She wasn’t trying to be seductive.
Which was worse.
Because it meant she didn’t know.
Quinn didn’t know what it did to me to see her this way—softedges in a room built out of sharp angles and sharper disappointments. Dark hair curled where it clung to her neck. Skin flushed from the bath’s heat.
She caught me staring.Of course she did.
Her brow arched slightly, cool and knowing. “It was the only thing that did not smell of stable.”
I cleared my throat, trying to find words other than a prayer or obscenity. I failed. “Looks better on you anyway.”
She ignored the remark—gracefully, damningly—and padded to the bed. I dropped to the floor with a thud, grateful for the splinters in my spine if only because they gave me something else to feel. The steam still floated in the air, carrying the scent of soap. My shirt clung unpleasantly to my back, stiff with the salt of a day’s work. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so aware of how much I needed a bath.
I pushed myself up before the tether could talk me into staying where I was. “I’m taking my turn,” I muttered, nodding toward the washroom.
Her eyes flicked to me, unreadable. She didn’t comment, but gave a brief nod in acknowledgment.
I shut the washroom door as far as it would go—not because it latched any better for me, but because I needed the barrier. Needed the space. Even if it was only a few paces. The water roared into the tub, sending clouds of fresh steam swirling around me.
I stripped quickly, dropping my clothes in a heap on the cracked floor. The sudden absence of fabric felt…dangerous. Because it hit me all at once: I was naked. She was in my bed, wearing my shirt. And the tether, smug bastard that it was, hummed like it wanted to point out we were both acutely aware of the other.
I stepped into the tub and sank down with a hiss. The heat loosened the knots in my shoulders, but it didn’t do a damn thingfor the tight coil in my gut. My mind kept circling back to the bed outside this door—how she might be lying now, one knee drawn up under the hem of my tunic, dark hair spilling over the pillow.
I shut my eyes. Bad move. The image sharpened.
This wasn’t the first time I’d been naked in close quarters with someone I wanted. But it was the first time it had felt like the room itself was in on it—like the spell between us was pressing its mouth to my ear and whispering every thought I was trying not to have.
Through the thin wall, I could hear the faintest creak of the mattress when she shifted. Every sound was sharper than it should have been. And Saints help me, all I could picture was turning the handle, crossing the room, and?—
No.
I dragged a hand over my face and leaned back against the warped rim of the tub. She was here because the spell gave her no choice. That wasn’t the same as wanting to be here. And whatever pull there was between us, I had no right to act on it. I scrubbed at my skin harder than necessary, as if I could scour away the thoughts themselves.
By the time I finished and toweled off, I’d convinced myself I could manage it—the space, the restraint, the control. But stepping out into the main room and seeing her there in my bed again…hit like a fresh blow. She’d drifted onto her back, hair spilled across my pillow, the blanket drawn high enough to be modest, low enough to make my chest ache.
I told myself I didn’t care if she was asleep.
But my pulse didn’t agree.
I dropped to the floor with a thud.
This is fine.
This is anything but fine.
There was a beautiful woman in my bed. In my shirt. And Iwas lying on the floor like some self-flagellating monk with boundary issues.
The tether hummed between us again, soft and slow, a reminder that she was there. I was here. And something bigger than either of us had stitched our fates together, threads on the same spool.
I stared at the ceiling.
A sigh. The sound of sheets rustling.
Never in my life had I been so attuned to every sound.
She shifted again on the cot, the mattress creaking softly. I tried not to imagine her curling her legs under the tunic, or stretching until the hem rose higher. I thought of chamber pots. Of hot ale. Of swords through the gut. Anything but the way she’d looked standing barefoot on my floor in clothing that had once touched my bare skin and now lay against hers.
