(Go slow. And focus more on the emotions than the sensations,) the older Witch advised. (It may sound cliché, but the two of you could make a great pairing from what I’ve seen . . . and since we’re going to be here more or less permanently, it behooves you more to treat her with an equally permanent level of respect.)
(I already know how to suck eggs, Grandfather,) Aradin retorted mildly, focusing more of his attention on the warmth and the softness of the woman snuggled in his arms than on their inner conversation. (The Grove alone does not compel me to stay and explore this corner of the world. Being a Hortimancer for this place is a huge responsibility. This . . . might be a huge reward for all the good things I’ve done in life. If I don’t muck it up. I’ll see you in the morning.)
(Sweet dreams. Eventually. Oh, and I’ll wager you a local silver coin that she’s sensitive behind her knees.)
(Go, Teral,) Aradin ordered. With a mental wave, his Guide disappeared, leaving him to hold Saleria in what felt like perfect contentment. I could hold her like this forever, and I think she’d be happy to stay. I know I am, right here, right now. It was a very good feeling.
It was an almost perfect contentment; she turned slightly after a few more moments and nuzzled her face against the underside of his jaw. That felt good, too, as did the nibbling of her lips along his chin. Aradin met those lips with his own; that made the sensations both different and better. The feel of her curves pressing against his muscles, the way she nibbled on his bottom lip, all of it was better than simply standing there, holding her.
Saleria wanted to touch him. She slid her hands under the edges of his black and tan outer robe, then stilled. Breaking their kiss, she started to speak. “Um, is he still—?”
“He’s gone,” Aradin reassured her. “Nipped off into the Dark to do whatever until dawn.”
She relaxed a little, and slid her palms up his chest to his shoulders, easing back the folds of his Witchcloak. “Does he ever get jealous? Of not being able to . . . ?”
“It doesn’t come up very often,” Aradin had to admit. Shrugging out of the robe, he draped it over the chair next to her bed as he addressed her questions. “I think if he never got any physical affection, either directly or secondhand in the back of my mind, then it might become a problem. He may technically be dead, but he also still has the chance to enjoy life in some part.”
Following that line of thought, Saleria sighed. “And it would be cruel to deny him the delights and comforts of life . . . Well, I can’t say I’m comfortable with it. Right now, at least. But . . . I’m not vehemently opposed to it. He is handsome, you know—so are you, in a different way.”
Aradin grinned at her hasty amendment. “Be sure to give him a hug and let him know, the next time he physically appears. Now, since he is not here . . . care to tell me what you like about my appearance?”
She blushed and cleared her throat, trying to find a good place to start. “Well . . . I like your hair. It’s soft, and healthy, and it seems dark when you’re in the shadows,” she told him, lifting a hand to one of his locks. “Yet it picks up all these lovely golden highlights in the sun. I find myself anticipating each patch of sunlight we cross, when we’re in the Grove.”
“I see,” Aradin murmured. Unbuckling his belt, he set it on the black fabric of his cloak lining, then pulled his tunic over his head. “What about my chest? Or my arms? Do you like them?”
Saleria started to speak, but found her wits distracted. Aradin didn’t have a muscular barrel of a chest, unlike his absent Guide, but for all that he was lean, he was well-muscled. Having grown up with a warrior for a father, having seen his fellow guardsmen—who came in all body shapes, but were one and all fit men—she had always enjoyed the various different ways a man could look and be healthy. But as she sought for the words to admit she admired his figure, she instead burst into laughter when he flexed his biceps . . . and kissed the left one.
He grinned back at her, showing that he knew he looked silly. “See anything you like?”
That reminded her of her own pert question to him earlier. Regaining her breath, she smiled at him. “Aradin . . . you are lean and fit. I like that in a man.” Moving close, she lifted her hands to his chest. Her palms slid over the warmth of his skin, enjoying the light dusting of hair coating it. Blond and faint, it was felt more than seen. It wasn’t enough, though. Playfully, she leaned back, eyed his arms, then lifted her chin. “Flex them again, please? Something looked out of balance.”