Page 234 of Sword & Shadow
He caught her wrist, grinning down at her as he leaned back against the pillows. “What? It’s true, I have.”
“If you’re hoping for an apology,” she said, nestling against him, “I’m afraid I don’t have one.”
He raised his brow. “And after that, I don’t need one.”
Though she rolled her eyes, he leaned forward to kiss her. He kept it short and sweet, unsure if his heart could manage anything more.
When he pulled back, Evylin lingered. “It’s what you expected then?” she whispered, eyes downcast as though uncertain if she should ask.
Deckard let his fingers trace her spine. “More or less. Mostly more.” At her soft smile, he asked, “Was it what you expected?”
Tucking her chin, she betrayed her timidity despite her flirtatious bravado. “No,” she said hesitantly. “But I didn’t have many expectations.”
“No?” he asked, keenly aware of the way her fingers traced circles on his collarbone.
Her shoulder lifted with a small shrug. “It isn’t a topic women discuss in polite society. Aunt Serene always enjoyed alluding to ‘wifely duties,’ and my mother gave me a short sermon before our wedding, but there was little explicit conversation in my life. I knew the general science of it, I knew that it might take a while to get used to, and I knew that if the man loved you, then somehow, he’d be able to make it more enjoyable. All in all, my speculations were rather vague.”
“Then tell me...” Deckard took her hand and threaded their fingers together. “Did I make it clear that I love you?”
Evylin’s cheeks flushed, her dimples appearing with her bashful smile. “More or less,” she mimicked. “Mostly more.”
They shared a contented chuckle, and he pulled her closer for a succession of soft kisses. She drew back abruptly, a question in her amber eyes. “It was over rather quickly, though, wasn’t it?”
Unable to contain himself, Deckard laughed. “Yes, that would fall under the category of things taking a while to get used to.”
“It would?”
He teased his fingers along hers. “I’m no expert, but soldiers talk far more explicitly than polite society. I’ve heard all I need to know that time will take care of that.”
Curiosity lit in her gaze. “How does that work?”
With another laugh, Deckard stared at the ceiling, taking a restorative breath. “While I would love to discuss this in painstaking detail with you—” He set his hand on her hip and, with a gentle shove, rolled her over onto her back. “I’m afraid we really ought to get going.”
“Jonn, we’re prisoners,” she said, her fingers curling to the back of his neck to pull him closer. “Where are we going to go?”
“I told you,” he kissed her quickly before tearing himself away, “I’m not going to let us die here. Especially not after that.”
Evylin’s demure giggle tempted him back to the bed, but he remained resolute. “Fighting is going to be a bit difficult in that dress,” she said, watching as he hurried to gather their discarded clothing.
“I’d offer to trade,” he teased, “but I’m not sure it’ll fit me.”
“Mm, no,” she said, catching the dress when he tossed it to her. “Purple wouldn’t suit you anyway.”
“A true pity.”
She slipped off the bed, and he struggled not to stare at her as he reached under the pillow to retrieve the Night Relic. He’d stashed it, not wanting its pull on his magic to affect his ability to focus on the task at hand. “They didn’t leave you with anything else?” he asked, slipping the Relic’s chain back around his neck. The cold metal stung against his chest.
“It isn’t exactly like they wanted me fighting.”
Deckard meant to tell her she made a good point but got distracted watching her dress. When she caught him, he grinned abashedly and pulled his shirt over his head.
“Is this going to be a problem for you?” she asked, fastening her buttons. “Staring at me?”
“Yes, probably,” he admitted, tucking the shirt. Her eyes darted down to watch the process, and he raised his brow. “Is it going to be a problem for you?”
Evylin smirked dryly. “No problem. Only a pleasure.”
Charmed by her suggestive quip, Deckard stepped forward to pull her back into his arms and kiss her.
