Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) (18 page)

“Do you want to sit up so I can wrap this
around you?” Sardelle lifted the bandages.

Bandages, right. He had almost forgotten.

Ridge pushed himself up, which brought them
closer together. He noticed the sprinkling of freckles across her
nose and cheeks. He especially found himself noticing her lips,
which pursed with concentration as she leaned close to encircle him
with the bandage. He held his shirt up for her, wondering if she
was admiring the view at all, or if this was simply one of
thousands of chests she had seen as a healer. He liked to think his
more nicely muscled and appealing than most, but he was doubtlessly
biased. Whatever her background with chests, she seemed to be deep
in thought as she wrapped his. She didn’t notice when her black
hair brushed his skin, creating the most delightful sensation. He
wagered it would be soft to run his hands through. Too bad she was
busy debating… who knew what? Maybe whether or not she should spill
her secrets to him tonight. He wondered if
he
would have any luck seducing
her
. And wheedling out those secrets? Honestly, he
would rather just have sex. Except he had promised her he wouldn’t
make any advances on her. Damn, what had he been thinking? And why
was his mind running sprints from ear to ear? Searching for a
justification to slip his hand behind her head and kiss her?

Sardelle tucked the bandage in and looked up,
meeting his eyes for the first time. He struggled to smooth his
face into something attentive, or at least not lustful. Though the
way her face was tilted toward him, her hand lingering on his
waist… was it possible she was thinking of more than first aid?

“Will I live, Doc?” Ridge asked.

“For the night at least. I can’t make any
promises as to the morning.”

She had clearly meant it as a light comment,
but it struck him to the core, instantly bringing an old quotation
to mind. “The gods promise tomorrow to no man,” he murmured.

“Barisky,” she said.

Ridge chuckled. Of course she would know the
author. Had it only been that morning she was summarizing the
classics for him?

He didn’t know how she would react, but he
lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles against her hair. Despite
enduring snow and killer owls, it was as soft as he had imagined.
He leaned forward, watching her face for signs of rejection. Her
eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t pull away. Her lips parted,
and that was all the invitation he needed.

* * *

Sardelle had been hoping for the kiss but not
truly expecting it. That close, with nothing but a cocoon of rock
and snow around them, she had sensed his emotions even when she had
tried not to, and she had felt his response to her touch. She had
also sensed that moment when he decided to act upon his response.
His lips were warm, his taste even warmer. She leaned into him,
happy to spend the night kissing, though it already saddened her to
know how his feelings would change when he learned the truth.

A problem for tomorrow. Or maybe the snow
would bury them, and this would be all they had. Might as well
enjoy it…

She slipped her arms around his waist and
under his shirt, enjoying the warmth of his skin, the hard ridges
of muscle over his ribs. She had been identified as a gifted one
young and had grown to adulthood within the Circle, wearing the
robes of a sorceress. The only men who had ever dared approach her
were other magic users, those who found her perfectly normal, not
some strange being to be worshipped—or feared—and those men had
rarely had the muscular frames of soldiers. Some of her sisters in
the arts had donned costumes and gone out to find their lovers, but
Sardelle had never had a taste for that, not for relationships that
had no hope for a future.

So, what was different this time?

With his easy-going nature and quick smile,
and the serious passion to his duty that lay beneath it all,
Zirkander—
Ridge
—had made her care, made
her want to protect him and… to be protected by him. To be a team.
Also, he kissed like a god, and she melted into his arms, the heat
from his lips flowing through her nerves like wildfire.

He leaned back, drawing her down with him.
Their lips parted for a moment, and Sardelle whispered,
“Colonel—Ridge—are you trying to get convivial with me?”

“When I said I wouldn’t?” His breath warmed
her cheek; his dark eyes gleamed with humor. “Of course not. I just
want to show my appreciation for your fine bandaging job.”

She was lying on those bandages now. She
wouldn’t think it would be comfortable for him, but he was the one
pulling her down… “I see. Very thoughtful.”

His warm hand slid beneath her parka,
massaging her back. “Can we go back to kissing now?”

