“Smart friends you are. Thank you.” She moved closer, extending her hand to that most eager one. He nosed at her skin, and when he settled his jaw in her palm, she let herself stroke his scales. “My name is Britt. Some of my friends here today have never gone flying before, so you’ll be gentle with them, yes?”
Another huff, and a laugh beside her. She snapped a look at The Monk, who’d joined her in the pen, and he held up his hands. “I’m not laughing at you.”
“Yes you are.”
He pressed his lips together, trying and failing to contain another chuckle as he turned his attention to the dragons. He directed his own voice to the oldest of the group. “She’s not wrong. Today is a good day for gentle flights.” He used his hands to gesture a low-flying path over the ground. “Tut. Slow.”
Tut was a training word and it made Britt bristle, because she’d never found the need to train a dragon to do anything, but he spoke with respect and the dragons reacted well—plus this was his stomping grounds, not hers—so she let it go. Mostly. As the first few guests came into the pen and paired up, two guests to a monk, and got a brief lesson in dragon-riding etiquette, Britt followed her monk to the fence.
He hooked his arm over the top rail and propped his heel against the bottom. Dirt scuffed his boots and the early morning sun warmed his face. He looked every inch a rugged farmer, except for the religious garb.
What would he look like wrapped in leather and denim? Stretched cotton t-shirts and snug pants that clung to the powerful thighs even his basic cotton pants couldn’t hide?
She shook her head and stared at the ground for a second, desperately trying to think of anything else. Focus, Britt. She needed to talk to him, because he hadn’t been here on the first day and he’d missed their orientation session. She looked up and blushed as she found him watching her. “We explained to your colleagues that we don’t want to force the dragons into something akin to riding lessons.”
He nodded.
“You used the word tut and I just wanted to make sure you understood.”
Another nod.
“Because you missed—”
“Britt.” Oh, lort, the way he said her name turned her insides to jelly. His voice had a commanding edge when he lowered it like that, and she found her thoughts stilling immediately. Stop, he’d commanded her, and stop she had. “It is Britt, right?”
She licked her dry lips and smiled. “Yes.”
“I’m Bjorn.” He pushed off the fence and stood tall. His hands swung loose at his sides, and for a second she thought he’d put them on his hips, but then he held out his right hand to shake.
“Nice to finally learn your name,” she said, laughing a little as she reached out to take it. Her laughter died on her tongue as their palms brushed together and his fingers wrapped around hers. Sharp, bright electricity shot up and around her arm, warming her skin and lighting up all her nerve endings. “Oh,” she breathed, squeezing her hand tighter in his grip. Oh indeed.
Of course they had a connection. The attraction had been obvious from the start. But she’d never felt anything like this, and obviously, neither had he. He dropped her hand like it was made of lava and she stepped back, giving him space.
“I’m not a heavy-handed trainer,” he said roughly.
“Pardon?” Her head was still swirling with the realization that her body wanted more of that sizzle with the off-limits monk.
“I use tut. They don’t mind.”
“Because you are gentle.” She blinked a few times, trying to get her mind fully back into the conversation at hand. The safe, about-dragons conversation. “But not everyone is. I just thought I should say something. It’s probably not a big deal.”
“I appreciate the reminder.” He ducked his head a bit to bring their eyes closer together. The man was too tall for his own good. Too tall, too good-looking, too kind, and too damn celibate.
She gave him her most polite, least seductive smile possible. “Well, I should go help. Over there.” Away from you. “Thank you, Bjorn.”
***
He shouldn’t have told her his name. Now he wanted to haul her back against him and have her say it over and over again. He was half-hard from a single, bittersweet drop of her voice.
All the more reason to turn around and head back to the guest house.
He didn’t move. He stayed right where he was and watched her work, his heart swelling with unexpected pride. Every inch of him was reacting to this woman—his head was spinning, his arms ached from the effort of just holding himself against the fence instead of being at her side, and though he tried to block it out, every time she twisted her body or flicked her braid over her shoulder, his cock and balls tightened and pulsed.