The flare of heat in his gaze said quite clearly that he didn't mind in the least. His words were more hesitant. “As you wish, my Queen.”
She wished. She very much so wished, and he wanted this, too, even if he was reluctant to admit it. One of the many things they needed to work on. Best get started.
Extending her hand, she smiled when he took it. They strode to her chambers with only her captain in tow. Then they walked through her door, and they were alone.
Castien slowed. “Perhaps Jerome should–”
“Absolutely not. What are you going to do, drown me in my own bath?”
She tugged at the braid of her hair, loosening it. The teasing smile on her lips faltered as his eyes widened. He hadn't considered that possibility.
Anais threw her hands into the air. “Get naked and into the water, Escort. Your hand-to-hand combat is worse than a ten-year-old’s.”
A wry smile tugged at his lips. “It's not that terrible.”
She raised a brow.
Sighing, he bent and pulled off his boots. “I'm working on it, I promise. Something about punching someone in the face is very different from using a sword to do the same thing. A sword is a weapon. My hand…” He formed a fist and grimaced.
She was only half-listening. He peeled off his leathers as he spoke, revealing toned calves and firm legs. His collarbone peeked through the top of his shirt. Strong shoulder and neck muscles flexed as he removed his bracers. While he bemoaned callouses on his courtesan’s hands, she imagined those elegant fingers rubbing her back. Rough hands didn't bother her. Any way he touched her didn't bother her.
Castien knew precisely what he was doing as he kicked off his pants. His back was turned to her. He was saying something utterly unimportant. His ass, though…
She could stand there and watch him all day – or she could strip and join him in the water. Swiftly, she worked on her dress.
When she finished throwing her underthings carelessly to the side, she lowered herself to the edge of the water and finally allowed her eyes to find him again.
He hadn't taken off his shirt.
Castien lounged at the other side of the small, round pool, his muscled arms spread at the edges. Below the water, a strip of cloth wrapped his waist, but that might have been out of respect. The shirt, she frowned at.
Submerging herself into the cool water, she surfaced and moved toward him. His burning gaze belonged in the bedroom. This beautiful man was all hers. It was time to remind him of that fact.
She traced his slightly open collar. “If this is because of your scars, you know I don't think less of you for them.”
A soft smile curved his full lips. “They do make you angry, though. I like how you wake up with your hand on my chest, but I don't like what goes through your mind. When you see them, when you feel them, your shoulders are tense and this… hate rolls off of you.”
She blinked. “I didn't realize… You don't deserve that. I promise I won't react that way again. Your scars are a part of you, and I love all of you.”
Tenderness smoothed the furrow that marred his brow. “I know the hate isn't for me. I just want to take your mind off things, not be the reason for you to worry.”
Her chin dipped, and a note of warning entered her tone. “Don't be another mother hen. I have too many of those as it is.”
A corner of his lips pulled higher. “You're adorable when you pout.”
“I'm not pouting. That was a threat.”
“Hmm, sounds the same to me. Adorable. Cute. Irresistible.” His tongue slowly stroked his bottom lip.
She had missed this. Behind his casual flirting was a shadow of caution, but his willingness to tease her was progress.
“If I'm so irresistible, then touch me.”
His eyes darkened into a lazy stare that normally preceded his hand wrapping her neck or behind her head as his lips claimed a kiss. But he didn't move. In the corners of her eyes, his fingers curled.
If he wasn't going to touch her, she would gladly play with him. It was an interesting challenge: could the Queen make the Prince of the Night lose control?
She slipped a hand beneath his shirt and flattened her palm against his sculpted chest. The flex of his muscles distracted her from her intention to remove his shirt. Backing away for the second it would take to fling the fabric aside was still too long. She pressed herself closer.
