For The One(27)

Her eyes follow my movement. “Should I go?”

I freeze. “No.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by being here, William.”

My back straightens and my muscles tense. Though I’m unsettled by her nearness, I’m suddenly afraid that she’ll leave. She smells so good—like freshly ground cinnamon. But it’s all I can smell, and she’s all I can think about. And I really don’t give a crap about breathing correctly. I just want to please her.

I force myself to stop rubbing my hands on my jeans by closing them into fists. “Let’s continue.”

“So do you do that to calm yourself?”

I nod.

“Then you’ve found a way to cope when you’re stressed out. That’s a lot like what we’re trying to do—using a coping mechanism for dealing with crowds.”

“This isn’t something I can do when I’m in a full suit of armor. And it wouldn’t help even if I could.”

She thinks for a minute, her eyes wandering to the left while she catches her top lip between her even, white teeth. Her dark pink tongue darts out to wet her lips, and I’m suddenly flush with warm arousal. I wonder if she has any idea how lovely she is. How much I want to kiss her, touch her…

Her head jerks back to me. As she speaks, she begins fiddling with the rings on her fingers. “How do you feel when you’re wearing the armor?”

“I like wearing the armor. It has a calming effect.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Really? I would think it would make you feel stressed or uneasy, since putting on armor is like preparing to go out and kill.”

“I don’t kill anyone in my armor.”

She blows out a breath, eyes wandering to the ceiling. “Of course not, but…you’re getting ready to fight. That doesn’t stress you out?”

“No, the armor weighs me down.” She doesn’t seem to understand, and I don’t really have any idea how to explain it to her. I wish I could draw a picture to make her understand—to convey the message straight from my brain to hers.

There’s silence between us and she flops back onto the mat. With a long sigh, she stares up at the ceiling. “You’ve got to be willing to work with me here.”

“I am willing.”

“No, you’re resisting me at every turn. Meet me halfway, would you please?”

I picture about five different possibilities for ‘half way’—half of a pumpkin pie at family dinner at my dad’s house, a half-empty glass of water I left on the kitchen counter beside the sink before going to my workshop, half way to—

Jenna sits up again so suddenly that I’m startled from that train of thought. “You’re pissing me off, Wil. I’m sorry. I just have to say this. I need that tiara back.”

“Why?”

Her pale brows bunch together. “It doesn’t matter why. It’s important to me.”

I nod. “I understand.”

“No. You don’t. I don’t meant to be mean, but…well, my sister is getting married in June and she wants to wear it at her wedding.”

I have a feeling that’s not the entire story, but I don’t know what to say in the face of her obvious anger.

She sighs again. “Don’t you care that you won’t be able to associate with the clan if Doug wins? He says you’ll have to exile yourself.”

My eyes lower to the floor, her words flowing over me in a strong current. They pull at me and steal my breath like I’m trapped under quickly rushing rapids. “I care about my friends. I don’t have that many.”

She doesn’t say anything, so I lean back on my arms and watch her.

“Why did you challenge Doug to the first duel? You weren’t even into fighting when you challenged him. It surprised everyone.”

I swallow what feels like a large lump in my throat. I can’t tell her the real reason. I have no idea how she’d react to, “Because Doug had you and I wanted you to be mine.”

But I don’t want to lie, either. “Doug is arrogant and insulting to people. I was tired of it.” That’s the truth…part of it, anyway.

She appears to think about that for a moment before looking up. “Is—is that the only reason?”

My face heats. Should I lie? Can I lie?

“To prove to myself that I could do it.” I throw that out there because, yes, it was a reason, too. It’s probably the biggest reason I initiate and excel at mostly everything I try to do. My art, the blacksmithing, the sword fighting. All of it.

Have I not been setting up these standards of personal worthiness my whole life? If I just get better grades in school, she’ll be proud of me. She’ll love me. If I become an accomplished artist, she’ll brag to her friends that I’m her son. She won’t stay away anymore…