Loving a Prince Charming - By Danielle Monsch Page 0,36

said it to his face. All because of his hulking mass and an abundance of scars over his face and body. But Nissa had heard enough whispers amongst the women to know she wasn’t the only one who could see past the scars to the body which otherwise was the perfect example of a powerful male, all hard muscle and massive limbs and towering strength.

But those women would then giggle and say they would also need a sack to put over his head, since even without the scars, the kindest word anyone could use to describe his face would be “plain”.

Well, screw them. Their little snobbery meant she had him all to herself. And she liked his face. His face was an outward display of his strength and courage, both of which he had in abundance and without which he’d never had survived the battles that had scarred him so.

Nissa had traveled this path to his cabin so often her feed moved on autopilot and her mind had free rein to enjoy the fine specimen in front of her.

Of course, this was the day Benton would decide to deviate from their normal routine. When he stopped and turned around to face her, Nissa couldn’t stop ogling fast and slammed into him.

His hand gripped her upper arm to prevent her from falling.

She placed her hands against his chest. Sure, she could claim it was to steady herself, but that would have been a big, fat lie. This gave her a valid excuse to touch him, even if only for a moment, and she wasn’t going to waste it.

If his back was a work of art, his chest was a gift sent from heaven above, and it was really, really cruel to show her all this wonderful flesh, glistening and warm and emitting that delicious masculine scent, when she wasn’t allowed to stick her tongue out and run it over every inch of him.

It was a sad, sad situation. She lusted after her best friend. Had for months now. Wanted to throw him to the ground and do wicked things to him that would have her branded a scarlet woman in their village. Wanted him to mount her like a bull in heat – or any other position he cared to try.

“Where should I put it?”

Confusion reigned for several moments as Benton’s question about the basket mixed uncomfortably with her mind’s wanderings, and it took a bit to pull the two threads apart. “Oh,” Nissa said, dropping her hands from his chest and taking a step back. “Let’s eat outside today, take advantage of the beautiful weather before autumn sets in.”

“Hn.” In Benton-speak that meant he thought it was a fine idea, she was right that the weather couldn’t be more perfect for early fall, and he really liked the feel of her hands on him, maybe she could do it again?

Or he could have been just clearing his throat – either one.

Affection surged through her as she followed him to the little clearing beside his cabin, pushing the lustful thoughts aside. Lust was a newcomer in her relationship with Benton, but the affection had existed from nearly the beginning. In those early days, when she’d developed tender feelings for the scarred, solitary man, the realization had been unexpected and not welcome. Now, those feelings were the center of her existence, the touchstone her life revolved around.

As she set out their picnic lunch, Benton began loading wood he had already chopped into a bin. Well, that explained the sweat and the shirtlessness when he’d found her. “Getting an early start this year?” Nissa asked.

“More merchants,” came his reply, scorn a thick overlay over his words.

“Which means?”

“It means I have to deal with useless lumps who can’t heat their homes or feed their families without me.”

“Benton,” she said, the scold strong in her voice. “Most of us couldn’t survive being alone in the middle of the wilderness. I wouldn’t survive a day if I was all alone, so do you think less of me?”

“You never have to worry.”

She paused in cutting the bread. “And how did you come to that conclusion?”

He didn’t look at her. She could almost believe he was deliberately not facing her way. “I’d never let you be alone.”

Emotion surged inside her that went past affection, past lust. Benton didn’t need eloquence, not when the words he uttered speared through the dark places and lit her from within. She cleared her throat to modulate a voice that otherwise would tremble