Free Shades of Truth (The Summerlynn Secrets) by C.L. Stockton

briefly of suggesting we stop for lunch, but thought better of it.
    After the town faded behind us, I relaxed my posture and prepared myself for a long ride. For all Colton’s faults, and there were many, he made a rather good body pillow. The back of my head was propped against the strong line of his collarbone, and I tucked one of my hands beneath Colton’s, to remove them from my inner thighs.
    But that didn’t mean I couldn’t devote myself to little touches designed to annoy him. I stroked the underside of his hands with a finger. I draped my other hand over one of his arms and spread my palm against the tightly bunched muscles of his thigh. To further irritate him, I twined my ankle around the back of his leg.
    The ankle pushed him over the edge.
    “Cadrian.” I heard him say through gritted teeth.
    “Yes?” I asked as sweetly as possible.
    “Please stop touching me.”
    I would have widened my eyes innocently if he’d been looking at me. “That is impossible. We are riding two in a saddle.”
    “Do not try my patience, sweetheart.” His voice sounded strained.
    “I am doing no such thing.” I smothered a laugh, contenting myself with a tiny wiggle of glee. If I’d known teasing Colton would be so entertaining, I’d have done it much sooner.
    Switching the reins to his left hand, Colton first removed my hand from his thigh and placed it with its mate. Then he tapped my leg. “Please remove your ankle from my leg.”
    “Where am I supposed to put it? Unlike you, I have no stirrup.” Giving one last slow rub down the back of his leg, I realigned my leg along the shape of his own.
    “You play a dangerous game. Be sure of the consequences before continuing.” This time his voice was a low growl.
    “Take me to Lisbon and I won’t bother you again.” That seemed a fair trade.
    “I sincerely doubt that. You have a tendency to burrow beneath my skin.” His voice held a wealth of meaning, only some of which I understood. I annoyed him. What a lovely compliment.
    We rode in silence all the way through the next town over. By then, my stomach was making rumbling noises. I refused to ask for lunch, however. Funny. I’d never thought of going on a hunger strike until he took me to Lisbon. It probably wouldn’t work and I didn’t have the willpower to sustain it until it did.
    Apparently the man never got hungry. Yet another reason to dislike him. Since I had nothing else to do, I began making a list of all the reasons I hated Colton: He wasn’t human (not needing to sleep or eat), he was too secretive and he was too good looking, which made arguing with him that much harder.
    I rolled my eyes. Yes, the man was gorgeous.
    Get over it.
    I yawned. The few hours of sleep I’d caught last night combined with the emotional drain of my earlier panic. At some point in time, I would have to stop napping during the day. But if I slept, I would be spared the effort of agonizing over what awaited us in Mantle.
    On the bright side, maybe we would be allowed to spend an entire night inside a house. Surely Colton’s good night’s sleep included a place to stay. Oh, and food. But I was willing to settle for a bed to sleep in. And a bath would not go amiss.
    Almost without my being aware of it, I adjusted the position of my head, so I was now resting it against the side of his throat. My hands were entirely contained in my lap, and my legs hung beside Colton’s. There were less comfortable places to spend an afternoon.
    Was it possible my father was a spy? Colton seemed convinced he was, and he wasn’t the type to follow assumptions. He would first verify the truth, and then make a decision. So he must have proof of these allegations against my father. But none he could show me (which I didn’t quite believe, but at the risk of destroying our companionable silence, I decided that was an argument for another day).
    If he was spying, who was he spying for? I would think, taking into consideration two not so friendly