“Yes.” Sardelle wished she weren’t wearing
the thick wool dress, that his hands were tracing bare skin. But
their breaths fogged the air, and cold air whispered in through the
entrance. Taking off clothing didn’t seem wise.

Perhaps Ridge sensed her problem, for he
shifted onto his side, laid her on her back, and leaned in,
protecting her from the draft. Her thick parka took the edge off
the rocks, and, as his hands drifted across her body and his kisses
deepened, she grew less and less aware of the cold. Everywhere he
touched aroused heat, and by the time his hand found bare skin, she
was breathing hard, charged with passion, cognizant of nothing but
his lips, his tongue, his fingers, his hard body pressed against
hers.

Sardelle had thought they might simply spend
the evening kissing, whiling away the time while the storm raged,
but she knew as soon as they started that she wanted more. His
roaming hands and his deft tongue made her want… everything. Very
little air separated them now, and she was certain he wanted
everything too.

She slid one hand from his back, down to his
lean waist, enjoying the sensations as she stroked the rippling
muscles of his abdomen, the dusting of hair tickling her fingers.
She lowered her hand to his belt, but his lips pulled away from
hers, and he whispered, “Don’t.”

A surge of disappointment filled her—had she
read him wrong?

“Not yet,” Ridge added and gave her a lazy
smile. He kissed her again, leaving her breathless before his lips
moved to her throat, then collarbone. She curled her fingers into
his thick, short hair as he drifted lower, nipping and teasing her
through the dress.

“Ridge,” she whispered, having some notion of
telling him there needed to be less clothing involved, winter be
damned, but her thoughts tangled, and she couldn’t get out more.
All she knew was she didn’t want him to stop.

His hand slid up her thigh, pushing the
fabric of her dress up to her waist. Cold air nipped at her legs,
but the contrast of the heat of his hand only made her shudder with
pleasure. His mouth drifted lower, and his idea of showing his
appreciation made her eyes roll back in her head. She was soon
panting, digging her fists into the parka’s fur lining, and calling
his name. He refused to rush, though she urged him to when she
could find the breath. That only made him grin up at her, his eyes
crinkling, though the intensity infusing their depths never faded.
He watched her as the stubble on his jaw rasped against her inner
thigh, wanting to make sure she was enjoying his caresses. She
wasn’t sure why he cared, but knew he did, and she arched toward
him, the knowledge and his touch filling her with waves of fiery
euphoria.

When his lips returned to hers, they were hot
and hungry, incensed with his own delayed need. She wrapped her
arms and legs around him, wanting to please him as much as he had
her. She ran her hand across his stomach, finding his belt again.
He didn’t stop her this time.

“Are you comfortable enough?” Ridge whispered
between kisses.

She nodded. A thousand rocks could have been
gouging her in the back, and she wouldn’t have responded
differently. He pulled her over anyway, putting his back to the
rough ground. Part of her wanted to object—he had already suffered
enough wounds for the day—but his hands found her hips, stroking
her bare skin as he guided her onto him, and all conscious thought
fled her mind. She gasped as he filled her, her hands finding his
shoulders, fingers digging in, holding on as they rocked into each
other. She wanted the moment to last forever, but passion built,
sweeping through her, demanding release like an avalanche poised on
a mountainside. The urgency of his kisses, the fire in his eyes,
she knew he felt it too. They crashed together a final time, and
ecstasy burst from within, coursing through her veins.

Shuddering, Sardelle dropped against his
chest. She buried her face in the inviting warmth of his neck,
inhaling the masculine scent of him, sweat and gun smoke, and the
forest.

He nuzzled the side of her face and murmured,
“You’re amazing.”

Her? What had
she
done? He had been… everything. She wasn’t sure she was ready to
confess that, so she chose the lighter option. “Does that mean your
wounds didn’t bother you overmuch?”

“Didn’t even notice ’em.” His voice was
muzzy. His hands still stroked her absently, but he seemed on the
verge of sleep. “You must be a good doctor.”

Sardelle
had
infused
that awful tincture with a little magic to ensure the gouges would
heal well, so she accepted this praise more easily. “I’ll agree
with that.”

