He is the most baffling man she has ever known. Some might think that part of the attraction but if Brigade were just a little easier to figure out it would do nothing to dim what she feels. Though perhaps its best he frustrates her a little, she does not deserve to rest easy within herself.
Come here, Kensa.
Its a vexing and terrifying sentence.
Fearing Brigade is as natural to her as wanting him, though she never fears him for the reasons he would probably think. In that moment she is not afraid of further rejection or being called to answer for her evils. Kensa isn’t actually sure why she is afraid, not at first.
There is a fruitless refusal on the tip of her tongue, some attempt to reason with him that dies before she even puts any breath behind it.
She can’t even hesitate, but goes to him, and beneath the proud beauty there is a meekness, a gentle yielding. Before him, close again but not touching she can hear the sound of his breathing and smell the warm, masculine scent of him. Her heart stutters in her chest, and she angles her face away from him slightly, her chin pulling toward her own shoulder. Her blond locks drift forward to fall against her freckled cheek.
Now she knows what she’s afraid of. The merlot bulk of him, the sweetness of his sweat and the richness of his skin, the muscle and bone and beauty. The glimpse of him beneath the fierce outer armor, the gentleness beneath all that steel, the ferocity woven through it all. Knowing she wont have it in herself to resist. Even if they should know better than to even touch.
