Page 72 of Blood & Claw

His tawny eyes narrowed. “I’m not. I’ve just got business elsewhere … I need to get this job done.”

The words landed heavily in the darkness.

A job.

Of course, that was all this was to him.

Ailsa looked back into the fire so he didn’t see the disappointment cross her face.

She shouldn’t have expected anything else. The man was a mercenary, after all.

Shifting position, she winced.

Her lower back throbbed. She reached behind her and attempted to rub at the spot with her fingers. However, she couldn’t get the pressure right.

“My mother suffered from such pains every moon,” Dale said then. “My father used to massage her back.”

Ailsa grunted as she shifted position. “Lucky woman.”

“Here.” He rose smoothly from his side of the fire. “I’ll help.”

She stiffened. “No … it’s all right. I don’t—”

“Fear not … it’s just a massage. My hands won’t wander.”

Warmth rolled over her, even as her chin lifted. “I’m not afraid.”

He gave a soft huff of amusement as he lowered himself behind her. “Of course, you aren’t. You’re the fiercest woman I’ve ever met.”

Ailsa pursed her lips. There it was again—that shift. The man stepped from one mood to the next whenever it suited him.

Heat crept up her neck. “Now you’re making fun.”

“No.” The teasing edge left his voice. “I saw the way you faced off against those Reedohran. And that pickpocket back in Cleghorn didn’t stand a chance.”

She made a noncommittal sound, even as her chest tightened.

She didn’t want praise for either of those things.

“Aye, well, Kayla made sure early on that I gained some basic fighting skills … Braewall can be a rough fort.”

“She did well.” A pause followed. “So, do you want me to rub your back or not?”

She could feel him behind her. Not touching, yet close enough that the heat of his body bled through the layers of her clothing.

Too close. His nearness distracted her.

“Very well,” she muttered at last.

Another beat passed, and then his hands found her. His fingertips slid down her back, stopping just above her hips. The touch was firm, deliberate, as if he knew exactly where to press. Then his knuckles began to work into the tight muscles there.

Her breath caught. She went rigid.

“For the love of the Gods, relax,” he muttered.

She almost snapped at him. Instead, she forced her shoulders to drop, inch by reluctant inch.

She let go of some of the tension, but not the knot of worry lodged deep inside her.