good he smelled. Like spices today. Like soap and, now, shaving cream.
“Hold really still,” she said, when she got to the line between his nose and upper lip.
He put his hand on her lower back, just before the metal touched his skin. “Be careful,” she said. “Don’t surprise me.”
“I’m bracing myself,” he said, his eyes locked with hers.
She should tell him to remove his hand. But she didn’t. It was warm and heavy on her body, and it reminded her of that first night in the tent. When she’d let go of all her tension and slept, rather than standing vigil. Rather than fearing for her life. When, for the first time in...maybe ever, she’d released every worry and simply drifted into deep, heavy sleep, his protective hold on her, making her feel safe.
But this wasn’t a protective hold. And it didn’t feel safe. Not in the least.
But she didn’t stop him.
She touched the steel to his flesh and breathed out as she moved, leaving his skin smooth. Taking away years with each stroke. It was like uncovering something he left buried, pieces of him revealed before her.
She couldn’t fully focus on it, or enjoy it, because his touch was sending waves of sensation through her that were impossible to ignore and that took up far more of her brain power than she cared to admit.
When she ran the blade over his neck, his Adam’s apple, a shiver of that same disquiet she’d felt when he’d first pulled out the razor went through her.
“This seems very dangerous,” she whispered, her face so close to him that her lips nearly brushed his neck.
“Perhaps a bit,” he said, his hand sliding to her hip, his fingers digging into her, and she wondered if they were meaning the same sort of danger.
Then she had to wonder which kind of danger she’d really been referring to.
“Quite a show of trust,” she said. “For a man who, I imagine, doesn’t trust very many people.”
She looked up at his eyes and was surprised to see confusion there. “It is true,” he said.
“You trust me, don’t you?”
“I have no real choice,” he said. “You have the power to upend my rule. To start a war between two nations. And at the moment—” he angled his head, tilting it back so that the edge of the blade pressed harder into his skin, so very near his throat “—you have the power to end me if you choose.” For a brief, heart-stopping moment she almost thought he was requesting it. As though he wanted her to do it.
Instead, she just continued her work, trying to steady the tremble in her hand, more determined than when she’d started that she wouldn’t so much as graze his skin. Wouldn’t spill a drop of blood.
“There,” she said, her voice a whisper. She wasn’t capable of more. “Finished.”
She stepped back, away from him, moving away from his touch. Then she took the towel and wiped off the excess shaving cream, leaving him sitting before her, an entirely different man.
She could see him now. See that he was a man in his early thirties, handsome beyond reason. She’d known he was arresting, that he had a mouth made for sins she could scarcely imagine, but she’d had no idea he was this...beautiful.
Because this was beauty. His jaw was square, his chin strong, lips incredibly formed. The loss of dark hair on his face made his brows more prominent, made his eyes that much more magnetic.
With shorter hair, he would look even better. With nothing to distract from that perfect face.
“You are staring,” he said, standing, forcing her to look back down at his bare chest. She needed to look somewhere more innocuous. Somewhere that wouldn’t make her feel tense and fluttery and...sweaty.
But there was no safe place to look, except at the wall behind him. Because everywhere, absolutely everywhere, he was a woman’s deepest, darkest fantasy. The kind that came out in the middle of the night when she lay in bed, restless, aching and unsatisfied. The kind that she knew she shouldn’t have,
“Hold really still,” she said, when she got to the line between his nose and upper lip.
He put his hand on her lower back, just before the metal touched his skin. “Be careful,” she said. “Don’t surprise me.”
“I’m bracing myself,” he said, his eyes locked with hers.
She should tell him to remove his hand. But she didn’t. It was warm and heavy on her body, and it reminded her of that first night in the tent. When she’d let go of all her tension and slept, rather than standing vigil. Rather than fearing for her life. When, for the first time in...maybe ever, she’d released every worry and simply drifted into deep, heavy sleep, his protective hold on her, making her feel safe.
But this wasn’t a protective hold. And it didn’t feel safe. Not in the least.
But she didn’t stop him.
She touched the steel to his flesh and breathed out as she moved, leaving his skin smooth. Taking away years with each stroke. It was like uncovering something he left buried, pieces of him revealed before her.
She couldn’t fully focus on it, or enjoy it, because his touch was sending waves of sensation through her that were impossible to ignore and that took up far more of her brain power than she cared to admit.
When she ran the blade over his neck, his Adam’s apple, a shiver of that same disquiet she’d felt when he’d first pulled out the razor went through her.
“This seems very dangerous,” she whispered, her face so close to him that her lips nearly brushed his neck.
“Perhaps a bit,” he said, his hand sliding to her hip, his fingers digging into her, and she wondered if they were meaning the same sort of danger.
Then she had to wonder which kind of danger she’d really been referring to.
“Quite a show of trust,” she said. “For a man who, I imagine, doesn’t trust very many people.”
She looked up at his eyes and was surprised to see confusion there. “It is true,” he said.
“You trust me, don’t you?”
“I have no real choice,” he said. “You have the power to upend my rule. To start a war between two nations. And at the moment—” he angled his head, tilting it back so that the edge of the blade pressed harder into his skin, so very near his throat “—you have the power to end me if you choose.” For a brief, heart-stopping moment she almost thought he was requesting it. As though he wanted her to do it.
Instead, she just continued her work, trying to steady the tremble in her hand, more determined than when she’d started that she wouldn’t so much as graze his skin. Wouldn’t spill a drop of blood.
“There,” she said, her voice a whisper. She wasn’t capable of more. “Finished.”
She stepped back, away from him, moving away from his touch. Then she took the towel and wiped off the excess shaving cream, leaving him sitting before her, an entirely different man.
She could see him now. See that he was a man in his early thirties, handsome beyond reason. She’d known he was arresting, that he had a mouth made for sins she could scarcely imagine, but she’d had no idea he was this...beautiful.
Because this was beauty. His jaw was square, his chin strong, lips incredibly formed. The loss of dark hair on his face made his brows more prominent, made his eyes that much more magnetic.
With shorter hair, he would look even better. With nothing to distract from that perfect face.
“You are staring,” he said, standing, forcing her to look back down at his bare chest. She needed to look somewhere more innocuous. Somewhere that wouldn’t make her feel tense and fluttery and...sweaty.
But there was no safe place to look, except at the wall behind him. Because everywhere, absolutely everywhere, he was a woman’s deepest, darkest fantasy. The kind that came out in the middle of the night when she lay in bed, restless, aching and unsatisfied. The kind that she knew she shouldn’t have,
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