You will never bore me, Nelissuna. I can see that fact straight to my soul.”
“But I can clearly see you being easily capable of boring me to tears,” she countered archly, trying to free her trapped hand with a determined tug. He was even stronger than he looked, she thought.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, noticing her struggle and insults about the same way he would notice a passing speck of dust.
“Why can you not tell me? You are the medic, are you not?” She exhaled sharply. “Will you please let go of me?”
“No.”
Legna growled in frustration at him.
“You are so obnoxious!” she accused. “I hate it when you do that!”
“Do what? Answer a question? If it disturbs you, I will ignore your questions from now on.”
“You know exactly what I mean. I hate it when you lay down the word no as if it were the last letter of the law. And do not think I do not know that you are doing it on purpose just to irritate me, because I do!”
“Then you should cease giving me the opportunity to say it,” he told her, his tone so matter-of-fact that she almost screamed at him. “And you should be careful of those little growls you insist on making, Neliss. They are . . . very stimulating.”
Suddenly Legna forgot all about trading barbs with him and became very aware of his warmth above and below her trapped hand, the solid strength she leaned up against so cozily, and the very clear hunger that was brewing under the humor he had been using to hide it.
Now that he had her full attention rather than her acerbic defensives, he slipped his hand out from under his head and reached to touch her soft, warm cheek with fingertips as light as the ones she had explored him with.
“You are so very lovely, Legna. I have always thought so. Even as a child, you were quite stunning.”
“It took you long enough to tell me so,” she said, but there was no true energy to the would-be sarcastic remark.

Author: Jacquelyn Frank