“One of my shirts is mysteriously missing,” he continued. “Disappeared.”
He snapped his fingers. Or rather, tried to. He missed the mark and nearly hit himself in the cheek.
Oh, dear.
“Are you . . . are yousleepingin my shirt?” he asked.
Gracious.
Her heart was a panicked beast, attempting to jump out of her chest.
“And w-what if I am?” She was proud her voice held only a slight wobble.
Fox slumped further, bringing his face that much closer to hers. Her hand on his chest ached to explore, to roam over the muscle she felt there.
“Why would you take my shirt?” he asked, baffled.
His face was now mere inches from hers.
How to answer that?
“Because . . . it smelled like you?” It came out a question, even though it ostensibly wasnot.
He frowned and tilted his head down, his nose nearly touching her throat.
Leah forgot to breathe.
Fox, however, breathed deeply.
“Smell,” he muttered against her neck. “You smell much better than Honoria. She liked heavy perfumes. Made me sneeze.”
“What do I smell like then?” Leah asked, terrified to move, to do anything that would upset the delicate balance of their bodies.
He sniffed her again.
“Soap,” he announced, landing hard on thep. He took another long breath. “Soap and . . . Leah.”
Leah swallowed. Hard.
She expected him to sit back at that. To finally pull away, to retreat.
Instead, he remained close, breathing her in for a long moment.
Finally, he lifted his head, his expression difficult to read in the low light. Was it her imagination, or did his eyes drift to her lips?
“I wager . . . I wager you kiss better than Honoria, too,” he said.
The words dropped between them like a torch onto dry logs on Bonfire Night.
Whoosh.
Leah’s entire body burst into flames.
They stared at one another in fraught silence, the wordkisspinging back and forth off the walls around them.
Leah had no experience whatsoever in shadowy stairwell encounters, but . . .
She suspected that Fox was about to kiss her.
