Hunter's Season: Elder Races, Book 4

When she finished with her task, she sheathed all her weapons and hung them in their customary spot beside the cottage door. Somehow the day had fled so that it was time to cook supper. She had set sweet potatoes to bake in the coals of the lunch cook fire, so all that she needed to do was grill the steaks and prepare a fresh salad of mixed greens and vegetables.

 

She stepped outside to collect an armful of wood. When she came back into the cottage, Aubrey appeared. He was still barefoot, and he had unbuttoned his shirt. It hung open on his wide shoulders. The wounds on his long, lean torso were already fading. This time when Aubrey raised his hands to his loose hair, he worked with a wince to tie the length back with a leather strip. It caused his chest muscles to bunch and flow under his skin.

 

She looked at the rippling hollows of his flat abdomen where his muscles were tightened, and her breath grew restricted. She had to force enough air into lungs to tell him, “Once the fire is ready, supper won’t be long.”

 

He wore a tense, sour expression. “I dislike watching you fix meals and fuss.”

 

She stared down at the wood she carried, blinking. “Have I fussed? I am sorry. But we must eat.”

 

He moved abruptly. “That is not what I meant. I’m the one who is sorry. You have not fussed. You’ve done nothing but show me patience and kindness, even when I’m sure I’ve been tactless and did not deserve it. I am frustrated that you are doing all the work. I dislike watching you labor while I do nothing.” He gave a sharp sigh. “I am unused to doing nothing.”

 

That she could understand. She was unused to doing nothing as well. She looked at him sideways and gave him a sly smile. “It sounds as though you are beginning to feel better.”

 

He chuckled. “I must be, since my temper has turned so foul. What can I do to help?”

 

Shocked, her gaze flew wide. “Nothing!”

 

He advanced on her with a determined expression, and she backed up until her shoulders hit the wall behind her. “I do not accept that answer.”

 

“You are the one who was severely injured. I am perfectly healthy, and it is my job to look after you and do the work.” She hugged the armful of wood as he tried to take the top few logs. “Stop that! You’re still healing, and you might strain one of those wounds.”

 

“I am well aware of what my body can and cannot do, thank you.” He tugged and she pulled back, until he pointed out in a plaintive voice, “You know this tug of war can’t be good for me.”

 

She stared at him in wounded astonishment. Oh, that was playing entirely naughty. She stopped instantly, her hold loosening. As he took the top logs from her armload, she glared at him, mouth folded tight in disapproval.

 

He paused, and one corner of his mouth tilted up as he studied her. “You should see what you look like right now,” he told her.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she muttered as she hitched her remaining armload up higher.

 

He folded his mouth tight and glared at her.

 

Completely off kilter, she stared, and her own mouth dropped open. “I don’t look that bad!”

 

“No,” he agreed, the expression vanishing. “You are much prettier than me.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She scuttled sideways to get around him then rushed to the fireplace to throw her armload onto the hearth. It scattered wood debris everywhere, and the floor would have to be swept again. She didn’t care. Then her next thought just fell out of her mouth. “You’re the most handsome man I know.”

 

The instant the words left her lips, she would have snatched them out of the air if she could. Her face burned.

 

He moved up beside her and squatted to ease the logs he had purloined onto the hearth with hers.

 

She watched with round, unblinking eyes as he straightened and turned to face her.

 

He thinks I’m pretty?

 

He was smiling, and it looked satisfied and very male. “So you think I’m handsome.”

 

She scrambled to backtrack somehow. Heaven only knew where her poise had gone. The afternoon sun must have baked it out of her head. “Of course you look—distinguished,” she accused. “You know perfectly well you do.”

 

Of all the ridiculous things to say. She was going from bad to worse. She spun on her heel, retreated to put the table between them and began pulling food items off the shelves without really looking at what she was doing.

 

He followed at a leisurely pace across the room, almost as if he was stalking her.

 

Then he came all the way around the table.

 

He—what was he doing?

 

“You didn’t say distinguished before,” he pointed out. “You said handsome. I remember that fact quite fondly.”

 

“DidIIhadn’tnoticed,” she mumbled all in a rush. She had forgotten what she was supposed to be doing. If she had ever known in the first place.

 

“Xanthe, are you shy?” he murmured. “I didn’t know assassins could be shy. This realization is remarkable.”