This is what I need—a hot shower will make everything better.
I’ve just rinsed the shampoo from my hair for the second time when a familiar tug yanks me by the stomach. My brain barely has time to register what’s happening before the bathroom melts away and I’m spit out of the darkness.
Water sluices down my head, my face, stinging my eyes. I blink it away and look up. Feylin’s right in front of me, his eyes closed, head down. His arm extends over my head, resting against gray tile.
Tile that’s different from the ones in my bathroom.
My throat shrivels to the size of a walnut. I’m inhisbathroom. I’m in Feylin’s bathroom while he’s taking a shower and?—
I’m naked.
He’s naked.
I’m about to say something when his eyes pop open. He spots me and winces but still keeps his hand pinned to the wall.
“What are you—why are you in my shower?” he says, sounding more shocked than angry.
This entire situation’s so maddening that I screech, “What do you think I’m doing here? You pulled me in! You moved too far away.”
His blue eyes shine with surprise before a lightbulb of realization sparks in his eyes. He knows I’m naked.
Verynaked.
“If you wanted to apologize,” he says in a husky voice that makes my mouth dry, “I’m sorry would’ve sufficed.”
“I already said I’m sorry!”
It would be just like his arrogant royal highness to make a joke while I’m humiliated.
His eyes glaze as they trail to my breasts and down my hips to my?—
I clamp an arm over my breasts and a hand over my pelvis. His arm still extends over my head, and he slowly pushes off the tile, taking a step back as if willing me to get a good look.
Well, it’s only fair, isn’t it?
The water blurs my vision, but my gaze flicks over his chest, his abdomen and down, down, down…
I shut my eyes as soon as I spot his massive hard-on.
“Send me back,” I scream. “Send me back. You did this on purpose!”
The water turns off, and a second later a towel’s draped over my shoulders. I open my eyes a slit, and Feylin’s got a towel cinched tightly around his waist.
I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed.
He smiles gently. Last night’s anger seems to have melted off him. When he turns away, I tuck the towel under my arms, drinking in the sight of his muscled back and shoulders.
Water drips from the hair curling under his ears, splashing onto his neck.
“You decent?” he asks, turning slightly toward me. That one rogue curl dips onto his forehead again, and the urge to brush it away makes me flex my fingers to give them something else to do.
“I’m decent.”
He grabs a hand towel and scrubs it back and forth over his hair to dry it. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault you’re in here.”
“I know,” I reply stiffly.
He cocks his head as if trying to decide if I’m angry or not. After a moment he drops the hand towel on the counter. “Walk with me into my room and I’ll return you.”
