that? Had she changed that much? No. Not Willow. He trailed her inside. The darkness was interrupted by beams of moonlight through gaps in the wood planks of the walls. Her mare was stabled in one of the stalls. She bent over, searching through the bags on the floor beside the horse. Her rounded bottom was pointed at him.
He stood, motionless, disconcerted, ogling her curvy behind. She had a great body, and her leather armor accentuated every curve. Finally, she straightened and turned, holding pieces of cloth and a bag cradled in her arms.
“There’s a stream close by. We’ll need the water,” she said.
He swallowed in a dry throat. Yes, he reminded himself. To bind their wounds.
She grinned at him, a sparkle in her eye. Dappled moonlight cast enough light to let him see her. She was thin, but all the Hawke girls were. Her breasts had filled out since the last time he had seen her, and they looked lush and full enough to fit in a man’s hand. Her figure was shapely and alluring. The leather armor she wore fell just above her waist, and the maroon dress beneath stopped above her knees. Black boots formed snugly over her legs. Her long golden waves were tied back in a braid, but they still glimmered in the moonlight. She seemed like a damned temptress, more enticing than even his dreams could make her.
He clenched his jaw tight and turned so as not to lose his mind.
She brushed past him.
The sweet scent of roses wafted to him. He followed her, unable to keep his eyes from drifting down to her bottom. Her rounded backside swayed gently with every step... He quickly looked away.Keep your mind on your surroundings.
She led the way into the forest.
He heard the soft rushing of a stream before he saw it.
She shoved aside the tree branch, dropped the bag at the base, and stepped to the shore. She knelt beside it. “You first.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Take off your tunic.”
He stood still for a moment. He knew his wound needed to be cleaned and mended but to have Willow lay her hands on his skin... Well, he didn’t know if he could resist her. He wasn’t sure if he could lie beneath her ministrations without certain things...rising. “I can do it.”
She shrugged and turned back to the stream, soaking the cloth in the water.
He removed his belt and rested it beside a tree. Then he lifted the tunic to inspect the injury. The cut was fresh and still bled.
“How does it look?” she asked.
“It needs stitches.”
“If you remember, I can stitch well.”
He remembered. He remembered that her stitches were tiny and precise. She had mended more than one of John’s wounds.
“Ifyou’re not afraid,” she added, taunting.
He straightened, his gaze drawn to her. She was still kneeling by the stream. “Why would I be afraid?”
“I figured you might be afraid I would kiss you.”
Kiss him? Afraid? He had dreamt of it every cursed night. But it could never work between them. Never. He dared not kiss her. “Willow.”
“One could only assume that you were afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” he proclaimed. Shehadchanged. She was a confident woman now. One that probably had been kissed numerous times.
She peered at him with one of her eyebrows was raised in doubt.
He didn’t have time for this. “Yes.” He pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it near the tree. “Fine. You can stitch it.”
Her lips parted as her gaze swept his body, but she whirled away before he could discern her emotion.
He walked to her and stooped, plunging his hands into the water and splashing the wound to wash away the blood and clean it.
Willow rose and carried the wet cloth to the tree. She rummaged around in her bag.
