Chapter 13

Like heat trapped within a lidded pot, Henri felt beyond ready to burst. The priest had tantalized and denied him. But enough was enough.

Sweat dripped into his eyes as he kept his focus on the back of the retreating Italian. Henri bucked violently, using the sides of the barrel as support. He was ready. And the moment the peach splattered pink against the linen below, Henri shot out the window. He felt teeth bite into his ass like a tart. The spike of pain brought such a surprise of delight that Henri felt himself shooting more than he’d thought he’d stored.

His vision flashed white with visions of angel wings. He’d hit his target! His arms trembled but he managed to hold himself up as he felt his body longing to collapse into the deep barrel where the priest waited.

Henri inhaled. On his gust of exhalation, he threw his voice down among the merchants and customers, “Hey, that Italian stole my saffron!”