"Close enough."
He sat up too, the sheet pooling around his waist, his bare chest a landscape of scars and muscle in the dim light. "What if I asked you to stay?"
Her heart stuttered. "Don't."
"I'm not asking yet. I'm asking what you would do if I asked."
"I don't know." The honest answer, for once. "I don't know what I'd do."
"That's progress."
"Is it?"
"You usually know exactly what you'd do." He reached out, slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted to. She didn't. Hishand cupped her cheek, his calloused palm warm against her skin. "You leave. Always. Without hesitation. The fact that you don't know means something."
It means I'm in trouble,she thought.It means you're getting under my skin in ways I don't know how to handle.
But she couldn't say that. She couldn't give him that much power.
"I need to shower," she said instead. "And eat something. And probably check on my sketches because I have an actual job that I'm definitely neglecting."
His thumb traced her cheekbone. "Edie."
"Tarmek."
"Stay."
Not a question this time. Not a request. The same single word from last night, spoken with the same quiet certainty.
And again, against every instinct screaming at her to run, she did.
His shower was ridiculous.
That was the only word for it.Ridiculous. The thing took up half the bathroom, all gleaming tile and rainfall showerhead and what appeared to be actual shelves for products, which of course were organized by type and size because this was Tarmek's bathroom.
She stood under the hot spray and tried to process the last twelve hours.
The argument. The kiss. The table. The things that had happened on the table. The bed. The conversation. The fact that she was still here, using his shampoo—which smelled like cedar and was arranged alphabetically with his conditioner and body wash—wrapped in the towel that had been folded with military precision on a heated rack, existing in his space like she belonged there.
Dangerous,her brain insisted.This is dangerous and I know it.
But for once, she wasn't sure she cared.
The bathroom door opened. She didn't jump. The glass was fogged enough for privacy, and besides, after last night there wasn't much point in modesty.
"There's coffee on the counter," he said from somewhere outside the shower. "And I'm making breakfast."
"You don't have to?—"
"I know."
The door closed again.
She stood under the spray for another long moment, letting the hot water beat against her shoulders, trying to sort through the tangle of feelings in her chest.
This wasn't the plan. Her original plan was to come to Greenwood Hollow, paint a mural, and leave. Maybe flirt a little with an attractive orc hockey player, because she was human and he was gorgeous and where was the harm? But flirting was supposed to be casual. Light. Fun.
This wasn't light.
