Butterfly Swords. Jeannie Lin
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her toes, bracing a hand against his shoulders. He was steel beneath her grasp.
Did he have to watch her so intently?
She closed her eyes. It was the only way she would have the courage to do this. Still he waited. It would be a brief meeting of lips. Nothing to be afraid of. If only her heart would remember to keep beating. Holding her breath, she let her lips brush over his. It was the first time she’d ever kissed a man and her mind raced with it. She hardly had a sense of his mouth at all, though the shock of the single touch rushed like liquid fire to her toes.
Her part of the bargain was fulfilled. It could be done and over right then. Recklessly, after a moment’s hesitation, she touched her lips once again to him. This time she lingered, exploring the feel of him little by little. His mouth was warm and smooth and wonderful, all of it new and unexpected. He still hadn’t moved, even though her knees threatened to crumble and her heart beat like a thunder drum. Finally he responded with the barest hint of pressure. The warmth of his breath mingled with hers. Without thinking, she let her fingers dig into the sleek muscle of his arms. A low, husky sound rumbled in his throat before he wrapped his arms around her.
Heaven and earth. She hadn’t been kissing him at all. The thin ribbon of resistance uncoiled within her as he took control of the kiss. His stubble scraped against her mouth, raking a raw path of sensation through her. She could do nothing but melt against him, clutching the front of his tunic to stay on her feet.
A delicious heat radiated from him. His hands sank low against the small of her back to draw her close as he teased her mouth open. His breath mingled with hers for one anguished second before his tongue slipped past her lips to taste her in a slow, indulgent caress. A sigh of surrender escaped from her lips, a sound she hadn’t imagined she was capable of uttering.
His hands slipped from her abruptly and she opened her eyes to see his gaze fixed on her.
‘Well,’ he breathed, ‘you do honour your bets.’
Though he no longer touched her, it was as if the kiss hadn’t ended. He was still so close, filling every sense and thought. She stumbled as she tried to step away and he caught her, a knowing smile playing over his mouth. Her balance was impeccable. She never lost her footing like that, just standing there. His grip tightened briefly before he let her go. Even that tiny, innocent touch filled her with renewed longing.
In a daze, she bent to pick up her fallen swords. Her pulse throbbed as if she had run a li without stopping. In her head she was still running, flying fast.
‘Now that our bargain is settled …’ she began hoarsely ‘… we should be going.’
To her horror her hands would not stop shaking. Brushing past him, she gathered up her knapsack and slung it over her shoulder. ‘You said the next town was hours from here?’
He collected his sword while a slow grin spread over his face. She couldn’t look at him without conjuring the feel and the taste of him. Head down, she ploughed through the tall grass.
‘A good match,’ she attempted.
He caught up to her easily with his long stride. ‘Yes, quite good,’ he replied, the tone rife with meaning.
Her cheeks burned hot as she forced her gaze on the road ahead. She could barely tell day from night, couldn’t give her own name if asked.
She had to get home and denounce Li Tao. Warn her father. She had thought of nothing else since her escape, until this blue-eyed barbarian had appeared. It was fortunate they were parting when they reached town. When he wasn’t looking she pressed her fingers over her lips, which were still swollen from that first kiss.
She was outmatched, much more outmatched than when they had crossed swords.
Chapter Three
It was supposed to be one little kiss. The sort of meaningless flirtation he’d engaged in many times over. She would slap him afterwards, as he deserved, but it would be worth it. He hadn’t counted on his hunger at the first taste of her. Or her willing response.
Too sweet for words.
Ailey forged ahead, bundling up her thick braid to shove it under her cap. She could chop off all her hair and dress in rags—she would still heat his blood to a boil. Her hands trembled faintly and the scoundrel in him couldn’t help gloat at the sign that she was just as affected.
He hooked his thumbs into his sword belt as a reminder to keep his hands where they belonged. Conversation came slowly in fits and starts as they walked along the stretch of open road. They stopped after an hour on foot, resting beneath the shade at the side of the road.
He nodded towards the bruise forming at her wrist. ‘Sorry for that.’
‘You hit hard,’ she said, not really complaining. She rubbed at the spot before pulling her sleeve over it.
‘You were coming at me like you meant it.’
He let his gaze wander over her face as she took a drink from the waterskin. This girl wielded swords like an avenging angel, then kissed him with her eyes clamped shut. Yet her mouth had moved against his with the same bold instinct with which she fought.
Heat flooded his body anew. He forced himself to ignore it. ‘How long have you been training with those swords?’
‘Since I was a child. We would spar in the training yard.’
‘You and your brothers?’
‘And the soldiers in training.’
Sword-fighting. The topic was neutral enough. There was a forced casualness in her tone and she avoided his eyes as they started on their way again, but he caught how she passed the tip of her tongue over her lips and pressed them together, as if to recapture the fleeing sensation.
Kissing Ailey had been a mistake. A gloriously wonderful mistake.
‘Suddenly the boys stopped fighting seriously,’ she went on. ‘Instead they would tease me, acting like monkeys.’
‘They must have realised one day that you were a girl.’
And enticing enough to make any boy act the fool. Or any man, for that matter. He tried to imagine where she had come from, the well-bred daughter of a military official who studied how to fight instead of embroidery or whatever it was women typically learned.
‘Your master taught you well.’ She was still avoiding his gaze, but otherwise managed to fall into an easy stride beside him. Her long legs carried her effortlessly.
‘I have no master,’ he replied.
‘But someone must have trained you. Your father, then?’
He stiffened. This talk of family was even more alien to him than this exotic land. ‘I suppose I learned a few things from him.’
His father’s brand of training had consisted of surviving one skirmish after another as they wandered endlessly through the countryside. That had changed when he joined up with Adrian’s men as they fought off raiders at the borders of their homeland. He had duties, men he could rely on and who relied on him. But now he was alone again with nothing but his sword and, for the moment, one very curious girl.
‘Your father must be very honoured by your skill.’
Ailey’s courteous flattery grated on him.
‘If he were alive.’
She fell silent at the brusqueness of his reply and her expression took on that tranquil, inward quality. Probably reflecting on ill-mannered barbarians who knew nothing about honour or polite conversation.
‘There’s the town,’ he said, looking into the distance.
Her mouth pressed into a thin line as she stared at the faint outline. ‘I can go on my own from here.’
Time had slipped by quickly. The rush of the morning’s battle and the all-too-brief