Isabela lay back on the bed and watched her captor undress. She had managed to turn the tables on him hours ago, but by the Maker's favorite dangly bits, he was too delicious to leave without having just a little taste.
Dumb – he didn't even know that she'd gotten the key out of his pocket five minutes after she woke up – but look at those muscles! She was practically salivating by the time he pushed his trousers off his hips, and then she had to lean up on her elbows just to prove to herself that she really was seeing what she was seeing.
"I am one lucky—"
The door exploded inward and Hawke filled the doorway with his great bulk.
"She's here," he shouted, muscling in and felling Isabela's would-be lover with a pommel strike right in the middle of the man's forehead. He dropped without a sound and Hawke strode across the room to snatch Isabela off the bed to drag her out into the hall where Varric, Aveline, and Merrill waited.
"But—" Isabela started to protest, casting a longing glance back over her shoulder.
"We're rescuing you," Merrill informed her.
Aveline spared a dour glance at the nude man on the floor and snorted.
"From great peril," Merrill added as Hawke started down the hall with Isabela in tow.
Isabela twisted her wrist in Hawke's grasp, but the man might as well have been made of iron. "That's nice and all, but really… let me go back in there and face the peril." She thought of what she'd gotten an all-too brief glimpse of, and felt like a child denied a toy on her name day morning. "I can take it."