I tried not to stare. I really did. But I’d never been good at ignoring new phenomena, and I found Raoul’s body interesting.
His eyes opened. Amber and intense, they fixed on me with a look that made heat rush from my chest to my cheeks. I wasn’t used to blushing. Blushing required paying attention to social situations, which I rarely did.
His gaze traveled slowly from my face downward, pausing where his tunic had slipped off one shoulder, then continuing to where the hem ended mid-thigh. The journey back up was just as heated.
No, not heated. He didn’t like me in that way.
Did he?
I became acutely aware of my body in a way I hadn’t been in a very long time.
My body was a tool. It carried my brain where it needed to go, manipulated weather patterns, and occasionally remembered to eat. I’d never particularly cared what it looked like or what anyone else thought of my shape. Function over form had always been my philosophy.
But the way Raoul was looking at me made me suddenly, vividly aware that I had curves. That the tunic clung to them. That my legs were bare and my hair was probably a disaster.
And the strangest thing of all, I found myself caring.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. “You’re wearing my tunic.”
“I had no choice.” The words came out higher than usual, and I cleared my throat. “I didn’t pack anything, remember? I was two hours late to the wedding. I barely remembered to show up, much less bring a change of clothing.” My jittery laugh shot out. “I didn’t even wear undergarments yesterday. I was in such a rush?—”
I stopped, realizing what I’d said.
His gaze drifted down again, slower this time, and I watched his throat work as he swallowed.
“No,” he said finally, his voice dropping to a tone that made my stomach flip. “You can wear my tunic anytime. It…” He paused, and for the first time since I’d met him, he almost appeared uncertain. “It looks good on you.”
Unfamiliar warmth bloomed in my chest. That feeling was pleasure, I realized. I waspleasedthat he liked seeing me wearing his clothing.
Why should it matter? This was a political arrangement. We’d agreed to maintain distance. His opinion of my appearance was irrelevant to our arrangement.
Except I couldn’t quite convince myself of that as he rose from the sofa, leaning over to gently ease a still snoozing Fletcher further back onto the cushions.
Sweet merciful moonbells, he had an amazing ass.
I’d known in an abstract way that Raoul was well-built. You didn’t transform into a dragon the size of a small house without having significant muscle mass in your regular form. But abstract knowledge and visual confirmation were entirely different things.
His shoulders were broad, tapering to a narrow waist and hips. His chest was sculpted planes of muscle, not bulky but defined in a way that suggested raw strength. A trail of dark auburn hair started below his navel and disappeared beneath the loincloth. His arms looked like they could lift—well, me.
I realized I was staring and tried to look away. Failed. Tried again.
He was moving toward me. No, past me, toward a cord hanging near the door. Every step appeared economical, graceful. Muscles shifted beneath his tanned skin, and I found myself calculating the biomechanics of dragon shifter musculature before remembering that was absolutely not what I should be thinking about right now.
He pulled the cord, and moments later, a knock sounded at the door.
“Come,” Raoul called.
The door opened to reveal a slender man with silver hair and kind eyes. He bowed, his gaze flickering to me for a moment before returning to Raoul.
“Geoff, this is my wife, Queen Adele,” Raoul said with perfect formality, as though he wasn’t standing there wearing nothing but a loincloth. “Adele, this is Geoff, my head of household.”
“A pleasure, my lady.” Geoff’s bow was deeper this time. “Welcome to Emberforge.”
“Thank you,” I managed to say, hyperaware that I must look like I’d been dragged through a hedge backward.
Geoff’s expression remained perfectly neutral.
“We’d like breakfast,” Raoul said. “A selection of items.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Adele, is there anything you don’t like?”
