She’d thought long and hard about what Nina had said and tried to look at it from Jon’s point of view. What if her happiness was finding her brother and she had to leave here forever?
Was he protecting himself from that possible fate? While it made her feel giddy and girly, she’d been pretty one-sided about this. But that still didn’t excuse him choosing to leave Muriel to suffer.
“I have a bone to pick with you.”
“I’m quite sure you do.”
“First of all, how can you claim to be Muriel’s friend if you’re willing to just leave her here? What kind of friend are you, anyway?”
“The kind who thinks of the greater good,” he said, the profile of his jaw rigid.
Toni grabbed his arm and forced him to stop brushing Oliver. “Explain.”
“I have a choice to make. One I do not make lightly, for Muriel is my friend. Nina must get to the castle so she can return to your land or she will die. We’ve already extend our journey by half a day’s walk. Would you have her die in order to bring Muriel to the sea, when I can do such on the way back? She is safe here with the short men. For now, that is good enough.”
Suddenly, she felt like a total jackass. He was being a good leader and she was challenging his vast knowledge of his world. She’d snapped at him for no reason. She should have known honorable, chivalrous Jon had a plan, but she was so busy trying to make up for not saving her brother, she was mucking up everything else around her.
Letting her eyes fall to the snow, she whispered, “You’re right. I jumped the gun, and it was wrong.”
“’Twas indeed,” he replied tersely, his spine rigid.
Which made her bristle. “I said I was wrong, now you’re supposed to accept my apology and the fact that I’m a total twit and we move on.”
“Apology accepted,” he said stiffly, returning to his chore.
But Toni couldn’t stand the tension anymore. One more long day without him so much as looking at her, and she’d just scream.
She gripped his arm and forced him to look at her again. This time, her words were softer. “I said I’m sorry.”
But damn he was good at holding a grudge. His glare was like the icicles hanging from the cottage. “And I said you were heard, milady. Now good night.”
When he turned away, all fiery and brooding, it incensed her despite the fact that, even angry, he was hot. She wiggled her way between him and Oliver and waved a finger under his nose.
“Don’t you dismiss me, pal! What’s up your ass, anyway?”
The corner of his mouth lifted just a little. “My ass, milady? One cannot fit anything in a space so snug. Why ever would you assume something was lodged there?”
Now she was angry. Angry that they had this language deficit, angry that she’d been a little jealous of Muriel. Okay, a lot. Angry that she’d gotten so angry.
Toni made a face at him. “It’s a figure of speech, Smarty Pants. It means something’s bugging you. Now out with it so we can finish this journey to Castle Beckett like adults.”
“I was not aware we were not behaving as adults. Your journey has been for the most part successful, has it not? Your heart still beats, yes?”
Toni crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t you gaslight me, buddy. You know what I mean.”
Jon’s jaw clenched. “I know nothing of this gaslighting or phones or intor-nets or cars! I only know you infuriate me, intoxicate me—”
“Intoxicate you?” She fought a thrilled smile as their chests pressed together and he leaned in close, the wind lifting his raven hair to blow it across his perfect face.
His eyes narrowed. “Aye!” It was fair to say he spat the word, as though he were irritated by his admission. “You with your talk of Jersey and the sway of your hips in your tattered dress…your long legs as they crunch along the snow in small strides. Your hair brushing your waist in enticing flashes of auburn. Your brave, selfless heart when you’re willing to risk yourself for another like small Carl and the maiden Marty. You intoxicate me, and I do not like such. It muddies my thoughts—”
She threw her arms around his neck and laid one on him, stopping all talk when she clamped her lips to his and molded herself to his hard frame.
Jon moaned into her mouth, dragging her hard against him, dropping Oliver’s brush and wrapping his arms around her waist.
The rigid line of his shaft pressed at the apex of her thighs and her nipples tightened when he drew her tongue into his mouth. His knuckles brushed the underside of her breast as his hands roamed over her arms before threading through her hair, making her groan in response.
Butterflies fluttered their delicate wings in the pit of her belly as the heat at her core grew. Her leg wound its way around his hip, his hand lifted her skirts, driving under her pantaloons and caressing the bare flesh of her thigh.
And it was heaven. His calloused palms smoothed her skin, making her press herself deeper against him, wanting to absorb the heat of his broad chest, roam her hands over his wide back.