Ridge chuckled softly. She laid her head on
his shoulder. The lantern had gone out at some point, and she was
glad, for tears pricked her eyes. The night had been… more than she
expected. More than a way to while away the time. For both of them.
Even if she hadn’t sensed his feelings, his touch had shown that he
cared. Her tears were because… at some point, she either had to
hurt him with the truth or walk away before he found out. Taking
either action felt insurmountable.

Sardelle told herself to go to sleep, that
she was ruining the moment by worrying. Best to enjoy this while
she could. She kissed him one last time and snuggled into his
drowsy embrace.

The owl was gone in the morning. Ridge
probably would have discovered this himself eventually, but he was
still snuggled under the parkas with Sardelle when the shout came
from outside. He sat up and shivered at the cold air that blasted
him. His poor soldiers had doubtlessly had a less enjoyable night
than he, so he wouldn’t complain.

“Morning?” Sardelle murmured, her tousled
locks flopped over her face.

“Yes.” He pushed her hair back and kissed
her.

She smiled and returned it, lifting a tender
hand to stroke the side of his face. His heart danced at this
simple gesture, trusting it meant that she was in no rush to rise,
in no rush to forget their night together.

Reluctantly, he extricated himself. As much
as he would have enjoyed spending more time with her, time he knew
they wouldn’t—
shouldn’t
—have together once
they returned to the fort, his duty compelled him to return as
quickly as possible. The storm had passed, and a clear blue sky was
brightening in the east. His men would be worried about him, just
as he worried that the airship had swooped back in that direction
after leaving that damned owl behind.

Ridge fastened his clothing, shivering. He
didn’t remember being cold last night, but maybe that was
understandable. Body heat, indeed.

“I suppose no one will bring us coffee,”
Sardelle murmured, her clothing rustling as she, too, got
ready.

“Not until we get back. Though I don’t know
if you’d like the stuff Lieutenant Kaosh makes. It’s… sludgy.”

“Then I won’t feel jealous that I’ll not
likely be invited to breakfast.”

She didn’t sound stung, but the words made
him wince nonetheless. Yes, as far as the rest of the fort knew,
she was a prisoner, someone he definitely shouldn’t be sleeping
with, and even if she wasn’t truly a prisoner, he probably still
shouldn’t be sleeping with her. Last night, he had been too busy
launching campaigns from his trousers to remember that fact. If she
would just
tell
him who she was and what
she wanted…

But no, if she could, she would have. He had
sensed that a few times, when she had been gazing at him,
almost
saying something.

“We’ll figure something out,” he mumbled,
though he couldn’t imagine what.

Shifting rock outside of their cave let him
escape from the moment without further promises.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Rav. We’re fine.”

Ridge was glad he and Sardelle were fully
clothed—she even had her pack on already—when the soldier peered
inside, though he had a feeling the fact that he had spent the
night in a cave alone with her would be all around the fort within
an hour of their return. At which point all sorts of speculation
would occur. Oh, well. He had more important things to worry about
than fort gossip. Besides, it wasn’t until the news made its way
back to his commanding officer that he truly had to worry.

“Owl’s gone,” Rav said.

“Yes, time to get back.” Ridge grabbed his
pack and rifle, but hesitated before trooping out. Rav had climbed
down out of view, so he paused to give Sardelle a one-armed hug and
murmur, “I’ll find a way to get some coffee to you. Any other
breakfast requests?”

She kissed him on the cheek—it couldn’t feel
that nice with a day’s beard growth poking out of it, but she
didn’t seem to mind. “Those mango pastries sound good.”

“I’m afraid I would have to take you back to
civilization to find one of those. A basic pastry might be
doable.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Ridge squeezed her one more time, knowing it
would be the last for a while, then climbed out of the hole. The
soldiers were all waiting at the bottom, their packs and snowshoes
on. Belatedly, it occurred to him to wonder if he had any lipstick
smears across his face or bite marks on his neck. No, Sardelle
hadn’t been wearing any makeup—where would she get it in that pit
of a fortress?—and she had been enthusiastic, but still on the
refined side, and worried about putting weight on his wounds. As if
he would have noticed. She probably wouldn’t bite him until their
second
night in a cave.