Page 85 of The Worst of Them

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered reverently.

He held out his hand. “May I?”

Sheathing the knife, she set it in his palm, but he took hold of both the weapon and her fingers, holding them as he brushed her sleeve up to her elbow with his other hand. His skin was rough against hers, but his touch was tender as he trailed a slow, lazy line of heat back toward her wrist.

When his fingertips lingered over her pulse, he met her gaze, his eyes lit with a dark, mischievous gleam.

She swallowed, measuring her breaths as her heart sprinted. Even after last night, this was all still so new, so thrilling in a way she had never known.

Jack reached into his pack and pulled out a leather vambrace, which he slipped over her hand to her forearm. He tightened the straps, ensuring it fit snugly before securing the knife to it, the handle pointed toward the inside of her wrist.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

She marveled, smiling the same way she had every time he’d handed her a sword—like there was nothing in this world that could have made her happier. “Jack,” was all she could say, because he already knew.

He gestured for her other arm. “It’s part of a set.”

She lifted an eyebrow, trying to focus in spite of the feeling of his thumb sweeping over the inside of her wrist. “How many is a set?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he said, as though such a gift were commonplace and utterly expected. “Though you’re welcome to count.”

He pushed back her other sleeve, trailing his fingers over her flesh as slowly as he had the first time. “So damn soft,” he muttered to himself, then fitted the second vambrace to her arm and attached another knife to it. When he finished, he inspected the sheathed blade, then lifted her arm to press his lips over her pulse.

When she tried to swallow again, her mouth had gone dry.

Catching sight of the look on her face, he breathed a laugh against her skin and murmured, “Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head, surprised she could manage even that.

“Good.” He reached into the bag for two more knives before he knelt. He gently gripped the inside of her calf as he clipped a sheath into the top of one boot, leaving only the handle visible on the outside of her leg before moving to the other. Heat from his hands bled through her pants, and she was absolutely certain he moved so slowly for his own sake.

Was he going to strap every knife to her body? Her blush burned hot as he looked up at her, his eyes blue as a summer sky. Even bathed in sunlight, his sharp features were cruelly beautiful. She wanted to run her fingers over his cheeks, his jaw, his nose. They might cut her just as well as each of these lovely little knives.

Don’t stop, she wanted to say. There were four knives on her already, and though she enjoyed the comforting weight of them, she wasn’t satisfied with only those.

Luckily, she knew Jack wouldn’t be satisfied with four small knives either.

Still on his knees, he reached into the bag and drew out a bundle of straps and buckles. It took her only a second to recognize what it was, and she brightened.

It was a thigh belt like the one he usually wore—the one she’d rarely been able to look away from. Even as she thought this, Jack said, “Since you seem to like mine so much. Do you know how hard it is to focus when I can feel you ogling my thighs?”

As he spoke, he wrapped a hand behind her knee to lightly nudge her leg out, then he slid his hand higher, brazenly holding her thigh as he belted a strap of leather around it. His fingers were deft, but certainly not quick, moving with calm assurance and taking every excuse to touch her.

Her voice wavered as she replied, “Now you’ll be ogling my thighs and we’ll both be useless.”

His gaze moved to hers, exceedingly casual. “I’ve had plenty of practice ogling you and getting things done.” He wrapped a second belt around her hips, attaching it to the one at her thigh to keep it from falling. “Or hadn’t you noticed?”

She didn’t think she could speak. Breathing, as well, was out of the question.

When he reached for more knives, he left his hand splayed over the side of her thigh, his long fingers reaching around the back in a way that made it difficult to keep count. One knife clipped to her leg, three others attached to the belt around her hips. Then he rose.

She asked, “Is that all?”

A dark chuckle. “Do you think I’m done?”

“I’m very much hoping you aren’t.”

He skimmed a thumb over the color in her cheek. “I’ll never be done with you.” His voice came lower, huskier in a way that reminded her of last night when he’d said her name and she’d answered, More.