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A loud thunk sounded. Then some cursing. Then silence.
That had been more than a brush dropping on the ground.
What if he'd been hurt? The last thing I wanted was to wake up to a bloody mess in the morning.
I opened one eye slightly, just enough to look past the foot of the bed.
Jaiel stood up slowly, clasping a large red book, muttering to himself. He placed it atop his bag, then turned back to the vanity, tugging his hair up into a high bun as he went.
Pulling out the sponge, he dipped it into the cold water, cursed, then stared at it in disgust.
Must not be a fan of the cold water either …
He shook his head with a grunt, then scrubbed all over his face, neck, and shoulders, skin prickling everywhere the icy liquid touched.
My heart pounded, and I stared as a bead of water fell slowly from his chin to his chest, then disappeared beneath his partially buttoned white shirt. He caught the water with a fingertip and rubbed it into his skin, then moved to the buttons, slipping them free one by one.
Each open button exposed more firm golden skin until his white shirt hung loosely at his sides.
My mouth went dry.
Gods be fucking damned. Why did he have to look like that?
Muscles stretched down his abdomen, glistening in the lamplight. And a fine sprinkling of dark hair led beneath the waistband of his pants — barely clinging to his hips and held together with just a few small buttons.
Jaiel's hand continued its path, gently slipping the top button free.
I pressed my thighs together as he ran a hand slowly up the center of his stomach, then back down. Those long fingers tracing the ridges of his muscles as he went — teasing himself.
His hand dipped to his waistband, and another button slipped free, exposing that damn v —
Fuck! I slammed my eyes closed. I really shouldn't be watching this.
If he caught me, I'd never hear the end of it.
Letting out a slow, quiet breath, I rolled deeper into my pillow, praying it seemed natural.
"What … didn't see anything you liked, Princess?"
Heat flooded my cheeks at the rich heat in his voice. Forsaken hells!
Fighting the desperate urge to crawl under the blankets and die, I cleared my throat, and — praying my red cheeks weren't visible in the dim room — sat up.
Jaiel's lips curled into a smug grin as he took in my disheveled state, but I lifted my chin and ignored it, jabbing my finger at the other side of the bed. "I expect no part of you to cross this line. Do you understand?"
He nodded and ran his hands through his long black hair, pulling it from the topknot so he could braid it with deft fingers.
Fuck. My shirt suddenly felt too hot as I tried not to imagine the way it would feel to have those fingers running through my hair instead of …
"I understand." His voice was a low rumble, silky and warm. "But … if you want to cross that line … I wouldn't say no." His gaze dropped to where I clutched the duvet tight against my chest. "Even devoted agents like you have needs."
My breath caught. No. We weren't going there.
This was exactly what I'd been worried about when he said we'd share a room.
Well, this and the nightmares. But mostly this.
What he deserved … was a little taste of his own medicine.
