Honor Bound by Joey Hill (good novels to read in english TXT) 📗

Another door led to a bedchamber and a utilitarian bathing area. But after years spent in crowded barracks, he found he relished the privacy, the solitude a gift he hadn’t known he craved. Twenty years on, and now he was dreaming of a place of his own. He averted his eyes from the drawer where John’s letter lay. On his next leave, he’d take up his old friend on that invitation.

Once he had the lamp lit, he gestured at the upright wooden chair in front of the desk.

“Sit.”

Every cell in his body vibrating with awareness, he put the desk between them. Safely seated, he busied himself with the ink block and a new brush. “Name?” He didn’t look up.

A delicate snort. “You already know it, Captain R-rhio-marrd.” That familiar flicker of delight in his groin, as if she’d placed her lips against his balls to speak. Deliberately, Rhio set the brush down on the block. “You are a major security risk. Either we work through this process or I return you to the Ambassador.” Hoping for magisterial, he clasped his fingers together on the blotter, but he had the uneasy feeling he just looked stuffy. “Up to you.”

Dancer’s spine stiffened, but she lost color. “No. I’d prefer not.”

As he’d thought, she didn’t lack for guts, this one. “Then it’s simple. Answer the questions.”

Dancer inclined her head, regal as any queen. “Ask.”

“Where were you born?”

“What has that—?” Catching his eye, she broke off. “In the southern desert beyond the Trinitarian border.”

“How long have you been a slave?”

“Fifteen years, four months and twenty days.”

“How old are you now?”

“Thirty.”

Rhio glanced up from his notes in time to catch the shiver she couldn’t prevent. “I ask you again, Dancer. Are you cold?”

She hesitated. “A little.”

Without a word, he rose and went to light the fire. Hell, she’d walked all the way from the royal chambers barefoot without a word of complaint. He should have done it the moment they entered the building.

“So you were fifteen when they took you?” he said, crouching to arrange the kindling.

Flames sparked and spread in orange tongues.

“Yes.”

Rising, he turned to face her. “Come here.”

In silence, she rose and walked steadily toward him. He thought she’d stop, but she didn’t—not until they were breast to breast, the folds of her cloak brushing his kilt, their faces inches apart.

Rhio fought the urge to swallow. Brother’s balls, she thought he wanted—Unfortunately, she was right. He did; any man would.

If he stepped back, he’d lose face. If he stepped forward, he’d lose everything else. He held her eye, trying to ignore the wonderful scent that rose from her skin. “Sit down on the couch. I’ll find you something warmer to wear.”

Dancer’s lashes swept down, effective as a courtesan’s fan. Gracefully, she sank down onto the couch.

“Don’t move, you hear me?”

Her eyes glinted with amusement. “But yes, Captain.”

Rhio stalked into his bedchamber and rifled through his clothes chest, swearing under his breath. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but Dancer was still there when he returned, her long body stretched out, feet toward the fire and a couple of tattered cushions under her head. Her eyes were half-closed, her cheeks delicately flushed. That was better.

“Here.” Rhio tossed the bundle of clothing onto her chest. “And take this too.” He produced the chain-mail corset.

Dancer shot upright with a cry. The clothes fell to the floor, but she buried her fingers in the silver mesh. When she raised her eyes to Rhio’s, they were shining. “I saw Sethril take it and I thought—How did you get it back?”

Rhio shrugged, feeling his chest expand like a boy showing off for his first girl. “Took it away from him.”

Dancer’s gaze flicked up and down his body as if scanning for visible signs of injury.

Finally, she said, “He’s a dangerous enemy.”

“I know. Now get dressed. I haven’t finished with you.”

“What is it your Sergeant says?” In Dancer’s grin, he caught a glimpse of the girl she must once have been. “ ‘Aye, Cap’n.’ ” Her pretty accent slurred the words.

In a single smooth movement, she came to her feet, ripped off the cloak and threw it aside.

Rhio nearly swallowed his tongue. “Wha—?” he got out. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Dancer stood naked before the fire like a temple statue fashioned of pure gold, the flames caressing her lean, magnificent body with a warm glow. The dark curtain of her hair flowed over her shoulders, a fall of midnight.

She met his eyes, her level brows drawn together in puzzlement. “What you ordered.

Have you changed your mind?”

Had he changed his mind? Gods, did she think he was made of stone?

Rhio spun around, giving her his back. “No.” He gripped the mantelpiece with both hands. He’d been right. She was playing him after all, the bitch.

Rustling noises came from behind him. “These are a man’s clothes. Yours.”

“They’ll do to keep you warm. Put them on.” Rhio stared at the pennant of his first mercenary company. In a sentimental gesture, he’d had it framed when he left Torza’s Band to join the Queen’s Guard. It needed dusting. “Trying to seduce me won’t work,”

he said to the pennant.

The rustling stopped. Dancer gave a quiet chuckle, a completely female sound. “Believe me, R-Rhio,” she said. “It would. But you are safe, my friend. I will warn you first.”

“But . . .” Rhio ran a hand through his hair. “You stripped. Right in front of me, godsdammit.”

“Oh,” she said. “I see.”

He sure as hell didn’t.

Her fingers brushed his arm. “Turn around, Rhio.”

Almost reluctantly, he faced her. Dancer stood quietly, so swamped by his old shirt and trews she looked like an urchin child. A pair of army socks flapped around her narrow feet. “In Trinitaria, slaves are allowed no modesty,” she said gently. “My sorrow for the embarrassment. I forgot it is different here.

“For example”—she gestured at the enveloping garments—“a Trinitarian master would order me to remain naked rather than wear such unbecoming coverings, even if I froze.

Now do you see?”

Rhio shook his