Fighting Fate: Book 2 of the Warrior Chronicles by Leigh Morgan Page B

tongue over the Japanese script, one character at a time as if she could discern its meaning with her mouth and her fingertips.
    “You’re an evil man.” She said, catching his gaze as he turned to face her. The pleased, but almost imperceptible raising of the corners of his mouth, told her he understood and appreciated every lascivious thought running through her head.
    Nonchalantly, he ran both hands through his still wet hair that was beginning to curl even though it was still heavy with water. The move set off his biceps, giving her an unfettered view of every muscle on his torso. He knew what he was doing to her and yet he seemed content to not push her for a response. She’d seen plenty of bare-chested men and enjoyed looking at most, but she’d never run her hands over one quite this beautiful, or harshly masculine.
    Jesse wouldn’t be doing any magazine covers after all, not unless they airbrushed out all of his scars. He had what Taryn recognized as old knife wounds, one about four inches long cutting across his lower left ribs, one cutting diagonally over his left collar bone to just below his heart, part of which bled into another kanji tattoo that was much smaller than the one on his back. He had a pucker scar, no larger than a nickel, on his right pectoral. There were bruises on each side of his rib-cage, some old, some just beginning to turn purplish-blue. There were other small scars peppering his torso like stars in the night sky, testament to a life lived less than gently.
    After she’d looked her fill, Jesse allowed his arms to fall to his sides, his biceps pulsed and his nipples hardened under the heat of her gaze. Taryn closed her eyes.
    “You’re not helping my headache.” She said.
    He grunted and made a sound so self-effacing she almost opened her eyes again. “You’re not helping the ache I’m feeling south of my head. The head I think with anyway.”
    Taryn started to open her eyes, half hoping the towel was still there, half hoping it wasn’t. It was there, and sure enough a certain part of him was not immune to her visual caress.
    “That was coarse.”
    He shook his head. “Coarse? Lady, you’ve no idea just how…er… coarse I’m feeling.”
    She started to get up and a sudden pain shot through her eye socket to the back of her head. She sat back heavily, letting her knees collapse. Morgan, the whippet, cried in empathetic sympathy as she licked the hand Taryn didn’t have cradling her skull.
    “I’d love to drag you back to that shower and have my wicked way with you, but I think I could use some aspirin and a gallon of water first.” Taryn said, only partially joking. Half a gallon of water should do it.
    Jesse disappeared into what Taryn thought was the bathroom and came back with a large glass of water and a small bottle of ibuprofen. When she finished fishing three small orange pills from the bottle and downed half the glass of water, Jesse gently pried each from her clenched hands. Setting them aside on the small table next to what she figured was his bed, Jesse placed one finger under her chin, gently lifting her face.
    Brushing a lock of hair that had fallen over her brow behind her ear, he cupped the back of her head and softly kissed first one temple than the other, careful not to hold her too tightly. He took special care with her bruised temple, which felt like she had a baseball growing out of it. His touch didn’t ease the pain, but it did comfort her. She wanted to melt into this cocoon of safety he was wrapping around her and stay awhile, at least long enough to be transformed into something…something… more.
    His lips were warm and butterfly soft as they moved down her cheek, over the line of her jaw to the side of her neck, just below her ear and back again. Taryn wanted Jesse’s mouth on hers, she wanted to devour him. Instead he sat back, rubbing one thumb across her water moistened bottom lip.
    With a rueful smile that held nothing but poignant regret