* * *
Sardelle had been hoping for the kiss but not truly expecting it. That close, with nothing but a cocoon of rock and snow around them, she had sensed his emotions even when she had tried not to, and she had felt his response to her touch. She had also sensed that moment when he decided to act upon his response. His lips were warm, his taste even warmer. She leaned into him, happy to spend the night kissing, though it already saddened her to know how his feelings would change when he learned the truth.
A problem for tomorrow. Or maybe the snow would bury them, and this would be all they had. Might as well enjoy it…
She slipped her arms around his waist and under his shirt, enjoying the warmth of his skin, the hard ridges of muscle over his ribs. She had been identified as a gifted one young and had grown to adulthood within the Circle, wearing the robes of a sorceress. The only men who had ever dared approach her were other magic users, those who found her perfectly normal, not some strange being to be worshipped—or feared—and those men had rarely had the muscular frames of soldiers. Some of her sisters in the arts had donned costumes and gone out to find their lovers, but Sardelle had never had a taste for that, not for relationships that had no hope for a future.
So, what was different this time?
With his easy-going nature and quick smile, and the serious passion to his duty that lay beneath it all, Zirkander—Ridge—had made her care, made her want to protect him and… to be protected by him. To be a team. Also, he kissed like a god, and she melted into his arms, the heat from his lips flowing through her nerves like wildfire.
He leaned back, drawing her down with him. Their lips parted for a moment, and Sardelle whispered, “Colonel—Ridge—are you trying to get convivial with me?”
“When I said I wouldn’t?” His breath warmed her cheek; his dark eyes gleamed with humor. “Of course not. I just want to show my appreciation for your fine bandaging job.”
She was lying on those bandages now. She wouldn’t think it would be comfortable for him, but he was the one pulling her down… “I see. Very thoughtful.”
His warm hand slid beneath her parka, massaging her back. “Can we go back to kissing now?”
“Yes.” Sardelle wished she weren’t wearing the thick wool dress, that his hands were tracing bare skin. But their breaths fogged the air, and cold air whispered in through the entrance. Taking off clothing didn’t seem wise.
Perhaps Ridge sensed her problem, for he shifted onto his side, laid her on her back, and leaned in, protecting her from the draft. Her thick parka took the edge off the rocks, and, as his hands drifted across her body and his kisses deepened, she grew less and less aware of the cold. Everywhere he touched aroused heat, and by the time his hand found bare skin, she was breathing hard, charged with passion, cognizant of nothing but his lips, his tongue, his fingers, his hard body pressed against hers.
Sardelle had thought they might simply spend the evening kissing, whiling away the time while the storm raged, but she knew as soon as they started that she wanted more. His roaming hands and his deft tongue made her want… everything. Very little air separated them now, and she was certain he wanted everything too.
She slid one hand from his back, down to his lean waist, enjoying the sensations as she stroked the rippling muscles of his abdomen, the dusting of hair tickling her fingers. She lowered her hand to his belt, but his lips pulled away from hers, and he whispered, “Don’t.”
A surge of disappointment filled her—had she read him wrong?
“Not yet,” Ridge added and gave her a lazy smile. He kissed her again, leaving her breathless before his lips moved to her throat, then collarbone. She curled her fingers into his thick, short hair as he drifted lower, nipping and teasing her through the dress.
“Ridge,” she whispered, having some notion of telling him there needed to be less clothing involved, winter be damned, but her thoughts tangled, and she couldn’t get out more. All she knew was she didn’t want him to stop.
His hand slid up her thigh, pushing the fabric of her dress up to her waist. Cold air nipped at her legs, but the contrast of the heat of his hand only made her shudder with pleasure. His mouth drifted lower, and his idea of showing his appreciation made her eyes roll back in her head. She was soon panting, digging her fists into the parka’s fur lining, and calling his name. He refused to rush, though she urged him to when she could find the breath. That only made him grin up at her, his eyes crinkling, though the intensity infusing their depths never faded. He watched her as the stubble on his jaw rasped against her inner thigh, wanting to make sure she was enjoying his caresses. She wasn’t sure why he cared, but knew he did, and she arched toward him, the knowledge and his touch filling her with waves of fiery euphoria.
When his lips returned to hers, they were hot and hungry, incensed with his own delayed need. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, wanting to please him as much as he had her. She ran her hand across his stomach, finding his belt again. He didn’t stop her this time.
“Are you comfortable enough?” Ridge whispered between kisses.
She nodded. A thousand rocks could have been gouging her in the back, and she wouldn’t have responded differently. He pulled her over anyway, putting his back to the rough ground. Part of her wanted to object—he had already suffered enough wounds for the day—but his hands found her hips, stroking her bare skin as he guided her onto him, and all conscious thought fled her mind. She gasped as he filled her, her hands finding his shoulders, fingers digging in, holding on as they rocked into each other. She wanted the moment to last forever, but passion built, sweeping through her, demanding release like an avalanche poised on a mountainside. The urgency of his kisses, the fire in his eyes, she knew he felt it too. They crashed together a final time, and ecstasy burst from within, coursing through her veins.
Shuddering, Sardelle dropped against his chest. She buried her face in the inviting warmth of his neck, inhaling the masculine scent of him, sweat and gun smoke, and the forest.
He nuzzled the side of her face and murmured, “You’re amazing.”
Her? What had she done? He had been… everything. She wasn’t sure she was ready to confess that, so she chose the lighter option. “Does that mean your wounds didn’t bother you overmuch?”
“Didn’t even notice ’em.” His voice was muzzy. His hands still stroked her absently, but he seemed on the verge of sleep. “You must be a good doctor.”
Sardelle had infused that awful tincture with a little magic to ensure the gouges would heal well, so she accepted this praise more easily. “I’ll agree with that.”
Ridge chuckled softly. She laid her head on his shoulder. The lantern had gone out at some point, and she was glad, for tears pricked her eyes. The night had been… more than she expected. More than a way to while away the time. For both of them. Even if she hadn’t sensed his feelings, his touch had shown that he cared. Her tears were because… at some point, she either had to hurt him with the truth or walk away before he found out. Taking either action felt insurmountable.
Sardelle told herself to go to sleep, that she was ruining the moment by worrying. Best to enjoy this while she could. She kissed him one last time and snuggled into his drowsy embrace.
Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) Page 13