The Charmer (18 page)

To a man, Mad Mathin and his men sent the
dazed cadet looks of death as he stumbled his way from the
pavilion.

She did not see Keilor’s face.

Chapter 15

Keilor slammed his sheathed blade down on his
scarred and slightly dusty table, scattering stray papers with the
slight breeze. “Bath!” he snarled, unbuckling his belt. The sound
of splashing water immediately filled the room. He stalked towards
the enormous tub, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake, and sank
deeply into the steaming water.

Tie her to a stake and fire that girl! Custom
of her country or not, there had been no call to show such
favoritism to a mere cadet! Now the fool was in love with her, and
all the true suitors for her hand seethed with jealousy. Tomorrow
might well degenerate into a blood-fest, with all the warriors
expecting to receive the prize of her lips.

Certainly, the crowd had loved it. The Haunt
were a highly sensual people, often given to strong emotion. With
one touch of her mouth, Jasmine had elevated a lowly
soldier–clearly not the match of any of the ten!

to the status of a hero. It would be a wonder if Seris
didn’t develop an insufferable ego.

Keilor’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps he ought to
make time to give Seris a little personal training.

He’d just dunked his hair, savoring the
thought of taking Seris through some particularly punishing drills,
when a knock sounded at his door. “Who is it?” Unless it was Jayems
himself—

“Jasmine,” came the answer, causing his brows
to shoot up in surprise. Could the little innocent be foolish
enough to brave his den?

“Can I come in?”

He debated. There was still one day of the
tournament left, and much as he wanted the woman, word would travel
quickly of their mating, and the rest of the suitors would be sure
to be enraged. Blood would be a certainty then, and if tempers
flared hot enough, entire clans might get involved.

He snarled in frustration. For the sake of
peace, he dare not risk it. “No,” he called with reluctance.

There was a suspicious pause. “Is someone in
there with you?”

A crack of laughter escaped him. As if! It
soothed his temper enormously, though, to hear the note of jealousy
in her voice. “No.” There was a pause. He knew she hadn’t left. He
could practically hear her thinking.

“I have to talk to you,” she told him,
annoyance plain in her tone. “I don’t think you want to discuss
this through a door.”

Very well, he thought fatalistically. If she
was foolish enough, he was game. Settling back with his arms on the
rim of the tub, he called, “It’s unlocked.”

Jasmine gasped. Keilor was immersed in
steaming water, his long, dark hair slicked back. His eyes glowed
in the dim light.

“I didn’t know you were

I’ll leave,” she croaked out, reaching for the door
she now realized she’d closed much too fast. Trust the arrogant
jerk not to warn her!
Arrogant, discourteous and gorgeous,
a
traitorous inner voice insisted gleefully.

He was out of the water and at her side so
quickly, she barely had time to be shocked with the unprecedented
view. She quickly averted her eyes, but six feet of prime naked
warrior standing directly in front of her, dripping water, was not
a sight any healthy young woman was able to block with ease. The
point became moot, though, when said naked man reached out and
whisked off her dress with business-like efficiency.

“What are you doing?” she gasped in alarm.
She tried to snatch it back, but he’d already tossed it over her
shoulder and reached for the hem of her chemise.

“I need someone to wash my back,” he
explained, as if it were of no consequence that he’d stripped her
to her underwear. Her chemise sailed past her head to join the
dress and she squealed as her lacy panties slid down her legs with
frightening efficiency.

“Not me! Stop!” she squeaked, shocked at the
speed of her disrobing.

“I’m not hurting you,” he said calmly. He
picked her up without effort and carried her to the bath. He
released her the moment they were immersed and settled on one of
the low seats built into the tub. She scrambled to the far end and
sunk to her neck as she watched him. It was clear she was not the
one in charge.

His lips twitched with amusement. “I’m not
going to rape you, woman. If that was what I wanted, better to have
taken you on the floor.”

“You are vile!” she hissed. “I’m going to
tell Jayems what you did.” It sounded pitiful and childish, but
what other defense did she have? He was too strong to fight, and
she certainly couldn’t drown him, much as she’d like to.

