Itchy forced himself not to react.

As soon as Aylee had returned from the garden where he had found her with Jess, the atmosphere between his friends had changed. Of course, Itchy had hoped on some level that Aylee would lose her suspicions, but he feared that she had moved too far. At the moment, Itchy was not fully convinced that he trusted his friend with Aylee Hembry, and his last encounter with Aylee had weakened his trust in her as well. For her to fight so hard to build distrust in Itchy for his dearest friend – maybe even to have attempted to manipulate the situation? Then, suddenly to throw herself headlong into vulnerability with Jameson? The idea seemed laughable with a woman as level-headed as Aylee appeared to be.

The difference was apparent immediately, and it did not alleviate over the next few days. Jameson and Aylee wandered the perimeter of the camp far too often for propriety, and the coy glances she threw his way spoke full investment on her part. The soldiers had begun to wonder what was happening between their leader and his charge. Not that the soldiers disapproved – they rather appreciated the natural alliance between their leader and their muse. Most of Itchy’s concern rose from the fact that neither Aylee nor Jameson seemed to consider the natural course that should follow their current trajectory.

“We have engaged in no untoward behavior, Itchy,” Jameson insisted when Itchy tried to address his concerns.

“So, you do not find it odd that Aylee suddenly trusts you?”

“We…” Jameson searched for words. “I explained enough of my situation that she understands my dilemma.”

Itchy coughed in surprise. “You did not – ”

“No, Itchy! I did not tell her who I am – I am not a fool. Until I have finished my business and freed my father, she will know no more than she did when she arrived. If she has changed her opinions based on her observations of me, then that will have to be enough.”

“But discretion, sir.”

“We are using every proper discretion. What is indiscrete about an occasional walk around the camp? She needs confirmation of her security here, and discussing the camp and the soldiers with me builds her confidence.” Discussing and laughing about our families and our friends and her likes and dislikes also builds her confidence, Jameson smirked internally, though he knew Itchy would not have approved of that portion of their interactions.

“What would you imagine if I engaged in the same activity with Miss Hembry?”

With the words, Jameson’s full attention riveted on Itchy, as if a danger had erupted between them. Itchy noticed it, but he could not discern its cause. Was it base jealousy? That did not seem like Jameson, but Jameson did not exactly comport himself in his usual manner where Aylee Hembry was concerned.

“Have you walked as I have with Aylee?” Jameson prompted.

“Not as you have, no. You have seen how we have interacted.”

“I am not always around, and my mind is much burdened by other considerations, so I am not always so aware as I should be.”

Whatever fire had erupted in his friend, it now seemed to melt back to the insecurity that too often gripped Jameson. The man was not overly sensitive, but his deeply conscientious heart regularly conceded when it ought to stand.

“As I have told you, there is only one man here from whom Aylee stands in danger.”

“Because of her choice?”

“Both because of her choice and the wishes of others involved in the matter…”

Jameson peered at him with anxious uncertainty, but Itchy poured every ounce of sincerity into his expression, and the communication seemed successful.

“If that is truly the case…” Jameson managed a weak smile. “Then neither of us has anything to worry about.”

“That is not what I said,” Itchy tried to retort, but by this time, Jameson had believed him well enough that the cocky smile had returned in full force. “Now which of us is too somber,” he teased, patting his friend on the shoulder and effectively ending the conversation by stepping away and commanding a soldier to retrieve a wooden training sword. Itchy sighed in frustration.

When Itchy had approached Aylee, she had reacted no better to his concerns.

A few days following the exchange in the garden, Itchy had attempted to engage Aylee in their fairly regular training exercises – an activity she readily agreed to. Not that she would entertain any negative speech regarding her current situation with Jameson. As they made their way with wooden knives and swords to the private clearing where they practiced, he expressed his concern.

“Do you really believe,” she scoffed indignantly as she lowered the knife into position, “that I would allow myself to act in an untoward manner, Itchy? Or maybe you are afraid that I will seduce Jess into some inappropriate position…” Aylee flashed him a wicked grin, and Itchy just shook his head.

