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hen he finally curled up in his allotted nest of blankets, Armand shivered miserably and stared into the bucking darkness of the flimsy shelter. The worst of the storm had passed and they had somehow avoided losing the mast before they were able to step it down and secure it. For an hour or more he had helped the crew struggle against biting sleet and frigid waves to stretch oilskin between the bulwarks to shelter the boat’s shallow interior from the onslaught of the sea. And then there was the bailing and the frantic prayers of the sailors as the boat rode dangerously low upon the heaving waves.
There was nothing left to do now but wait out the storm huddled in their meager shelter while attempting to stay warm. He overheard the first mate telling a couple of the sailors to strip off their sodden gear and wrap up in blankets. The close press of weary bodies was already causing the chill air to take on a damp musty warmth. In the darkness it was impossible to see where Brigit was. His hand touched someone’s damp hair as he tugged the edge of a blanket over his chin. He assumed she had curled up beside him in her accustomed spot. Poor thing must be exhausted, she did not even have the energy to say hello. He stroked her long fiery tresses, remarking the subtle wave and harsh, almost bristly quality of her mane.
“Armie?” she called, her shape outlined in the fluttering doorway as she drew aside the tent flap and peered inside. He withdrew his hand in horror, blushing as he realized his error and imagined the burly sailor lying beside him equally shocked.
“S’alright,” mumbled a dwarven voice, “I miss me hubby. Nice t’have someone stroke me beard.”
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“I’m here,” he replied over the groan of timbers and the howl of wind. He heard several muffled cries of pain as Brigit stumbled over the line of huddled bodies and found him. The dwarf woman chuckled with amusement.
“I’m freezing. I hope you warmed up those blankets,” Brigit said, her teeth audibly chattering. Armand gazed up into the shadows toward the source of her voice. She was standing near his feet and he could hear her frantically disrobing, her sodden clothes falling wetly to the deck around her. Like a drowsing cat, a part of him leapt awake and his thoughts prowled lasciviously toward the prospect of experiencing her warm undressed body pressed against his. Almost simultaneously he became embarrassed and terrified that he would do something unbelievably stupid. What if she sensed his lusty thoughts?
“Armie?” she whispered, her voice shuddering with cold, “Are you there?”
“Here,” he croaked, shaking as he drew aside his blankets and the dwarven woman next to him scooted over to make room. He need not have worried. The moment the frigid air hit his flesh all traces of desire vanished. Her skin was clammy and cold as she pressed against him. The two of them shivered awkwardly in silence as he frantically drew the blankets over them both.
“I’m so cold,” she moaned, “A wave hit me and I nearly fell in.”
Armand felt an unfamiliar thrill of fear as he visualized Brigit being swept into the frigid sea, her screams fading as she passed out of existence amidst the dreadful troughs and mountains of pounding water.
“Ouch,” Brigit murmured, “Could you loosen your grasp a little?”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, embarrassed that his fear had unconsciously translated into clenching his hands over her arms as he clutched the smooth curve of her back to his breast.
“No, don’t take them away,” she giggled, her words shuddering from her mouth, “I like your hands, just not when they’re hanging onto me for dear life.”
He did not know what to say to that but a smile crept to his lips as she cuddled against his breast and grasped his hands against her belly.
“I like my Armand coat,” she teased, “so warm and comfy.”
“Not that warm,” he mused aloud, “I can’t feel my feet and my body aches from shivering.”
“Poor thing,” she replied gently, “Give me a minute and I’ll warm you right up.”
He was beginning to suspect that much of what she said to him had a double meaning. Armand laid his cheek against her shoulder and closed his eyes, immersing himself in the smell and feel of her. The ghastly clamminess and cold faded where their skin touched, replaced with a sweet warmth. For a moment he was at peace, difficult though it was to set aside the violent pitch and yaw of the boat. He felt safe and oddly grateful. His lips brushed her shoulder and he smiled, kissing her lightly below her nape.
“Armie,” Brigit sighed, shuddering with delight as he made a path of small kisses on his way to her ear, “Armie, not now.”
“Sorry,” he replied, attempting to withdraw and roll over as shame burned within him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she teased, grasping his hands and preventing him from getting away, “I didn’t mean I didn’t like it, it’s just… well… there are a lot of people in here with us.”
“I was just kissing your neck,” he protested.
“Just,” she sighed, “You’re making me all tingly without even trying.”
“I’m getting even,” he said, his relief translating immediately into amusement, “You drive me quietly insane all the time.”
“Do I, now?” she asked, mischief curling from her voice.
She pressed his hand higher up over her belly, somewhere enticingly soft and sensuous. Her nipple hardened under his questing fingers and he swallowed upon discovering where he was touching her. The revelation translated into a sympathetic tightening in his groin. The ship’s descent pushed his hips against her thigh and he realized she had to be aware of the lust that now coursed through every fiber of his being.
“Yep, you’re warm now,” she snorted.
“Bwee,” he choked. His blood sang in his ears and he could hardly breathe as he wrestled with his suddenly awakened libido. Oh gods, if only the world would stop moving and he could somehow get away from her. He could hear chuckling in the darkness, every sailor no doubt aware of the sexual tensions building between the two of them. It was sheer misery. Armand feared he would explode.
Brigit must have realized he was at his wit’s end for she swept back their blankets and let the chill air hit his exposed flesh. It was as if he had been dashed with freezing water and his lust came to a shuddering halt.
“Sorry, sweetie,” she whispered, “I shouldn’t have teased you like that.”
“Well, not here at any rate,” he whispered furiously. Brigit giggled and drew the blankets back over them.
“I’m saving you up for an inn at Droknar’s Forge.”
Armand swallowed and blushed, his face pressed once more against her shoulder. She was driving him mad. In a good way, of course.
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