Anything.
“Your breath smells like wine,” I blurt out.
Not that, you fool!
Cenric blinks, then shakes his head at me.
“Wine breath aside,” I say, attempting to regain my composure, “you’re taking up an awful lot of space for someone who’s supposed to be guarding me.”
Amusement tugs at the corners of Cenric’s mouth. “Would you prefer I stand by the tent entrance all night?”
“Well, that does sound more professional.”
He shifts even closer, and I press myself further against the canvas. Anymore, and I’ll pop right through it. “I can be very professional.”
“Professional? You? That’s hilarious, coming from the man who’s practically on top of me.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “I’m barely touching you.”
“Yet,” I mutter under my breath.
His eyes widen. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” Heat floods my cheeks as I quickly add, “I said wet. Your hair is wet. From washing.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” I nod enthusiastically, as if I really know what I’m talking about. “You really should dry it properly. Wouldn’t want you to catch a chill.”
“Are you offering to help?”
My breath catches. “I...”Say no. Say no. Say—“Yes. I mean, if you’re incapable of drying your own hair.”
What are you doing?
The torchlight heightens the amusement on Cenric’s face as he stands and retrieves a cloth. He returns to the bed and hands it to me.
Is he challenging me? Seeing if I’ll actually go through with it?
He sits down next to me, and I reach up and pat his hair. Hiseyes never leave mine, and I struggle to maintain my composure.
“You’re not very good at this,” he says.
“I’ll have you know I’m quite skilled with my hands.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to crawl under the bed and never come out.
“Are you?” he asks, his voice low, husky.
“I...I meant sewing. And cooking. Not whatever you’re thinking.”
He laughs. “What am I thinking, Everly?”
I have no intentions of answering that question. Instead, I finish drying his hair and toss the cloth aside. “There. Dry as a bone in the desert. You’re welcome.”
Cenric runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “I think you missed a spot.”
“Oh, for the love of—” I reach for the cloth again, but he catches my wrist.
“I’m teasing, Everly.” His thumb brushes over my pulse point, and my stupid heart flutters. I yank my hand back.
