Page 98 of Reign

“Sorry. Fitzroy—”

“You harp on about hating the man, then spend an entire evening hanging on his every word,” Bash interrupted, quickening his pace as he marched along the deck toward the birch trees.

I hurried, trying to keep up with his long strides.

“I despise him,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if that was true anymore. “But he’s my liege, I must entertain his conversation.”

Bash stopped abruptly in the pouring rain. “You love to argue with him. I see the glint in your eyes whenever he rebuts your words. Admit it—there’s no greater pleasure for you than fighting with Fitzroy.”

I shook my head, but Bash slowly nodded his.

“My greatest pleasure’s stealing your warmth,” I said, wishing I could burrow inside his long coat.

Bash smiled, slinging his arm around my shoulder. “I don’t like liars, Smith.”

I shoved him away—something I never thought I’d do—but jealousy trickled through me quicker than the rain seeping into my linens.

“And I don’t like hypocrites, Sebastian,” I retorted, brushing drenched strands from my face.

Bash gripped my wrist and dragged me under the shelter of the birch trees. “Stop calling me that,” he demanded.

I was deliberately goading him, and nothing could stop me—the ale had control of my tongue and my willpower to bite it.

“You had Jane sitting on your lap all eve, whispering only the gods know what into your ear,” I said, mortified by the envy that bled into my voice.

“We spoke about the weather,” Bash tried to reassure me. “The most improper thing she said was that I have nice eyes—”

“I’m surprised she could see them, considering you spent the entire conversation looking at her chest,” I interrupted, immediately wishing I possessed even a thimble’s worth of restraint.

Bash laughed, outraged. “I wasn’t. And even if I was, why would you care?”

“I don’t care, Sebastian,” I lied, knowing I couldn’t admit I’d grown rather fond of him. “I was simply telling you what I saw.”

He seized the sodden collar of my tunic, yanking me in close. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“You never seem to mind when Jane calls you by your first name,” I murmured.

Bash furrowed his brow, irritation and confusion warring upon his face, as though my words made no sense. Rain dripped from his lashes—he blew away droplets gathering in the stubble on his upper lip. His gaze locked onto mine, intense and unyielding, flicking between my eyes as though seeking answers.

For a moment, I thought he might headbutt me—the tension thickening with every passing second. But instead of colliding, he leaned closer until his lips met mine.

Bash was kissing me.

He let go of my collar, his hands shifting to tenderly cradle my neck. I softened beneath his touch, surrendering to the sensation, lost in a realm without war—only the warmth of his mouth on mine.

Abruptly, Bash pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, releasing my neck. “I shouldn’t have done that…”

As he stepped backward, I reached out, my palm landing gently on his cheek. My fingers traced the rough whiteness of his stubble, and he stood frozen—rigid as a frostbitten blade of grass. A soft chuckle escaped me, breaking the unfamiliar and overwhelming tension. Bash thawed, his lips curling into a smile. He rubbed them together, tempting me to kiss them.

“Do it again,” I whispered.

Slowly, he leaned in, his breath heating my skin, his mouth hesitating for a heartbeat before claiming me once more. His lips parted, coaxing me into slow, deliberate movements—his tongue brushing softly against my own.

A hand slid to the small of my back, drawing me closer until our hips met.

“Bash?” Fletcher’s voice traveled across the cliffside, finding us beneath the barren branches.

Bash grunted, reluctantly pulling away, while I wished for just a few more stolen seconds to savor his taste. He let go of me, quickly adjusting himself—clear proof that he was as aroused as me.