Brynna narrowed her eyes. Jane looked at Brynna. “Well,” she drawled. “There is a club, at the edge of town. We go there sometimes.”
Jane snorted. “You’re there every other night.”
“Girl’s gotta have a hobby.”
At that, Marguerite smiled. She really liked where this was headed. “Are you maybe talking about a club that features men who move.”
“Oh, yeah.” Brynna’s voice had dropped about an octave. “To music.”
Jane swayed on her feet. “And sometimes their clothes fall off.”
Marguerite closed her eyes and her body responded with a head-to-toe shiver. “Now you’re talkin’.” If Thorne had an objection, and he would, she would just have to make him understand that this was her choice, what she needed in her life, right now, tonight.
These women definitely understood.
“How about eight o’clock?” Jane glanced at Marguerite over her shoulder. “Devon’s performing. He’s fantastic.”
Brynna chuckled. “Yeah, he’s good. Eight works for me.”
Marguerite met her gaze, and some of her tension fell away. “That would be great.”
Brynna gave some really simple directions, which settled the matter.
Jane, whose gaze was still fixed hard out the window, suddenly gasped. “That warrior’s kilt just flew up again. Oh, my God. Brynna, you’ve got to see him.”
Brynna slid off her chair-arm perch and joined the petite redhead staring out the window.
Jane waved Marguerite over. “Come here and tell us if this is Thorne, although I’m still really hoping it’s one of the Florida boys.”
Marguerite rose to her feet. She doubted it was Thorne, since he’d intended to meet up with Diallo for the morning. Still, if it was some hot ascender, she might just have a look; she was essentially on the hunt. Sort of. Oh, shit, her conscience hit her all over again. She ought to have at least a small sense of loyalty to Thorne. But how could she explain to anyone how she really felt? She wasn’t rejecting Thorne. She didn’t want to be committed to anyone. She wanted to be free.
Marguerite moved to look out the window, standing behind Brynna. She had to lean a little because Brynna was built on big lines, but, yep, there he was, her man, going through some strange kind of maneuver with the sword, almost in slow motion. There were at least two dozen Militia Warriors grouped around him, watching intently. There were a number of good-looking ones, too.
But it was Thorne her new friends were staring at. “Yep, that’s Thorne.”
“I’d heard of him,” Brynna said. “But I’ve never seen him before. Damn, he’s gorgeous.”
Jane issued a soft groan. “I’ve never seen a Warrior of the Blood before.” She palmed the window then dragged her fingertips down the glass. “Arthur’s not too hard on the eyes, either. Too bad he’s so damn young.” The two warriors seemed to be putting on some kind of training exhibition for the Militia Warriors.
“No shit,” Brynna murmured. “But Thorne. He’s all grown up. Oh, God, I think I might be ovulating.”
The women chuckled.
Marguerite blinked and looked at Thorne through the eyes of two women who were seeing him for the first time. He had his long hair pulled back in the cadroen so that the sharp lines of his cheekbones stood out. He had a strong face, a warrior’s face, a way of holding his head and putting his gaze on another person that commanded attention.
Whenever he put his attention on her like that her knees buckled.
He held a sword in his hand to show young Arthur some moves. Arthur wore a weapons harness and kilt. Thorne was stripped down to just his kilt and battle sandals. Sweat glistened on his golden skin, his ridiculously broad shoulders, the breadth of his back. As he turned to face the cabin, his ni**les were hard pebbles. Her breath quickened.
His pecs were thick pads that she’d sucked on about a million times. Was there a part of his body she hadn’t taken in her mouth? His abs were a roll of muscles she’d tongued. The kilt dipped just below his navel. He had the right amount of hair on his chest and stomach. She knew the line that led all the way down, one of her favorite places for the tip of her tongue.
His every move flexed a new set of muscles.
Time slowed.
She had to admit she’d never seen him like this, doing what he did best. She heard his laughter and watched as he caught Arthur playfully with his palm on the back of Arthur’s neck.
Arthur rolled his eyes, spun, and resumed the warrior position, knees bent, feet apart, sword in both hands, upright, ready.
Thorne called out a command.
Sweet Lord in heaven, even through the window that voice of his could work her like nothing else. It was all rough-hewn, like he gargled with sawdust. How many times had he used just his voice, a little resonance thrown in, his body suspended over hers, to bring her.
But had she ever really seen him before?
It struck her that he was magnificent, like something biblical that would ride in with enormous wings, his flaming sword held aloft, his hair flowing back in long waves, gilded by the sun. She had the strangest sensation that she had just seen exactly who he was and this vision of him thrilled her, striking a chord deep within. She blinked a couple of times, removing the strange image from her mind.
“I’ll bet he really knows how to work his other sword.”
The women laughed.
Aw, hell. Thorne was putting on one fine show for the women even though he probably had no idea they were watching him.
“Man, I’d like to get some of that, right between my legs. I’d heard about Thorne, but I didn’t know any man could be so … perfect.”
“Yes” was Jane’s response, and the word carried a whole lot of estrogen. For the first time since she’d taken Thorne into her bed, Marguerite realized she might have been a little shortsighted in understanding his appeal to women generally.
She backed away from the window and looked down at her hands. Both were curled, and her inch-long red nails held the shape of a fine set of daggers. She felt another weird vibration go through her and before she could prevent it, a growl emerged from the base of her throat and rumbled through the room.
Jane and Brynna turned to look at her, eyes wide as they planted their backs square to the window.
“What gives?” Brynna asked. “You said you weren’t together.”
“He’s mine.” She’d added resonance, which caused Jane to wince.