His beautiful, carved lips shaping themselves around the nickname has me jerking into action.
The chair shocks me with its chill, threatening to tug all the remaining warmth from my body. I shiver, tucking my hands between my thighs to conserve heat.
Rhordyn takes a seat beside me, and conversations start again.
In an effort to avoid the furrowed brows and stolen glances nipping at me, I look to the hole in the ceiling; to the peek of bulging clouds it allots me.
There’s no glass to prevent the gentle mist of rain from entering.
I let my attention plunge to the halo of smooth stone circumnavigating the rusty gate in the center of the otherwise unrefined table, directly below the hole in the roof ...
I wonder where the water goes.
Shivering again, I feel the cold brush of Rhordyn’s stare and peer sidelong at him.
“What?” I whisper, and he releases me from his scrutiny, stare stabbing out across the table.
“Your lips are blue.”
“That’s because you dragged me into acellar,” I bite out, and he grunts in response.
The door opens behind me, offering the softest breath of warmth before it shuts again, and heavy footsteps preface the grind of wood against stone.
I grit my teeth, feeling a heat brush over my face, drawing my gaze to the man who just entered.
Twin cerulean orbs assess me in a way that feels far too intimate. Not a sexual sort of intimacy, but one that goes far, far deeper than that ...
The man from the garden.
He reclines in his chair like a cat lazing in the sun, draping a leg over the arm of it. The movement crumples his fine Southern threads—a tunic that accentuates his muscular physique and lends a drop of nonchalance to his already casual façade.
All the while, his stare doesn’t waver.
So, I study him with the same unwavering intensity.
He’s attractive, I’ll give him that, harboring a strong, exotic sort of masculinity I’m not familiar with.
I’ve seen Bahari males before—there are two others currently seated around the table at various intervals—but never one likehim.
I’ve not seen skin such a perfect shade of bronze.
I can tell he thinks highly of himself by the way he holds his chin, his shoulders. The way he so boldly examines me, as if he couldn’t care less about the male by my side filling this space with his expanding essence.
A hand nails to my shoulder and I jerk, then relax into my seat as I tune into the calming presence behind me.
Baze.
Something about his touch makes me feel a little less hollow.
His companionship, I realize, is one I take for granted. Even his closeness seems to loosen my knot of anxiety and plant little seeds of fire in my veins, taking away just a smidge of this bone-jarring cold.
He leans in, breath cool on my ear. “You okay?”
I nod, resisting the urge to rest my head against his arm and use it as a comfort pillow. “I’m fine.”
The conversations ease, and the room gradually becomes quiet.
Baze’s hand shifts, but he stays standing behind me and Rhordyn. A sentry at our backs.
