Page 46 of Heart of the Hunter (Band of Bastards #3)

When finally he lifted his eyes to hers, he closed his own fingers over the cup, the warmth of his skin sliding slowly over her fingers as he took it from her hand.

She watched as he brought the cup to his mouth and drained it in one swig.

It was her turn to swallow hard as his tongue slowly wiped across his lips to capture the droplets there.

The rest of the world faded away as they stood staring at each other, neither of them moving, and neither of them in a hurry to look away.

He had mesmerizing hazel eyes, fringed with dark lashes that added to the intensity of his gaze.

They were truly arresting eyes, every bit as beautiful as the rest of his face.

“You have neglected your beard,” she said, feeling her lips curve into a small smile that did not match the excitement thrumming through her body.

She ran the tip of a finger along the hair-covered line of his jaw.

The texture of his beard against the pad of her finger sent a prickle of awareness along her skin.

Meeting his eyes again, she said in a near whisper, “I like the way it feels.”

His eyes flared and his lips parted slightly, and she knew he was remembering, as she did, the way his beard had brushed against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs four nights ago.

The memory made her skin tingle as though it had just happened, but the four days since had been the longest of her life as she waited to see him again.

“I fear I will have to remove you from consideration for the position of my protector if you insist on disappearing for days at a time,” she said with a smirk, turning away from him to watch as his friend Bard took his place by the bonfire with his lute.

She felt Hunter move to stand behind her, his voice a low rumble near her ear as he said, “But I brought something to tempt you.”

She wondered what he could possibly have to tempt her beyond the way his voice made her entire being vibrate, or the sweet anticipation tingling her skin at the thought of him touching her.

He reached around her, presenting a petite pie on a bit of cloth in his outstretched hand. She picked up the dainty pie between her fingers and studied it in the light. It was smaller than the palm of her hand and mounded with honey-soaked berries that looked heavenly.

She gasped and touched her finger to the mound of berries piled on top of the dessert, glistening in the light of the bonfires. The honey was sweet on her tongue when she licked it from her finger, but not nearly as sweet as the sharp sound of Hunter’s breath catching in his throat.

She turned to face him, delighted with the gift. “Is this one of the famed berry pies from the Hawkspur kitchens? Galiena told me all about them, but we were not quick enough to get one.”

“They are almost as valuable as gold in these parts.

“How is it you were able to get one, then?”

“I have an arrangement with Cook.” The triumphant smile on his face warmed her heart.

“You have a very nice smile, Hunter. You should show it more often.”

He scrubbed his hand down his face, obviously embarrassed by her observation.

She took pity on him and returned her attention to the pie, taking a small bite.

“Oh,” she hummed with appreciation as the sweet mixture of tart berries, currants, and honey in an impossibly thin pastry crust melted in her mouth. “This is wonderful!”

She turned the pie and held it up in offering for him to take a bite, but he shook his head. “It is for you.” When she gave him a questioning look, he said, “A hungry Anora is not a happy Anora.”

“Am I really as bad as that?”

He nodded as another smile flitted across his face. “Aye, I prefer you fed and happy, like my horse.”

She gasped with mock indignation. “You compare me to your horse?” She picked a plump berry from the pie and popped it into her mouth, sucking on the tips of her fingers in a deliberately slow motion as she held Hunter’s gaze with her own.

The muscles in his jaw flexed as his focus dropped to her mouth, but he managed to say in a low voice. “It is the highest of honors.”

Anora liked this side of Hunter, easy and teasing. But she liked the way he watched her every move even more. “You should smile more often.”

“You said that already.” He narrowed his eyes and scowled at her with suspicion, though she could see there was no sincerity behind it.

“It is very becoming on you.” She reached up and ran her thumb along the bottom edge of his lip, the urge to run her tongue along the same path making her dizzy with desire.

Remembering where they were, she dropped her hand to her side and forced her gaze away from his mouth.

But when she looked in his eyes, she could see the same desire reflected there.

He licked his lips as his Adam’s apple bobbed. “You bring out the devil in me, angel.”

“A smile is not the worst.” She popped the rest of the little pie into her mouth and tried to focus on the tang of the berries instead of the heat coursing through her body from his smoldering stare.

“People will think I am growing soft.” he said, as he turned away from her and attempted to school his face into a serious expression.

“They wouldn’t dare,” she said, smiling when she saw the corner of his lips twitch while he scanned the crowd.

Her eyes followed the direction of his, but all she could see were the backs of the people focused on Bard as he strummed the last chords of the ballad.

Tipping her head toward the warrior-turned-singer, she said, “He is a man of many talents. A warrior and a musician.”

“He is the man with a smile the ladies love. And a voice.”

“And yet no one would dare call him soft,” she teased as she wiped her hands together to brush off the last of the pie crumbs and then ran her tongue over the corner of her lip where some stickiness remained.

“I would,” he growled, the sound catching in his throat as he turned his face toward her again.

She finished licking her lips as she studied his face for any sign that he was sincere. “I thought you liked him.”

“I do not dislike him.”

The arrogant arch to one raised eyebrow and the slight curve to his mouth told her he wasn’t serious. “High praise, indeed.”

He nodded. “He is one of the people I dislike the least, right behind Red.”

She laughed and shook her head at his indifference—which she no longer believed to be real. “And where do I rate on your scale of people you dislike the least?”

His face grew serious as his gaze locked with hers, but before he could answer, Bard stuck a loud chord on his lute and started into a raucous song that got everyone to their feet.

People started clapping and dancing in circles around Bard and the bonfires, and the sudden burst of merriment from the revelers drowned out Hunter’s response to her question.

“Will you dance?” she asked, leaning closer for him to hear.

“Or are you afraid that, too, will make you appear too soft?” She thought she heard a growl rumble in his throat, but she couldn’t be sure.

Regardless, he took her by the hand and stalked toward the nearest circle of people kicking their feet and skipping as they circled the fire together.

Hunter didn’t smile as they danced, but she could feel the heat of his eyes smoldering every time she came into his arms to spin in circles.

As much as she wanted to deny it, her heart already belonged to Hunter.

And one day, he would break it into a thousand pieces, of that she was certain.