“I fear the intentions of neither of you, but I fear that, not understanding fully the difficulties of your current situation, you are not using proper caution.”

“And Jess? What about his caution? Surely, he knows everything you do.”

“Jess is inexperience in these matters, though not for lack of ladies’ attempts to engage him in them. That being the case, I am unsure that he realizes the implications of your current interactions.”

Stepping back, Aylee placed her hands on her hips. “Implications, Itchy? What exactly is it you imagine we have engaged in?” As soon as she asked the question, she blushed, realizing that “implications” had a broad definition. “What I mean is, I have not so much as held his hand since the garden. I have engaged more with you than with him, and in a much more familiar manner. If anyone should reprimand me, maybe Jess should reprimand me for the implications of my relationship with you!”

For once, Aylee had stumped Itchy. She was proving unexpectedly obstinate on the topic, and he couldn’t figure out how to make her listen. As if the universe would not allow him any success in his endeavor, he suddenly glanced up into the unexpected face of his dearest friend.

Taking in the sight of the swords, Jameson’s face fell in disapproval, and Itchy realized that the man had no idea that the training had taken place for nigh two weeks now. Fortunately, Jameson glanced at Aylee for explanation.

“Have you been training?” he demanded, a tad more authority than usual in his tone. Had his suspicions just materialized before him? While she made eyes at him and accompanied him on private strolls, was she meeting with Itchy alone for her own purposes? Maybe Itchy had intended to warn Jameson away from the woman because she was at some sort of game with them. But then, why had Itchy invoked propriety as his rationale for discouraging the relationship?

Aylee did not miss Jess’s irritation, and her independence rose to complain. “I have. It is a good diversion for me since I have little other activity here. I can walk for hours, but at some point, I need more for my mind than the easy philosophy of a stroll.”

Though he did not respond, Jameson’s expression spoke loud disapproval.

“If you don’t mind,” he begged, “could we utilize a few moments for one of those lamented strolls? I have a few questions.”

Without a word, Aylee shrugged her acquiescence, gritting her teeth as she glared at Jameson. Finally, after a quick apology to Itchy, she turned back to Jameson with significant petulance. “Very well, milord,” she rejoined as Itchy walked away. “A stroll it is.”

Jameson regretted the obvious reproach in his request as soon as she called him milord, but he could not regret interrupting the training with Itchy. How could either of them have considered it proper? He had noticed the change in her appearance, the pantalons and tunic, her hair tied behind her head. For practicality, he had applauded the alterations. Now that he understood everything entailed in the change, he could not approve.

Though he spoke of a stroll, he merely led her on a circuit around the clearing, too out of mind to bother with things like not getting lost in the woods. As soon as Itchy was out of earshot, Aylee spun on him, throwing out her arms. “Okay, milord. Go ahead. Forbid me from training. Throw your weight around, since I have obviously misbehaved.”

“But to train with Itchy?”

“You would rather I train with one of the other soldiers?” She bared her teeth at him in an ironic grimace.

“I would rather you be honest with me and not engage in questionable activities with my closest friend in my camp and under my nose.”

Aylee scoffed, unable to speak for a moment. “Are you worried that Itchy may develop competing loyalties? That he will not have time to sweep up your chocolate shavings if he is too busy enjoying himself with me?”

“I didn’t – that’s not…”

“Because you can rest assured that Itchy could not possibly find room in his heart for any friend but you. Even his exercise with me is, according to him, an attempt to take a burden off of you. Because there is no doubt that I am a burden to everyone, especially you.”

Her words comforted him, and he began to regret his suspicions. Her claim matched Itchy’s general behavior so exactly, even trying to remove a “burden” from Jameson’s life. With a swell of conscience, he lowered his tone. “Aylee, I have injured you.”

