And maybe, with him, sex would be different. Easier.
When she was with him, she felt different. Lying with him on the riverbank, she’d felt warm and eager and unafraid.
Something unfurled inside her as she remembered. Her nipples tightened. A flush rose in her skin to match the heat of the water. Shutting off the shower, she reached for a towel.
He was gone long enough for the flush to fade, for her nipples to pucker again with cold. She checked her rudimentary wards: a taw traced in the dirt of the window, another scratched in the paint above the door, two crossed lines like a hilted sword. But until Iestyn came back, she had nothing to do. She paced the narrow space before the dresser, wrapped in a skimpy, scratchy towel, her hair in wet strands down her back, trying not to think. When the knock came, she flew to the peephole.
Iestyn stood on the landing outside, his hands ful of plastic bags. She tugged open the door and then hung back, suddenly conscious of her nakedness under the towel.
His eyes darkened at the sight of her, but al he said was,
“There’s a comb in one of the bags. I’m going to clean up.”
There was a comb, she discovered, investigating as he disappeared into the bathroom. And a brush. Canvas sneakers—size eight—jeans, a couple of tops, a zippered hoodie, and a multipack of cotton panties. But no bra.
No nightshirt. She dug into another bag and found more Tshirts, men’s size large.
She glanced at the closed bathroom door before dropping her towel.
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Ripping open the plastic, she yanked on one of the large Tshirts, layering the hoodie over it for good measure. The mirrored wal told her she looked ridiculous, her long bare legs poking out from under the white shirt and bulky navy fleece. But at least she was warm. She pul ed a face. And her nipples were covered.
The last bag held toiletries: toothbrushes, a razor, a tube of antiseptic cream. She frowned over the last, squinting to read the label.
The bathroom door opened. Iestyn emerged, lanky and golden in a cloud of steam like a seraph streaming from Heaven. The towel slung low around his hips was every bit as smal as hers had been.
She jerked her gaze up. And widened her eyes in dismay.
“Impressive.”
He grinned. “Thank you.”
She bit her lower lip. “I meant your throat.” She stepped closer to get a better look.
Red stripes seared his neck just under the cord. The skin around the lampwork bead looked even worse, cracked white edges around a scarlet burn.
She reached to touch him, to heal him, and he caught her fingers. Her nerve endings sparked. Her blood hummed and quickened.
“No magic,” he said. “I don’t want any demons finding us tonight.”
“But you’re hurt,” she protested. His neck looked almost abraded, raw and angry.
He shrugged. “I bought some stuff to put on it.”
She remembered the tube of antibiotic ointment in her hand. “Let me.”
Using their linked hands, she drew him to the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, and she moved between his F
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thighs, his knees on either side of her legs, his bare feet flanking hers.
She sucked in her breath, acutely conscious of his difference, his size, his maleness, his . . . toes. His toes were webbed.
Her hand shook.
“I feel better already,” he murmured close to her breasts.
Heat climbed her neck and into her face. “Hold stil ,”
she ordered, although he hadn’t moved.
She smoothed ointment into the crease of his neck, feathered it around his stitches and the awful sore in the hol ow of his throat. His skin was very warm. Damp hair the color of oiled oak, gold and brown and bronze, fel into his face. He smel ed like shampoo and something else, something musky and masculine. She felt his coiled stil ness, the rigidity of his muscles, before he turned his head and kissed the tender inside of her arm.
His jaw was rough, his lips velvet. Sensation tightened her breasts.
He made a sound, a growl, low in his throat and looked up.
Her breath caught at the hungry, knowing look in his eyes.
She pressed her thighs together.
Holding her gaze, he stroked her breasts with his fingertips, learning her by feel like a blind man reading Brail e.
Her heart pounded. When his exploring fingers found her taut peaks, he smiled and pinched gently.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, stil watching her face.
