“I don’t date.”

“Wrong. You haven’t dated. And I’m not talking about dating.”

“You’re talking about getting inconvenient splinters.” She fixed her gaze, trying hard not to look at the woman sleeping at the other edge of the glen. “It’s not something I do, Jamie. Even if I wanted to, it’s too much of a—”

“Distraction, I know.” He slung an arm around her shoulders. “I swallowed that excuse for years, Scratch.” He pitched his voice higher. “I can’t step out with a woman because I can’t be distracted, darling. I’ll find someone to kiss after I get my knighthood.”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“You do rather.” He squeezed her. She took it, unsmiling and squished. “But there’s nothing to get distracted from anymore. And besides, you’re a romantic, at heart.”

“You’re a puddle, at brain.”

“Well, if I can’t convince you to make a move on Brella, could you do a bit of something else?” He tapped the book. She had forgotten she was holding it. The cloth cover was stiff and jarring between her fingers.

“No, James.”

“If you—”

“No, James.”

“But you could—”

“No, James.”

“Fine.” He snatched the book from her, dropping it in his lap and folding his arms across his chest. He pouted.

She waited a moment before admitting defeat.

“What part are you up to?”

He grinned, handing her back the book and opening it to a page about a quarter of the way through.

“The man just escaped the ogres.” He eagerly tapped a section of black print. “Start there.” He cuddled into her side, tipping his head up to give her a meaningful look. “Go on then.”

She sighed and did as she was told.

The centaur studied the traveler who had entered his magical glen. He was frail, probably having run for days from whatever creature, man or magical beast, had been in pursuit of him. His clothes were torn. Through the large rip on the front of his shirt, the centaur saw a set of well-formed abdominal muscles, dusted with a light smattering of fair hair.

“What ho, human,” he called. “Why do you traipse through my magical lands? No human is given welcome here!”

“I have nowhere to turn.” The human was on his knees, hands clasped in a sign of prayer. “Please allow me safe rest and I will be forever indebted to you.”

The centaur scratched his chin and ran his fingers through his short magical beard. On his knees, the traveler was at his mercy. He could bring the man back to the Council of Centaurs, which was magic, and receive a magical reward. And yet, something about the man drew him in. Perhaps it was the openness of his wet mouth, or the flush of his pale cheek. Or maybe, and most likely, it was the erection tenting the front of his tattered trousers.