Aylee scoffed. “Is that why you worry about my training? Because if you think me so weak that words can injure me, maybe you are even more concerned about weapons.”

“You’re misconstruing my words, Aylee. I only mean that…” He ran his fingers through his hair, and exasperated, he stepped over to a stone that rested a dozen feet from Aylee – he needed some space to think. “I’m sorry. It was just unexpected, and I admit, I stepped into my office for a moment rather than my role as friend.”

“Your office,” she murmured, but his apology softened her, if not entirely. Who are you? she demanded silently. For the first time in several days, she rubbed her fingers over the bronze medallion in her pocket, reminding herself that she did not know Jess’s real identity, and she should not commit herself to his purposes. She had let herself forget for long enough that the memory caused her actual pain, and his discomfort suppressed her intended defiance. Every time she considered rebelling against him, Aylee found herself pulled up short by his humility. “Please, Jess. I had no intention of upsetting you in this. It is merely a diversion.”

“And it is not as if I hold any claim to restrain you.”

He seemed almost to regret the thought, and Aylee suddenly realized for the first time that their several day’s flirtation had created unspoken promises between them. No wonder Jess felt transgression in her exchange with Itchy. “The claim of friendship, Jess,” she insisted, crossing to sit beside him. When she took his hand, she noted how he closed his eyes and sighed with what seemed relief at her touch. If she had let herself feel it, she would have reacted the same, but she needed to retain her reason. “Friendship,” she continued, “and the claim of a man on his possessions – the swords – and his stewardship – the camp. I…I was affronted, but perhaps I have reacted poorly.”

Peering over into her face, Jess let a slight smile raise his lips. “You are always just, Aylee Hembry. Just and kind. I have wronged you, and you have handed me the tools to claim innocence.”

“I just try to see things from the perspective of others,” she allowed, staring down at their hands. Jess intertwined their fingers, and Aylee suddenly forgot about swords and impudence. She froze, not quite able to turn to face Jess. The sensation of his fingers in hers stirred thoughts she could not indulge

Jess cleared his throat a minute later, unleashing their fingers, and he stood to his feet. When she glanced up in his face, he seemed to be breathing harder than was warranted by a small argument or the exertion of rising to his feet, and Aylee noted that he did not try to help her up – she had to suppress a smirk.

“I apologize,” he offered again, though Aylee had to wonder what exactly he had apologized for. “I will ponder the idea of your training, as I realize that you have studied sword fighting with your father and brothers. This is unfamiliar to me, but I trust your judgment.”

With a guilty twist of her lips, Aylee shrugged, finally losing her battle to take him seriously. “That is kind, Jess. But perhaps an apology is unwarranted. Perhaps you merely took issue with the quality of my training, and if it took place in a more efficient manner, you would approve of it more.”

Jess scoffed. “I hardly think the issue was the quality of the training…”

“I mean, perhaps…” What was she doing? “…that the issues was less with training, and more with the trainer. Perhaps you would prove a better teacher than I have so far experienced.” It had been far too long since Aylee had shocked Jess, and butterflies danced in her stomach when, instead of anxiety or judgment, she looked up into a face of pleased – if skeptical - amusement. In a matter of moments, both of them wore matching grins. Remember how you promised your mother you would guard your virtue?

“Perhaps if we only train with swords…” he prompted, easing over to the tree by the weapons trunk where Itchy had lain two wooden swords..

“Oh, yes. Itchy did not train me with swords – only knives. Swords would be an excellent idea.” She could not quite hide her nervousness.

“So, swords then?” he repeated. Rather than wait for her to answer, Jameson pressed one of the wooden swords into Aylee’s hands, thrusting his own wooden sword toward her before she could raise her own. Somehow, she managed to dodge, though she was quite certain he hadn’t made his strongest attempt.

“But wait, I am not certain. Itchy said…”

Jess did not wait for her to complete a thought, instead adopting a parrying stance and raising his sword as if in preparation for a dual. “Itchy is quite a competent fighter,” Jess asserted. “Were you able to stay with him?”

