"Brand?" I echo.
He shows me the flat of his hand. On the meat of his palm is a rugged tattoo of a boar's head.
"I'm not lying," I reply. "I am from another world."
He's emotionless, neither believing nor disbelieving. "In your world, do they wear such pieces as shields?"
I shake my head. My heart races. I can't stop staring at the rounded, muscles of his chest. There's an innate, uncontrollable, deep urge to touch him, to flatten my palms on his expansive torso and run my hands over his skin.
"Where is your squire?" he asks and reaches for one of the straps. His fingers brush my breast as he pushes a thumb beneath the strap.
I jerk, my breath catching in my throat, not expecting the sudden touch or the spiral of electricity that runs through me. I go rigid, and I wait half in anticipation, half in fear for him to touch the sensitive spot again.
Realizing he asked a question, I reply, not really certain what else he could be talking about if not my turtle shell. "On my back."
By his look, I've answered wrong.
He releases the strap and spins me, gripping the shield and tugging it back and forth. I careen from side to side before catching my balance against the wall.
"Your shield is on wrong. Damn squire." Reaching around me, he works the button securing the shield beneath my breasts.
I suck in a breath, distracted by the movement of his fingers and a little too aware of him at my back. I can feel his heat and strength, inches from me, and remind myself of how much I don't need an arrogant jerk in my life.
He stops jostling me for a moment, his hand settling at the base of my neck. "What are the three laws of Black Moon Draw?" he asks.
"Truth, loyalty, obedience," I repeat breathlessly. I can't help imagining what those large hands would feel like on other parts of my body. He's so strong, so confident. The feminine side of me loves the idea of melting into him, of letting him control the my movement and exploring every inch of me.
He succeeds in unbuttoning the shield and pulls it off me then whirls me around once more. I want to tell him to stop manhandling me, but nothing comes out. The man is huge. It's hard to think straight with his brownies scent scattering my thoughts. Instead, I stare at his muscular chest as he untangles the straps and flips the shield around.
I lift my arms before he can belt another of his commands and he slides the shield back into place, fastening it beneath my breasts.