<br/>She was correct on most counts; he was strong, fast and dangerous. It was right of her to be cautious. But she was wrong in one way: he<em>was</em>a barbarian. Only, his was a tribe reared to hold all life sacred; warriors who were as gentle as they were ferocious, and who held a code of honor close to what some would call chivalry. But it was only<em>close</em>to chivalry, for no civilized way of gentility boasted the stalking and claiming of a mate as a main feature. Still, it was easy to see how she could think he was just a foreigner; he was wearing spun and tailored clothing which seemed expertly cut to his body, to bare his arms and flanks. He was also wearing moonsilver pauldrons, a quarter cap and crescents which were all master-forged. That and he was beautifully groomed, smelled of musk and incense, and seemed powerful yet gentle, if a bit willing to violate her personal space.<br/><br/>He gazed intently, and as he saw the blood rising into her face he felt his arousal redouble. And wasn’t that her pheromone scent joining his in the air, signaling a certain keenness of fertility? He licked his lower lip and flattened his brow in an expression that might have seemed angry if his eyes weren’t so warming, his body so relaxed. When she offered the book to him he reached out…and took the offering hand.<br/><br/>If she thought to pull away, consider this: his grip was not crushing, but rather he fit a warm, calloused and cloth-wrapped / partially gloved hand around the back of her hand, his eyes meeting hers urgently as if to say don’t be afraid, though he knew this was the crucial moment in which her fear would be at its worst. His grip on the back of her hand was just enough for her not to quickly tug it loose from her initial resistance, but not enough to keep her from jerking it away, and yet, even with that minute amount of pressure, his touch was gentle. More powerful were his eyes boring into hers, willing her not to panic. He dropped them to the book, still offered dumbly in her hand, and if perhaps there was a look of shock on her face, he ignored that as he coaxed her hand around in his and gently placed the book in his other hand.<br/><br/>Taking the book from her without releasing her hand, he slowly lowered himself, almost like a man proposing marriage, his eyes never leaving hers as he carefully set the book down in the grass at their feet, and then, still holding her hand, he rose to his feet, and turned his eyes down to the delicate appendage he had captured, turning her wrist up in his hand, holding her fingers up in front of his face and turning her hand gently around as a jeweler surveying a gem, as a collector surveying some perfectly sculpted doll the likes of which he had never before seen. Idly, he wondered if these were the fingers she used to stoke her inner heat when she was alone. His breath was a hot blast on her knuckles and wrist as he brought her hand closer to his mouth, his beautiful, edged and angled face betraying its youth as he tried to press his lips against her skin.<br/>