Incensed, Aylee mimicked Jess’s pose, accepting the challenge even as she recognized his attempt to bait her. “I was mostly able to stay with him, though I’m sure he gave me some quarter because of the length of his arms. It’s interesting that he used the same words to describe you, though. That you are ‘quite a competent fighter.’”

Her taunt had the desired effect as Jess narrowed his eyes in challenge. Aylee took advantage of his moment of distraction to bring her sword across his own, forcing it downward.

As if by instinct, he utilized the downward swing to create momentum for a back stroke, a move which sent her spinning sideways. Fortunately, besides an unexpected strength for her smaller stature, Aylee’s greatest advantage in fighting drew from her agility. When he pressed her into the spin, she danced beyond his responding thrust, quickly bringing her own sword in an unexpected upward arc. Jess was forced a step back to avoid her sword.

“You and Itchy spoke of me, then?” Jess grinned, unwilling to let her bait him.

“Not I,” she claimed, though she had spent well over half of her time with Itchy discussing Jess. “Itchy has basically dedicated his life to you, so it is hard for him to leave off discussing you, no matter how he is discouraged.”

As he processed her words, Aylee managed to land several blows, and now that he recognized her fighting style, he had to admit that she was quite capable. He landed a couple of strikes on her arm and shoulder, but she did not balk, though they likely caused some pain. Jess seemed more upset by them than she.

His worry, though, seemed to stir irritation in Aylee, and her pique quickly managed a strike to Jess’s side. “I am not a china doll.” She punctuated every other word with a strike, and Jess jumped back, amused and impressed. Undaunted, Aylee rushed Jess before he could recover, and she inadvertently smashed the narrow edge of the wood into Jess’s side. When the blow struck a rib, Jess actually stepped from the circle of the fight. Though he did not express the pain, he raised his hand for a pause. Aylee reacted instantly, all teasing forgotten.

“I have hurt you,” she worried stepping into his side and dropping the sword.

“Aylee,” he chastised. “I am not a china doll, either. He spoke with a superior tone, but the words pressed through clenched teeth. “You are showing the weakness of a woman. Itchy would have mocked me. Could not a clever enemy count on your compassion and feign a wound to draw you out?”

“And you are showing the weakness of a man,” she contradicted, dropping her sword so she could probe the strike with her fingers. “As if everything is a battle. I am in fact showing the strength of a woman, in that I know the difference between reality and games. If you had been Malchus Lorne or anyone else who had threatened me, I would have struck the sword through you several times already. As my sparring partner, I can show concern for your well-being.”

When Jess winced at the touch of her hand, she began to untuck his blouson from his trousers so she could assess the bruise.

“Are you sure this is appropriate?” he wondered.

With a wry smile, Aylee ignored his protest. Who would have thought, after the garden, that he would prove the most conventional of the two of them? “I have three younger brothers,” she murmured as she lifted the linen edge. “...and when they hurt themselves – which happens often – I act as nurse. My mother has an infant to care for.”

“But I am not your brother.”

She prodded the skin above the rib, noting a small area where a purpling bruise had begun to peek through the skin. When Aylee turned her face up to assess his pain level, she saw that he peered down with composed intensity - his pain did not seem related to the blow from her sword. Aylee held her breath. Certainly, he was not her brother, and as her hand brushed against the ridge of muscle wrapping around his side, she realized how thoroughly she had overstepped all bounds.

“Did you render first aid to Itchy?” he murmured, his voice low with forced self-restraint.

Aylee licked her lips, not letting herself show any signs of his effect. “Itchy had no need for first aid because I landed no strike against him.”

Her attempt at levity did not suspend the intensity. Instead, the feel of her hand on his skin had piqued his jealousy, and he found himself forcing a smile that did not fool either of them.

That cursed dimple! Aylee complained silently. She forced a slow breath through her lungs, cooling her expression as she lowered his shirt. “You are uninjured,” she stated carefully.