Keilor chuckled. He shook his head, captured
her wrist and plunked a bar of soap in it. “Scrub.”

She glared at him, but she didn’t have much
choice. For all of his humor, there was a chilling hint of steel in
his command, and she didn’t have the guts to disobey. He propped
one leg expectantly up on her knees, ignoring her embarrassment.
She made quick work of it, stopping at mid-thigh. When she’d done
both, he flashed her a smile and dunked his hair. He knelt in the
bottom of the tub so she could lather it.

Desperate to take her mind off of the long,
silky mass, she brought up the reason for her visit. “What did you
mean when you said you got permission from Jayems to ‘win’ me?”

Keilor hummed and relaxed into her hands,
enjoying the rare sensation of being pampered. “I bed you, I get to
keep you,” he explained, not mincing words. No sense in her not
having a perfect understanding the first time.

Jasmine’s fist tightened around a hank of his
hair and she yanked, hard. Keilor’s head disappeared under the
water before he tore himself lose and surfaced. He whisked the
water from his face and slicked back his hair, giving her a warning
look through water-spiked lashes. It said clearly that once would
be dismissed as funning, but twice would bring consequences.

“I am not a slave,” she told him, displeased,
and not the least bit cowed. “I’m not going to be passed around
like some—”

“I had a wife in mind, not a slave,“ he
assured her. Far too easily, he grasped her waist and lifted her,
setting her down to straddle his thighs. The position raised the
tops of her breasts out of the water. She struggled, but he held
her waist firmly. “Be still. You haven’t washed my chest. This will
make it easier for you,” he explained. Slowly he took his hands
away from her and put them on the rim of the tub, holding her with
his incredible black eyes.

Upset in more ways than one, she roughly
scrubbed his neck, or tried to. It was difficult to do much damage
with a slippery bar of soap. “You don’t want a wife,” she told him
with bitter certainty. She twisted a little to wash his left arm,
trying to block out its solid strength, and the hard muscles under
his smooth, warm skin. She couldn’t hide her fine trembling. He was
so beautiful!

Unfortunately, his beauty was not for her.
“What you want would burn out in a couple of days, maybe a couple
of weeks. Then what? Divorce?”

She had reached his chest. Against her will,
her hands were getting slower. It was all she could do not to
squirm in agony from the fierce, demanding ache he caused. The man
was killing her!

“My marriage will be forever,” Keilor told
her with quiet assurance, holding her eyes.

Distracted, Jasmine’s hand slid lower,
brushing against something hard under the water. She jerked her
hand away even as her body shuddered. She knew exactly what that
was.

When he said nothing, just watched her, she
reached to put the bar of soap on the rim with the intention of
leaving his lap, but he straightened up. “Wash my back.”

She could not have told him no for all the
yen in China. Since he didn’t move, only remained leaning forward,
she had no choice but to embrace him. She hissed and as her nipples
brushed his chest, and it was all she could do not to moan. She
refused to look at him. Bad enough that her breath quickened as her
hands, slippery with soap, slid over his back. His rasping breaths
in her ear were the only sign of his own arousal, as long as she
didn’t look into his face.

She didn’t. She couldn’t, not then.

By the time she reached his lower back her
breasts were flattened against him and she didn’t care. Head
swimming, she reluctantly sat up and put the soap in its place.
Steam rose around them. Slowly, eyes glazed, she looked at him.
Twin, smoking furnaces gazed back at her. “I’m done,” she
whispered.

“Only if you want to be.” Deceptively
relaxed, he waited. When she said nothing, he gripped the tub a
little more tightly. “Move forward.”

Taking a breath for courage, she placed her
hands on his ribs and did. She gasped at the feel of him caught
tight between them.

He hissed.

Greatly daring, she slid her hands around his
neck and rested her chin in the crook. His skin was so hot, so
silky and damp, and she could not resist placing a light kiss on
the hollow of his throat. He hummed deep in his chest, exciting
her, making her ache.

“Do you want me, Jasmine?” he whispered in
her ear.

“Yes,” she moaned, rocking instinctively
against him, abandoning all pretense of restraint. “Oh, yes!”

