“I’m glad you noticed.” She leaned her chest against his, remembering him noticing at the door.
He must have liked that because he turned his gaze toward her again, lifting a hand to stroke the side of her head. A shiver went through her as some magical heat radiated from his fingers and trickled through her body, stirring all her senses to life.
“I like your hair down,” he said.
“I’m glad.” Rysha decided not to mention that she’d obsessed over it. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to mind the kink. Or maybe he liked kinks.
The corners of his mouth quirked.
“You’re not reading my thoughts, are you?” Rysha leaned her head against his hand, wanting more of his strong fingers touching her scalp.
“Who, me?”
He smiled and kissed her again, more tendrils of tingling warmth curling through her body, making her want to kiss him back—hard. And remove all his clothing.
Don’t let me stop you, he whispered into her mind as his fingers slid up under the back of her shirt.
I won’t. I’m a tenacious woman.
Excellent.
They worked their way over to the bed, undressing each other as they went. Rysha made short work of his buttons, and her shirt joined his on the floor before they tumbled onto the bed together. And promptly smacked their shoulders against the wall. As Trip had observed, it wasn’t the largest bed, but they didn’t let that slow them down for long.
All thoughts of dinners and walks fled from Rysha’s mind as she tugged off every last shred of his clothing so she could run her hands all over his body. He shifted atop her, his own hands doing exploring of their own. His kisses sent molten fire through her, and she shifted her legs apart, inviting him in. By the gods, they needed to figure out a way to be together every night. Not just when—
The door opened with a cheerful, “Good evening, Rysha!”
She dropped her head back, pulling her mouth from Trip’s, and gaping as the two people she had least expected to see that day strolled into her room. Her mother and Aunt Tadelay.
Trip, who had been poised to satisfy all her womanly desires, issued a distinctly unmanly squawk and pitched sideways, falling off the bed and onto the floor. He scrambled to his feet, reaching for the bedspread. He tugged, but Rysha was still on top of it, staring in startled horror at her family members who were staring back in equal horror at her, their mouths dangling to their feet.
Trip settled for a pillow, snatching it from the bed and placing it in front of his groin. Utterly naked aside from the pillow—and, by the gods, why was he still wearing one sock?—he turned to face the doorway.
“Uhm, hi, Mom.” Rysha shifted to sit on the side of the bed, not sure if she should grab clothes and start dressing or merely be mortified in place. “Aunt Tadelay.”
“Rysha Erilyn Ravenwood,” her mother said when she found her voice.
“This is completely unacceptable,” Aunt Tadelay said, her tone even shriller than Mother’s. “Wantonly improper carnal copulation with a strange stark-naked man in the middle of the week. It’s not even dark yet.”
Would this be better if I wasn’t naked? And if it was dark? Trip asked into Rysha’s mind.
Rysha couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious. With his cheeks that cardinal-bird shade of red, he appeared far too distressed to joke.
“He’s not strange, Aunt Tadelay. He’s a colleague and a good friend and…” Rysha gestured toward Trip, not quite able to spit out “my lover” even though that was obvious.
“Naked!” Aunt Tadelay cried, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from seeing Trip’s chest. And pillow. “In a woman’s room in a—is this not a female-only barracks? Doesn’t the army have any propriety? Do not tell me that men are allowed to assail innocent women in this iniquitous place.”
“He wasn’t assailing anyone, Aunt Tadelay.” Rysha sighed, pulling the bedspread up to somewhat cover herself as she shifted toward her mother, hoping for a more reasonable response. Mother was older than Aunt Tadelay, but the more progressive, or at least more reasonable, of the two. “He’s my boyfriend.”
There, that conveyed the notion of lover without suggesting so much… naked vigor.
“You never brought him to the manor,” her mother said sternly, “or introduced him to the family. And he’s certainly never come to your father to ask our permission to see you.”
“See?” Aunt Tadelay demanded. “It’s clear he’s doing much more than seeing your little girl. She’s been manhandled.”
“Yes, precisely,” Rysha said, losing some of her embarrassment and growing irked. She was a twenty-seven-year-old woman, not some fifteen-year-old girl caught kissing a boy behind the trees in the orchard. “And I enjoyed his handling very much.”
“Er,” Trip said. His first word since the door had opened.
“I’m—I’m—too flabbergasted to speak.” Aunt Tadelay whirled, her long skirt flapping impressively, and stalked out into the hall.
Mother puckered her lips at Trip.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Trip said, though it wasn’t clear if he meant for sexing up her daughter or for his clothing-challenged state. “I’m Captain Trip—Telryn Yert.”
He shifted his right hand off his pillow, careful to keep it plastered in place with his left, and stuck it out toward her.
Bow, Rysha thought, hoping he was monitoring her thoughts. I mean, you don’t have to, but that’s what noblemen do toward noblewomen. Sometimes, they kiss the woman’s hand, too, but she might not appreciate that, given your state of undress.
As Mom was looking distastefully down at his hand, as if it was contaminated with all manner of sex germs, Trip jerked it back, placing it on his chest, and said, “It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am.”
My lady, Rysha thought.
“My lady,” Trip said.
He bowed.
Mother lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. “Well, at least he’s an officer and not some kitchen scrub boy.”
“That is not the name of a noble family,” Aunt Tadelay called from the hallway. Rysha wasn’t surprised that she was still out there spying.
“No,” Trip agreed. “My family is less noble and more… unique.” He started plucking his clothing up from the floor, one-handedly of course, since the other was keeping the pillow firmly in place. He stood and squatted in such a way to keep his butt from showing to Mother. Too bad. It was a nice butt. She might appreciate his young firmness.
Rysha, Trip spoke into her mind, sounding horrified.
“I’ll leave you two to speak privately, ma’am. My lady.” Trip looked down at the clothes he’d managed to grab and scooted toward the door, making a wide berth around Mother.
His underwear was lying across one of the pillows still on the bed. Rysha thought about tossing it to him, but he was already moving past Mother and into the hall.
“Are you stealing that pillow?” Aunt Tadelay called, her voice loud enough that everyone in the barracks had to be aware of this entire conversation.
As Rysha dropped her face into her hand, Tadelay shrieked in horror.
Your aunt saw my beets, Trip told her apologetically.