“See? Distractions are good,” Britt whispered, rocking her forehead against Inge’s.
“Kiss me,” the other woman breathed.
That she could do. Closing her eyes, she dusted their lips together. Darting tongues and tentative tastes. Kissing was such a wonderful, delicious activity, even with a friend who was married and didn’t want Britt for more than just this moment.
“Fredrik will be so sad when I tell him what he missed.” As she pulled back, Inge licked her lips, and Britt chased the wet streak left by her tongue.
“Only because he’d want to watch.”
“He’d want to do more than watch,” Inge teased.
Yes, but while kissing and playing together was within Britt’s comfort zone, being an active third was not. Not with another couple, anyway. It was hard for her to reason out loud, so she didn’t bother.
The gut check was all that mattered. If it didn’t feel right, she didn’t do it.
And if it felt right, fuck anyone who thought it wrong.
“Another?” Inge’s eyes flared bright and hopeful, and Britt laughed as she nodded and closed the gap between them.
Yes, another. And another and another, until the rain stopped and they could get back to their group.
She’d told Inge to wear something more substantial. Under her own cloak she wore her standard riding outfit of stretch trousers and a leather vest over a long-sleeve tunic. But now that she had the other woman in her arms, the excuse to keep her warm didn’t seem so bad.
Tomorrow, though, she’d force Inge into sensible clothes. Because really, who needed to wear a fancy gown on a mountainside a few thousand kilometres from the nearest cultural event?
The conversations one had to have when one was paid to entertain the wealthy.
Entertain…kiss…take riding on the backs of dragons…
A few awkward conversations were barely a hardship given how lucky she was to be gainfully employed in such a fashion. Another year of playing adventure guide to the wealthy and curious and she’d be able to buy a small homestead on the edge of the mountain range, big enough to be a sanctuary for any dragons who needed safe harbour.
Or any riders who would be willing to help care for wounded beasts in exchange for lodging. She didn’t expect to find many takers given she’d be in the middle of absolutely nowhere.
That was kind of the point.
“Where did you go to?” Inge’s soft question yanked Britt back to the present.
“I’m sorry.” She blinked, bringing her friend’s close face into focus. The cool, damp air had curled Inge’s hair and flushed her cheeks. “You’re lovely. It’s not you.”
“Dreaming about your farm?” Inge said that in a curious but still detached way, like she knew it was the answer but didn’t quite get why. She didn’t get it. None of them did. Britt told everyone about her dream, hoping she’d stumble into a patron, but so far, all she’d found were pleasant smiles and changes of subject.
“Of course. And how much fun it will be when you visit.” Something that would never happen, of course. Visiting the oldest monastery on the planet was as close to roughing it in The Outerlands as Inge would ever get.
“You are sweet,” Inge breathed. She leaned in for another kiss, then froze. Her eyes flicked from Britt’s face to something over her left shoulder, and Britt spun around, shielding her friend behind her back.
Coming around the bend toward them were two monks.
Britt relaxed and smiled. “Hello,” she called out.
The younger one pinked up. Oh. So they’d seen them kissing.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“Excuse us,” the older one said gruffly. He met her gaze, then looked past her, down the path, before swinging his eyes back again. He looked…like something she couldn’t place. Not embarrassed like his younger companion. Not offended, either.
He looked vexed.
Like he didn’t know what to do in the situation.
Well, that made two of them. She stretched her spine, trying and failing to make herself as tall as him. Even if he didn’t have the advantage of the higher ground, he was a large man, taller than most and wider too, at least across the shoulders. The rest of him looked trim and lean beneath his boring monk garb.
Not that it looked that boring on him. Rough, woven, undyed fabric stretched across his chest and down his long, powerful-looking legs. A belt slung low on his hips made his torso look like an exaggerated V, and she could imagine—
“May we pass?”
Had she been stopping them? They were small women, and off the path and up against a tree?
Britt was glad she hadn’t gotten to the strip-him-naked-in-her-imagination step yet. This man didn’t deserve the deliciously wicked things her brain could do to the glorious muscles that were no doubt going to complete waste under his up-tight clothes.