“Of course I am uninjured,” he agreed, still with the corners of his mouth upturned. “I am glad you found something to boost your spirits, but I still find it a strange choice. Why did you ask Itchy to train with you?” He turned to face her, and she found herself staring at the buttons on his untucked shirt.

“Boredom,” she shrugged, her eyes managing to rise to the “V” at his neck.

“I don’t believe you,” he leveled, and her defiance raised her eyes the rest of the way to his.

“Your belief is irrelevant. I complained to Itchy, and he suggested training as a remedy.”

“I am the liar, remember, Aylee? You are the paragon of virtue. Would you hide the truth from me?”

She knew he said it to manipulate her, to draw her out so she would disclose her true motives, but she could not manage to resist.

“I hide the truth? Fine; I will explain lest I mimic you and your character. In casual conversation a few days hence, Itchy asked me if I felt safe here.”

“But you do not? So, you thought you would learn to fight?”

With a glare, she spun away from him. “I know how to fight. Itchy offered to help me keep up my skills.”

“I admit,” Jess allowed as he moved to stand behind her, “that you are quite good. I worry that you have no experience fighting an actual enemy with a sharp sword.”

She turned back to him. “I punched Malchus Lorne in the face – a man your size – and I would have pummeled him with a hammer, had you not interrupted me.”

Remembering the vision of her, eyes alight with fury and mallet at the ready, Jess could not restrain a smile.

“You likely would have; you always surprise me. It’s just that…I was so terrified.”

For the first time in their discussion, Aylee felt the full force of her attraction to him. Most of the time, she either wanted to mock him for his near parental attentiveness or round up a band of her townsfolk to string him up. He could flirt. He could tease. She reacted to his proximity. All of those factors did not touch her deeply enough to render her vulnerable. But that heart that he exposed on occasion? That deep sense of responsibility and concern? Every time, Aylee found herself panicking at her response to his compassion.

She wanted to offer a pithy retort, to minimize his gravity so she could cool the moment. Words failed her.

“Can you forgive me for being selfish?” he wondered.

“Selfish?” Aylee scoffed.

“I was not prepared, after our few moments alone, to forfeit all hope of the others that might follow.”

Aylee found herself staring at his shoes again, her breath escaping in short puffs of steam. Despite the noontime sun, the late fall had pressed through a blast of frigid air, and once she had cooled from her exercise, her skin chilled and sent a shiver through her.

Attuned to her as always, Jess glanced around for a covering. “I apologize,” he worried. “I have no jacket to offer for warmth.”

“I need no jacket,” she countered, and the distraction finally allowed her to separate herself from Jess’s consideration. “What I need is another lesson in fighting. I will warm up quickly if we cross swords again.”

“Do you really believe that the next time you encounter a brigand, you will bear a sword? Is sparring the best use of time?”

“What alternative do you suggest?”

Jess found himself at a loss. “To be honest, I don’t particularly wish to take my mind down the roads that would inform me. They will depress me or anger me too far, and the exercise will prove unproductive.”

“Well, I have traveled down those roads – I have been forced to by Malchus Lorne. Most of the practice I would need to learn the skills to manage him would delve into impropriety.”

Suppressing the thoughts that tried to arise, Jess said nothing.

“For instance, grappling…”

“Aylee - ”

“As I said, impropriety. Another would be evasion.”

“Evasion?”

“Your troops must practice evasive tactics?”

“I’m not sure that would prove much better for propriety than grappling.” Jameson could not imagine a way in which chasing her would remain dispassionate. “Had you practiced ‘evasion tactics’ with Itchy?”

“Of course not,” Aylee replied coyly. She barely reined in a grin at his sullen tone. “Why would I need to practice evading Itchy? I have never felt the desire to run from him.”

“You purposely provoke me, Aylee.”

“Provoke you?” Aylee literally batted her eyelashes at him. “If you are provoked, that is your responsibility.”

