She laid on her back perfectly still, her hair spread around her head like a sunset halo and, despite himself, he lifted a strand and rubbed it between his callused fingers. She wore only her white shirt and the cloak beneath her that he had unwrapped from around her unclad form to tend her injury. She may as well have been naked. Aye, she was temptation itself. Full breasts crested with dark nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her shirt, the kind of breasts that fit perfectly into a man‘s hands with nothing left over to waste, flat stomach, the beckoning flair of her hips and narrow tuft of pale hair between impossibly long legs. The whole of her nothing but softness and curves. He‘d already spent half the morning watching her as she slept, and reluctantly, he edged the cloak over her. He hadn‘t liked where his mind was heading and didn‘t know what to do about it. He had sworn no oath of protection to her, owed no one but his people his allegiance.
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