Page 34 of How To Please A Princely Fae

“I’m trying to think of the ones that will best deceive myself,” I mutter, then wriggle away from him.

Or, at least, I try to, but only succeed in making us both groan as I unwittingly rub against the huge, hard press of his cock.

“Why deceive either one of us?” he asks, and I shudder as his tongue flicks out, tasting the slight shimmer of sweat on my neck.

“Because I have work to do,” I force out, finally extricating myself from his grip.

Which basically leaves me bereft and panting with need.

How wonderful.

It’s not a lie though. I have a ton to do.

“What work is more important than feeling good?” he asks, and there’s no censure in the question, or angry aggression, which I might have guessed at based on my little experience with other men—instead, he sounds amused.

Amused!

I glance over my shoulder at him, straighten the bodice of my overdress, and clear my throat in a way that means I’m very serious.

I frown for extra serious impact as I inspect his expression for proof of my suspicions.

Sure enough, there’s a slight smile quirking up the corners of his mouth.

“Work that makes sure my clients keep feeling well. It’s not all hair potions.” Now truly irritated, I push myself away fromhis wandering hands tempting me to all sorts of trouble and jerk my chin towards the lye solution I have setting up in a huge glass mixing bowl. “See that? I have to make soap, too. That lye won’t keep forever.”

It’s not quite true, but he doesn’t need to know that.

When I chance another furtive glance at him, he’s frowning now, too.

Good.

“Soap?” He raises both eyebrows, his beetle wings rattling slightly behind him in what I can only suppose is complete bemusement.

“Soap,” I agree, nodding sagely, hoping the scents of the lye solution and the cauldron bubbling are overriding what he can surely smell from my skin.

He’s made it all too clear that it’s harder to lie to someone with an excellent sense of smell than I’d like it to be.

“I don’t know anything about soap,” he says, and the carnal, heavy look in his gaze turns lighter, curiosity sparking in his expression.

A smile of my own kicks my lips up because, frankly, it’s darling to see him light up like a bright star at the idea of learning something new.

“Why can’t they make their own soap? What’s special about this one?”

Carefully, I tug on the dragon skin gloves I reserve for handing volatile materials and begin ladling the hair tonic into the waiting jars.

“This soap is one of my best sellers, and I’m nearly out. The reason they can’t make their own is because, for one, it’s a secret recipe that uses a special blend of oils especially formulated for dry, sensitive skin,” I state, narrowing my eyes and daring the potion to go anywhere but where I want it.

“And secondly?” Kieran asks, taking the freshly decanted potion and handing me an empty bottle.

“Secondly, the only place the ingredients are grown for it in a three-hundred-mile radius is in my greenhouse.” The potion is already beginning to congeal, and while it won’t ever solidify fully, the less liquid it becomes, the harder it is to pour into the little glass bottles. I frown, biting my lower lip, and Kieran wordlessly assists, anticipating the moment I’ll need a fresh bottle until I’m scraping the last of the potion out of the cauldron.

“Phew.” I tug the dragon gloves off, wiping the sweat beading at my brow. “Thank you,” I tell him simply, replacing the gloves on their hook at the side of the table. “That was much easier with your help.”

“There are so many things I could make easier for you, would you let me,” he murmurs, that heavy-lidded look in his eyes again, the one that promises a night of no sleep.

“Right,” I say brightly. “Lye will burn your skin right off, so you’ll want to handle it with gloves of your own, glasses for safety, and a thick apron.”

“Burn my skin off?” he repeats, blinking slowly.

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