Jameson clenched his jaw, but there were tactics he would not employ to deal with his frustration. As he stared at Aylee, he had to wonder if she were attempting to draw him into some untoward behavior. You are responsible for your own choices, Jameson, he assured himself. No excuse. “Of course, you are correct. I am sure Itchy has treated you with full propriety.” Jess spoke coolly, and Aylee found herself a little disappointed at his dispassion. “If you truly wished to practice evasion tactics, I would require you to understand the rules as used by the troops, and to hold yourself to those rules. To judge me by the rules.”

“Rules?”

“First, do no harm.”

“Hardly realistic,” Aylee shrugged. “But I understand why it has to be so in a practice situation.”

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he hedged, uncertain that he approved of the possible roads the path could take.

“Jess, what are the other rules? This is the most practical training I could undertake as a woman. I can use a sword. I know how to grapple, to be honest, since I have brothers and have been forced to restrain them on occasion. Evasion would prove a highly useful addition to my arsenal.”

“I can instruct you on methods without demonstrating: use your size as an advantage, use stationary objects as impediments, create obstacles where possible by throwing or knocking objects into your pursuer’s path.”

“Jess!” Aylee barked. “What is the second rule!”

“The second rule is that beyond the first rule, there are no rules.”

A thrill brushed over Aylee’s skin as she listened to the rules, a thrill entirely removed from the cold. When she glanced up at Jess’s countenance, he seemed cautious enough for both of them, and she felt a restraint release in her. She bared her teeth at him, eager and amused. “You needn’t be so conscientious,” she teased. “There is nothing untoward in training – just pretend we are engaged in a child’s game of chase.”

“Am I to go easy, then?”

“You will just have to follow my lead.” With her words, she reached out and shoved Jess, causing him to stumble backward. Before he could complain, she had sprinted past him in the direction of his momentum.

“Clever,” he smirked. Most of his troops, if their opponent stumbled, would turn and dash away in the opposite direction, wasting momentum and precious seconds on the pivot. By the time he turned and started after her, she had made it across the clearing and into the first row of trees.

For a full fifteen minutes, Aylee evaded him, dodging agilely through the smallest opening between trees, sliding with little margin past one tree and then another, ducking under branches that Jess had either to stoop under or swing around. Several times, Jameson was forced to pause and skirt an entire copse of brushy trees while she glided directly through. Once, he lost her entirely, and had she not beamed his shoulder with a rather large acorn, he would not have found her. The taunt forced an audible laugh from his lips.

Jameson had not experienced such freedom in over a decade, not since his own training had begun at the age of twelve, and despite himself, he lost his usual solemnity for most of the pursuit.

Finally, Jameson spotted Aylee at the edge of a clearing. Her head swiveled back and forth, seeming to assess the shadows among the trees and then the open space she would have to brave to go forward across the field.

His angle gave him perspective so that each time she glanced toward the clearing, he was able to progress past several trees before hiding himself behind the most convenient trunk. When he reach to within a few yards of her, she froze, her face riveted toward the woods – she had heard him. At the edge of the woods, her breath puffing in clouds against the cold, Aylee stood like a statue. Jess could not help but compare her to a literal work of art, her slim and strong figure lit from behind by the afternoon sun, her deep auburn hair, which had fallen from its ribbon somewhere in the pursuit, stirred by the slight breeze. Aylee resembled a mythical warrior, and Jameson ached to somehow capture the image so that he could retain it forever. Perhaps he could recall the picture well enough for the court artisan so that the man could recreate it. If she remained his friend, she would prove a brilliant ally. I pray she remains my friend…

When Aylee spun on her heel and dashed into the clearing, Jameson pulled himself from his momentary reverie. Aylee had evaded him for so long because her advantage lay in the complexity of the woods. Where her smaller form could dodge between trees and into narrow spaces, Jameson was forced to pause and adjust with almost every turn. In an open sprint, he would surpass her. Still, she had managed an advantage of several dozen spans, and Jameson had no idea her actual speed.