He nuzzled her ear. “Do you want my
kisses?”

“Mm,” she agreed, but he moved away as she
tried to claim his lips. Frustrated, she rubbed her head against
his shoulder. He lightly stroked her spine in response, causing her
to gasp and arch into him. They both groaned.

Breathless, he asked, “Do you want me
inside?” he moved against her and she cried out with need, nodding
frantically against his neck.

“Good. Remember that.” Before she could
blink, he was out of the water. He didn’t bother with a towel, just
scooped up his clothes.

And then, without a backward glance, he
left.

Keilor wanted to kill someone.

He’d probably start with himself.

He wrapped his trembling hands around a stone
column in the gardens and pressed his hot forehead to it. He locked
his jaw. She smelled so good! With an oath he pushed from the
pillar and forced himself to walk before he lost the battle with
his knees and sank to the ground.

As he strode through the gardens, he stumbled
on a rock and kicked it angrily out of his way. There was nothing
he could do for himself, and there were not enough women or liquor
to purge the need from his blood. He needed
her.
Yet he
couldn’t have her, not until he won tomorrow.

He needed a battle. Something fast and
painful and bloody to tire him enough for sleep. As his feet took
him to the guest barracks where the alternative suitors were, he
found it.

Or rather, him.

Mathin’s nostrils flared as the wind carried
Keilor’s scent to him, mixed with the provocative smell of soap and
charmer. He’d never scented anything like it. The stuff of silken
sheets and moonlight, naked skin and a lover’s cries. The scent of
legend.

One look at Keilor’s savage face was enough
to see that whatever he’d been doing with the charmer, he hadn’t
bedded her. That was good, as Mathin intended to do that himself,
and once he had her, he didn’t intend to share.

Just because he was Mathin, he called out in
his gravelly voice, “Have you prepared yourself for your
humiliation tomorrow, Keilor?”

Keilor checked in mid-stalk and pivoted to
face his antagonist. Teeth bared in a savage smile, he answered,
“Mathin. Defeating cadets has gone to your head. You’ll have to
have a real warrior rid you of your delusions.” Once, years ago, he
and the indomitable Mathin had been something of friends, even
though they had often been rivals.

He did not know if they were friends
tonight.

Mathin laughed recklessly. “Know any?” he
asked, disparaging them both. He made no move to secure his waist
length black hair into a queue, signaling that whatever his
intentions, they didn’t include a battle.

They would save that for tomorrow.

However, it was plain that Mathin wouldn’t
mind a bit of mischief while the opportunity presented itself.
Keilor smiled grimly. Perhaps he would provide a distraction after
all.

Amber mead flowed into Keilor’s paper-thin
stone cup, filling it to the brim. Mathin also replenished his own
glass. Keilor’s mouth lifted sardonically. No doubt Mathin would
get him drunk as an elf if he let him. Granted, there wasn’t much
else to do in Mathin’s Spartan room.

A narrow bed with a plain chest at the end of
it, a small table and two chairs made up the sum of the soldier’s
guest room. A single window let in light. Mathin could have had
better, but like most warriors, was satisfied with the bare
essentials.

Mathin shot back half his cup and sprawled in
his chair with a satisfied sigh, using one scuffed boot to tilt
himself back. He laced his hands over his flat stomach, cradled the
cup, and studied Keilor with curiosity. “So tell me about the
charmer.”

“She’s a pocket full of trouble,” Keilor
answered immediately, his scowl reborn. Trouble and then some.

The corner of Mathin’s lip curled up. “But
worth it?”

Keilor drummed his fingers on the table. “I
spoke with Jayems for her.”

The warrior’s brows shot up. “Here is news.
The untamable Master of the Hunt, captured at last by a woman?”
Mathin studied him. “You have no desire for children?”

Keilor rubbed his thumb over the rim of his
cup. “I accept that I will not have them.” He could have explained
he planned on adopting a child, but the sudden tightness in his
throat prevented it. A forceful swallow of mead cleared his throat
enough for him to ask, “What of you? I had always assumed you liked
children. Why would you court a human?”