Page 28 of Tempting the Fae Lord
“There is.” He grabs a rag, wets it, and wipes himself down. If he’s noticed my ogling, he’s kind enough to ignore it.
I’m hesitant to keep watching, but I can’t tear my gaze away. Whatever wounds lie beneath the blood are bound to be gnarly, and my stomach is feeling squeamish. “We should let them pick her name.”
“If you wish.” He scrubs off. The gore steadily vanishes to reveal perfect, unharmed, pale skin.
“You’re… not hurt?”
“What?” He looks down at himself. “Oh, no. This isn’t my blood.”
I gulp. A hundred questions race through my mind, but the obvious one—whose blood is it?—probably falls undernot now, Gale. “What about your leg?”
“Twisted my knee. Don’t worry yourself over it. The joint is already healing.” He bends it a few times as if to test his assertion. “I’d have fared better if I hadn’t had the babe to protect.”
She’s gone quiet, but not yet asleep. I wash the grit and grime from her hair. She sniffles pathetically. My heart goes out to her. I dry her off as best I can, wrap her in fresh linen, and cuddle her close. “I’ll take her to Eulayla. Then I’ll fetch you something to wear.”
He doesn’t glance up from where he’s scraping dried blood from his hands. “Thank you, that would be helpful.”
I peel my greedy eyes off his body and hurry to Eulayla’s quarters. She wakes as I’m laying the baby in the cradle next to her bed.
“Back so soon, dear heart?” Her voice is throaty from sleep. “Everything all right?”
“Oh, erm. Mm-hmm.” I can’t lie to Eulie, but I don’t want to cause her unnecessary alarm either. “She’s cranky, but I think she’s cried herself to exhaustion.”
“She’ll feel better tomorrow when she meets her new family.”
I’m not so sure, but the baby settles well enough in her cradle, tiny eyelids fluttering closed. “Good night, little one. Good night, Eulayla.”
“Night, dear. Sweet dreams.”
In my room, I collect a fresh shirt and breeches for Ezra. He may not like his given name, but I do. And if I use it only in my own mind, he’ll never know.
We’re close enough in size for my clothes to fit him well enough. He’s a bit taller, but I’m broader, so it evens out.
That done, I return to the kitchen and find him stripped nude save a sheet around his hips, skin wet and glistening from his wash, hair drenched with what was left in the pot.
Water rivulets run down his neck, following the curve of his spine in a race where there is no loser.
I stop in my tracks and stare, nearly dropping the clothes I’ve balled up to my chest.
He runs his hands through the ebony tangles and squeezes another round of droplets for me to admire.
He’s gorgeous, all smooth skin and lean muscle. His bare feet leave damp footprints on the stone, and I find even that small detail fascinating to observe.
“I, erm, I brought some of my clothes.” I hold them out. “For you.”
He has to come close to take them, giving me an even better view of all that gloriously exposed skin.
I bite my tongue to keep from saying something stupid like, “Can I touch you?” Because moments ago, he was covered in blood, and the last thing I should be thinking about is licking the water droplets off him. Especially when he’s clearly upset over whatever happened on the other side.
He takes the clothes. “Much obliged.”
I turn to give him some privacy, even though it’s the last thing I want to do. He’s incredibly distracting like this. Naked.
So very naked.
I stare at the slowly fading wet footprints on the stone as he dresses. The rustle of fabric stirs my imagination, and if it’s possible, he’s even more enticing in the wanderings of my mind.
I’ve been attracted to him for as long as I can remember, and as I aged, those feelings developed from simply wishing to be near him, to longing to be chosen, to wanting to kiss him, to the full-blown desire I’m experiencing lately.
