Page 12 of How To Please A Princely Fae

I’ve wanted him to look at me like that since the day he came to town and asked to work in my shop. Since the first few days when I thought he was looking at me like that, like I was something delicious to be savored. Like I was a treat he's wanted his whole life and never found his way to. Now he's looking at me like that again completely naked, with a lazy hand around his cock and I don't know what to think.

In fact, I think the sight of him like that has completely ruined my capacity for any thoughts whatsoever and I'm completely sure that there is no draught or magic that could ever wipe the image from my memory.

"I, I, I— You need to put clothes on," I tell him.

“Why?" he asks.

I give him a hard look, because getting used to sassy Kieran is a bad idea. "This isn't the real you,” I tell him. I run my hands across my skirt, trying to smooth it out and soothe my feelings at the same time. He would be mortified to know how he is behaving. He blinks, not understanding.

"Because you don't even like me," I tell him coldly, doing my best impression of, well, him. "You don't like me, and you've made that abundantly clear, and it hurts my feelings that you're acting like this now. I don't want to be around you when you,” I gesture wildly at him,“look like this." The last sentence is utteredslightly less fervently and a little bit more forlornly. It makes me ashamed when his expression shutters. We stare each other for a long, awkward moment.

"Well, where do you keep my clothes?" he asks.

"You don't sleep here," I say, completely consternated. "You work with me, this isn't your home—this is my home. I don't know where you put your clothes." I turn, walking towards the door, and then practically stumble over the aforementioned clothes. I grunt in annoyance.

"Well, you found them," he says brightly.

I glare, annoyed with him. Unreasonably so, because the poor man is clearly under some sort of spell, and annoyed with myself for being so affected by him. I'm also annoyed with the fact that Kieran is apparently the type of male to leave his clothes in a pile on the floor—truly, a black mark against him.

I begin to bend to pick up the clothes so my unruly houseguest can get them back on his lovely body, only to be beaten to the punch by Kieran himself.

Quick as a flash, he nudges in front of me, stooping to pick up the discarded items and leaving me with the impressive view of his naked rear end. From his perfectly formed derrière, thick with muscle, up to the broad shoulders that I never would have guessed lurked under the drab, loose clothes he prefers. Then, of course, his magnificent wings. They were the first things I noticed about him. They are the most impressive mix of iridescent greens and teals and blues, more beautiful than the stained-glass window I painstakingly chose and installed so many years ago.

Everything about Kieran is beautiful, and I find myself staring openly at him… Three scars across under his gorgeous wings, pale silvery lavender so startling in contrast with his perfection that I can't help myself and I blurt, "What's that?"

"What's what?" he responds. He cranes over one shoulder in an attempt to look at the scars that are now hidden behind the fluttering beauty of his wings.

"You just, you have some…" I stop. It seems unfair to tell a male who can't remember where he comes from that he has scars he can't remember. "Nothing," I say. "Never mind, I just—I'm going to just go get started for the day."

"There's no hurry," he says, that coy note returning to his voice. "You're obviously enjoying looking at me, there's no need to rush off."

I ground myself, caught between annoyance and amusement once again. A playful Kieran is a Kieran I am not equipped to deal with whatsoever. It's much easier to ignore this childish infatuation when the object of my desire would prefer to pretend that I don't exist.

An object of my desire standing naked in my bedroom making cute jokes is a lot harder to ignore.

Chirp the owl hoots softly, winging silently to my shoulder as I cross into the hallway. I suck in a breath and square my shoulders as his claws dig in for balance. I make my way down the hallway of my home to the storefront. I am completely out of sorts. I've never felt this way in my own home. It's always been my sanctuary, the one place where I felt safe. And I'm inordinately and unexpectedly irritated with Kieran for making it a place where I no longer feel that way. It's not fair to him, something has clearly happened to take his memory away.

Whether it's the strange presence from the Elder Forest that made itself known last night, or some other magic… it's best not to get too attached to this version of the fae prince.

I settle in behind the cash wrap, looking over my to-do list that seems to grow longer every day. Chirp wings off into the shop, probably to roost in his favorite sleeping spot amongst thepotted asphodel, where he can still look over us as we go about our day. My familiar doesn't like to be too far from the action.

I smile at his soft feathers fondly, grateful for Chirp’s steadying presence in such an unsteady time.

I blow out a breath, pushing some of my wayward curls from my face. An unwashed face to go with the uncombed tangle of hair. Heat rises in my cheeks, and I just know I’ve flushed an entirely unbecoming shade of fuchsia.

I'm so caught up in how unhinged I must look thanks to Kieran’s new predicament that I fail to hear him approach.

I stifle my startle, making an awkward noise somewhere between a grunt and a squeak.

Or, perhaps, I simply didn’t hear him. As far as I know, he can move like any other fae: soundless, silent, and deadly—something else that he's never shown me he knew how to do until he forgot who he was.

That cocky, handsome grin is in full effect, and I try not to whimper at the sight.

That would be a truly embarrassing sound.

“So, this is where you work?” he asks, looking around with raised brows. “What is it you do?”

“I run an apothecary. This apothecary,” I explain gently, waving a hand around the shop. It's hard not to smile at his genuine interest, something I haven't seen from him since the first day he walked through my door.

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