Marie drew in a deep breath and forced her expression to one of calm amusement. “Must I have the same talk with you that I have had with my brothers so many times over the centuries? The one about individual responsibility? Where I explain in very simple words that I am no fragile Atlantean flower to be cared for and coddled in a hothouse?”
Ethan leaned forward slightly, bending at the waist, his hands behind his back, and raised one silken dark eyebrow. “Simple words might be a really good idea, beautiful,” he said softly. “Because I’m having a hell of a fight with my inner cat right now, who wants to carry you off, strip you bare, and lick all of that deliciously creamy skin of yours.”
She inhaled sharply as his words sent tsunami waves of shock and heat slapping through her nerve endings. Before she could summon a properly stinging response, he lifted a hand and touched a curl that had escaped her braids. “And as for individual responsibility, I intend to be completely responsible for seeing this glorious hair unbound and spread all over my bed. So consider that, Lady Marie, and maybe you’ll be the one who wants to run back to your hothouse.”
Her much-prized serenity completely deserted her. “You . . . you–”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “Me. Remember it.” Then he bowed to her, flashing another of those mocking smiles, and strode off, sketching a half-salute toward Bastien and Alaric over his shoulder. Marie glanced at her brother, wondering if he’d caught the interplay between her and Ethan, but Bastien was talking intently with Kat. When she looked back toward Ethan, she saw nothing but a tawny blur disappearing through the trees. She finally let out the breath she had not realized she was holding, and continued toward the cabin on knees gone suddenly weak.
Life with the landwalkers was going to be far more fascinating than she had ever imagined.