The air in the bedroom changed, turned sultry. Her heart hammered, her breath changed - became too thick for her throat.
He sat on top of the blankets, his back against the cream wall. Unlike her, his feet reached the bearskin at the foot of the bed. His pants reached mid-calf and she could see five toes like hers, but his feet looked like dangerous weapons. The nails were vicious claws. His clothes were so thin she could almost see through them. His muscled calves flowed into tough-looking knees. She didn't know knees could look tough, but his did. Powerful thighs and - and she shouldn't be looking at him. She should be running. Julia quickly glanced down at her bare feet.
"I am a strong warrior."
She wanted to look at his beautiful body. She was curious but afraid to let him think she was interested. Something about the way he said it tugged at her.
"I am scarred but a strong warrior," he said, stressing the word warrior.