Before she could reply—not that she knew what to say, given that rising feeling of panic again—Cruxan stripped off the black shirt he was wearing. It was thick and long-sleeved.
Crystal’s eyes bulged. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice tight and tense.
“Out here, it will be cold this morning,” he informed her, dropping the shirt in her lap. It was made of a strong, durable material and felt like it weighed ten pounds. It would reach her knees if she put it on. “We cannot make another fire to keep you warm. We need to keep moving.”
“I’d—I’dreallyprefer if you kept your shirt on,” she said, trying not to look at him.
“We must move soon,” he told her again, ignoring her words, turning his gaze towards the forest, as if he was searching for something.
Crystal knew that Luxirians were not shy about their bodies, by any means. Hell, their guards went shirtless half the time. It was simply…normal.
But seeing Cruxan bare-chested was another matter entirely.
Crystal peeked. She couldn’t help it. She was still a woman, despite her men-avoiding tendencies. Besides, he was distracted and wouldn’t even notice, right? No harm done.
Her mouth went dry at the sight he made.
I want to draw him.
The thought came from nowhere, but resounded strongly in her mind. She’d done more than a few portraits and she’d seen her fair share of nude models in her late-night art classes at the community college, but Cruxan was different. She’d never feltcompelledto draw anyone. Not like him.
That need made her fingers twitch.
Her breasts suddenly felt heavy under her tunic and her heartbeat began to race. Her eyes drifted up the strong lines of his torso, his ever-so-slightly tapered waist, and over the flat slabs of his pectorals, grazing over the metal bars pierced through his nipples.
It was from their warrior training, she knew. It meant he’d completed it.
Her breath felt shallow as she traced the heavy ropes of muscles laid over his arms and his shoulders. Crystal had always had a thing for men’s backs—a little strange she knew—and though she couldn’t see his right then, she knew that it would be as equally magnificent as his front. His thighs were strong, solid, his limbs long, masculine.
He was a work of art, carefully honed and sculpted, marble made flesh, even the scars.
Stop, she told herself when she felt a delicate throbbing between her thighs.
With a startled breath, she looked up at Cruxan’s face to make sure he hadn’t noticed—
Only to find his gaze, those darkening blue eyes, fixed on her intently, those dark horns straightening.
Startled, flustered, her mouth parted to babble out an apology only to find that no sound emerged from her throat. Nothing. Zilch. Nada.
Cheeks burning in mortification—and perhaps arousal—she quickly tugged on the heavy shirt, simply to buy time, simply because she’d been caught checking him out and that frightened the living hell out of her.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
His scent from the shirt registered too late. But suddenly, he was all around her, that heady, mind-numbing, addicting scent that wasallmale andallCruxan.
Panic rose again, fluttering in her veins. He wasn’t her mate. It simply couldn’t be. That awareness that she’d felt the first time she’d seen him? It was passing attraction only. It would go away.
She sat, silent, unmoving, avoiding his gaze, his shirt still warm from his body and pressing heavily against her skin. A brand. A claim.
A door had been opened, she realized, resignation weighing her shoulders down.
She hadn’t been aroused by a male…since Leo. Even then, she’d only been deeply aroused by him in the beginning of their volatile relationship, before his true colors had started to show.
Crystal had feared that Leo had broken her. Broken a part inside her that could feel pleasure, the sizzle of arousal, the appreciation for men. She’d numbed herself for so long that she’d truly begun to believe it, had resigned herself to living a life without a family, without children, just her and her dreams and her art.
She’d accepted it.
But now…