By the time Jess stepped into the clearing, she was about one-third through it. She knew better than to turn and check, but at the sound of the crash of reeds, she could not help a quick glance backward. He must have watched her in her preparation to run, or he would not have reacted so quickly. As it was, she knew her cause was lost.

Less than halfway through the grassy field, Jess lunged to ensnare her. Though she dodged and caused him to miss his two-handed attempt, he swung his arm out wide and managed to snag her around the waist, spinning his own body to take the impact as they fell to the ground, laughing. For nigh a minute, they lay panting among the grass, Aylee stretched atop Jameson and unwilling to make the effort to move off of him. Finally, though, their breathing slowed.

Jameson waited for Aylee to roll off of him, to stand to her feet and begin a discussion or make an excuse to leave. Instead, though she slid her body off of his, she lay her head down on his chest, seeming intent on full recovery before she attempted to stand.

After a few moments of calm silence, Jess reached his hand to caress Aylee’s hair. He hated to disturb the moment, but he hated even more the idea of misunderstanding her. “Aylee, are you well?”

Aylee sucked in a deep breath. “I am well,” she sighed. “I am quite tired, but that is to be expected.”

When she still didn’t move, Jameson couldn’t bear the insecurity.

“You were not scared, nor felt unnaturally pursued? I am concerned - ”

Finally, she rolled to lean on her elbow, perched beside him. He mirrored the movement until they faced each other.

“I am fine, Jess,” she declared. “And I am quite adept at communicating my displeasure, as you are aware. If you had acted untoward, or if I had felt threatened, you would already know.”

“Alright, then. Did you learn anything?”

Staring in his bright eyes, Aylee decided that she could not bear looking at him anymore, so she settled onto her back.

“I learned that you are an excellent tracker, and that you are really fast…”

He rolled forward so that he could look into her eyes. “That is hardly a necessary lesson for training.”

“And I learned that I am entirely too eager to enter a game, so I might not notice when I step beyond what I ought.”

“Have we stepped beyond?” Jameson queried, and his expression grew serious again. Aylee wanted badly to pull him down to kiss her, to remove the frown from his lips. So serious, she accused silently, and her hand reached up to trace the worry line that had creased his brow. He closed his eyes at the sensation.

“We have not, Jess,” she allowed. “But if I do not restrain the moment, we may.”

He had not meant to, but he had leaned closer as she traced the lines on his face. By the time she laid her hand entirely against his cheek, his face had reached within a breath of hers. How could she say what she said and caress his skin with such tenderness. “Aylee,” he complained. “You are cruel.”

“As are you…” she whispered, her eyes closing as she lifted her chin and brought her lips closer.

“I don’t intend to be,” he murmured, opening his eyes to seek hers as his face inched lower, her breath soft upon his cheek.

“I am not sure that you can help yourself,” she breathed as he completed his descent and their lips met.

Though Jameson’s mouth found hers, he forced himself merely to brush over them in the gentlest of touches, and Aylee’s breath stuttered in her throat. “And yet I must,” he asserted quietly, his own hand caressing her cheek and hair as he pressed further into the kiss – only for an instant.

As if it had not happened, Jess pulled himself into a seated position and then rose to stand, offering her a hand so that she could follow. Aylee reacted without thought to the motion, and far too quickly, she found herself standing, unstable, beside him. She crossed her arms over her chest as if to hold herself together.

“I am not sure that lesson is particularly informative, Aylee,” he leveled, his voice pained. “I would request that you not attempt to repeat it with any of my colleagues. I will also not be renewing my offer to participate again. It was a mistake.”

Despite her agreement with the sentiments, Aylee found the words awoke an ache in her chest, and she pulled further away from him. He did not follow, just placed his hand for a moment on her arm before turning and trekking back into the forest.

She had lost her reason for only a moment, and in that moment, he had fled from her.