If there isn’t, there ought to be.
“Back to work,” Killan growls, returning with the now-empty wheelbarrow. He bumps Roan’s shoulder with his own as he reaches around his younger brother to grab his shovel from its resting place, and we return to shoveling algae.
It takes hours! No joke. I push myself, knowing I can’t keep up with the Ril’os brothers but trying my hardest to anyhow. Harlee takes over from me a few times, also wanting to help, and I'm vain enough that I use the rest period pretending I’mnot desperately trying to regain my breath. Luckily, I don’t have exercise-induced asthma, or else the game would be up.
I walk a slow lap around the lake, acting like I’m taking in the scenery, when in reality I’m massaging the stitch in my side and wiping the sweat off my face onto the hem of my T-shirt.
Finally, we transfer the last of the lakeside algae to the drying room. But the brothers don’t stop there. Next, they sweep the net through the water a second time, catching anything we missed on the first sweep, and then we’re back to shoveling.
After a certain point, the exercise endorphins stop coming, and I’m left struggling against straining muscles. Painful blisters form across the palms of my hands. And the more tired I get, the harder it becomes to keep a firm hold on the too-thick shovel handle. It obviously wasn’t designed for someone of my size. It’s even too big for Harlee, despite the fact she’s nearly a full head taller than me.
A smarter woman would’ve stopped ages ago, but when Harlee asks if I’m alright, I give her a thumbs up instead of admitting defeat (too breathless to answer out loud) and keep working. I focus my attention on Killan, trying to match him shovel load for shovel load. It’s impossible, so instead I attempt to match three of his loads with one of mine, heaving the sopping-wet algae from the cave floor into the wheelbarrow with the determination only a type A personality can harness.
It takes until my arms and legs are noodles, but we get it done. Killan and Roan drag the net through the lake one last time, and it comes up empty—thank fuck! Frustratingly, the black water looks the same as it did before we started. In fact, the whole cave looks the same, as if we hadn’t spent the entire morning doing hard labor.
I’m the only person who looks worse for wear. Roan is still watching Harlee with the eyes of a man obsessed—unable to sweat and not even a little bit out of breath. Harlee, who spentmore time observing than shoveling, has a dewy sheen on her face that highlights her perfect skin.
And Killan, the bastard, is looking pleased for once. A morning well spent, in his opinion.
He’s always been confident. He’s always taken up more than his fair share of whichever room he happens to be standing in. And now that he’s not scowling, he’s still both of those thingsandhandsome. Damn him!
The reflection off the lake’s surface dances over the hard lines of his face, accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw. There are hard ridges lining his forehead. They curve up and over the top of his skull, melding into his double row of horns. Together, they create a crown, as though he’s the king of everything he surveys. Even his cat-like eyes almost glow in the low lighting, a vibrant green you’d only see on Earth if someone was wearing fantasy-themed contact lenses.
It's a lot easier to ignore his good looks when he’s scowling. Flushed with success after a hard morning’s work…well, it’s extremely inconsiderate of him to be looking that good when the humidity is making me feel more like a half-drowned rat than a Human.
Maybe it’s because of Harlee and Roan, seeing them making out has accidentally gotten me thinking about sex.
I swallow, trying to clear the lump in my throat.It’s the same physical reaction any red-blooded woman would have if they saw Killan like this, I silently reassure myself. The man doesn’t wear clothes, for God’s sake. It’s not like he’s trying to hide his exceptionally large triceps or the way the muscles along his stomach tightened with each shovel load, causing his scales to gracefully expand and contract. He’s basically a Roman gladiator!
And then I remember last night and the way he’d flinched away from me, and a wave of confused self-loathing washes over me for ogling a man who can’t stand the sight of me.
I’m tired,I silently argue, scrambling for any sort of justification.Tired and lonely. And Chloe has put ridiculous ideas into my head.
“Lunch?” Harlee asks.
“Good idea.” Roan abandons his shovel and scoops Harlee into his four arms as if he plans on eating her instead of food.
I wipe my forehead, but my T-shirt is damp enough that it does little to help. Worse, I’ve just realized that to get back to the house and to lunch, Killan is going to insist on carrying me up the ladder, damp T-shirt and all.
“Umm…” I motion in the direction of the drying room. “I’m going too…”check on the algaeis how I’d been planning on finishing that sentence, but Killan stalks toward me.
“I’m a bit gross,” I’m forced to admit when I hit the cave wall behind me and can’t back away any farther. “You see, people with skin and pores and sweat glands tend to—and you’ve picked me upanyway!" That last word falls out of my mouth as an accidental shout, as Killan strides around the outskirts of the lake, back the way we’d come.
This close, I can see the movement of his throat as he swallows. His scales are a fraction less green and a fraction more yellow across his chest. And he’s a touch warmer than he had been earlier, the only indication that he’s spent the morning working. Well, that and the strength of arms. He’s all muscle, I think. Not an ounce of fat on him—or else it’s well disguised under his scales.
“God, you’re a pushy bastard,” I grumble, wrapping my arms and legs around him, despite my better judgement.
“Not nearly as stubborn as you,” he says, keeping his voice low so that Roan and Harlee, who aren’t too far ahead of us, can’t hear. “You pushed yourself too hard today.”
I feel the words rumbling through his chest as he says them, as though his larynx is located somewhere near the base of his ribs. Then he hitches me an inch higher and…God help me! Unexpected pleasure sparks between my thighs, and I have to catch my bottom lip between my teeth to stop myself gasping.
What the actual fuck?I shift, attempting to alleviate some of the pressure, but…fuck!Something about the way I’ve got my legs around Killan is causing the scales across his flat stomach to rub against my pussy, even through the thick fabric of my jeans.
This is a brand-new level of hell.
“I—” I take a deep breath and shift again, wanting to put space between us, but his arm at my back keeps me pressed close, and it’s all I can do to keep from crying out. “I d-did not,” I finally retort, hating both his audacity to scold me, even though I know what he’s saying is true, and his apparent obliviousness to the physical sensations curling my toes.
It has been alongtime since I’ve felt like this, and the fact that it’s completely by accident and with Killan of all men—my face heats. If he were to find out, I can’t begin to imagine how he’d react. With disgust, maybe. Or amusement, that the guy who’s been the driving force behind my temper for the last two months is now rubbing me the right way.
