Pyromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 1) - Page 27

A spark of humor glinted in his silver eyes. “You have been naked with a man before, haven’t you?”

She scowled at his misjudgment of the color of her face. “Again, none of your business.” Inwardly, she cringed. Yes, she’d been naked with a man. She may regret it now, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate what had happened.

“I see,” he said with a tinge of surprise.

“You see nothing.” She jutted her chin at the door. “Shut it behind you.”

He straightened, taking his time to do so, and strode past her. His T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders as he leaned over the bath. He’d always been tall and strong, but now he filled out his clothes with more muscle, like a man who worked out. After testing the water, he closed the tap.

“For how long are you going to keep me here?” she asked.

“As long as it takes.” He dried his hand on a towel hanging on a hook next to the basin and motioned at the bath. “Take your time.” Without sparing her another glance, he left the room and closed the door as she’d demanded.

She stared at the door for a moment, trying to gather herself. She got the feeling he wasn’t always going to respect her demands.

Turning her attention back to the room, she looked around. Unlike the bedroom, the bathroom was brightly lit. It was clean but neglected. The black and white tiles on the floor were cracked and a yellowed mirror on the wall was split in two. The clawfoot bathtub would once have been pretty, but now it looked sad with rusted metal showing through the chipped enamel. The basin was broken too. The window was shuttered from the outside, although slivers of light slipped through, telling her it was still day.

Shivering, she undressed quickly, leaving her clothes in a heap on the floor before lowering herself into the water. The burn between her legs made her suck in a breath, another reminder of last night she preferred to ignore. The warmth seeped into her cold body and loosened her stiff muscles, but she didn’t linger to enjoy it. She washed her rain-soaked hair and body in record time, not wanting to stay naked for longer than necessary. Her nakedness made her feel vulnerable.

Just as she stretched an arm over the side of the bath to reach for the towel, the door opened. Gasping, she ducked under the water, making sure it covered her up to her chin.

“I brought you dry clothes,” Joss said, dropping a pile of folded garments on the closed lid of the toilet.

She gave him an icy look. “What happened to knocking?”

To her irritation, he only chuckled. When he scooped up her wet clothes from the floor, her heart jerked to a standstill. The necklace was still in her pocket.

“Leave those,” she said louder than necessary.

His eyebrows pulled together.

“That’s mine,” she added in a breathless voice.

His gaze sharpened with disturbing attention. “I’m aware of that.”

Water sloshed over the floor as she reached out with an open palm. “Give them to me.”

“Calm down.” His frown deepened. “I’m not going to steal your clothes. I’m going to clean them.”

“You’re going to wash them?” she cried out.

“I’m not going to throw them away, so yeah.”

“I can do it,” she said quickly. “I’ll do my own laundry.”

“Cle.” He gave a chastising click of his tongue. “I’ve seen a woman’s underwear before.”

“I don’t want you to—”

Before she could finish her sentence, he was gone.

Her body turned cold in the warm water. Shit. How was she going to explain the necklace in her pocket?

She jumped out of the bath, making more water splash over the side, and barely dried herself before yanking the oversized T-shirt he’d left over her head. There was no underwear. She got her feet tangled in the legs of the large sweatpants in her hurry to fit them. A vague corner of her mind registered the clean smell of washing detergent that didn’t mask the muskier and manlier scent of Joss that clung to the clothes.

She rushed for the door and stopped dead when Joss entered with a hairdryer in his hand and a look so dark on his face it made her want to shrivel up and hide. In his other hand, he carried the necklace.Chapter 8Holding the necklace up to her face, Joss said through clenched teeth, “Care to explain this?”

Clelia stared at the chain dangling from his fingers as water dripped from her hair and soaked the back of the T-shirt.

He dumped the hairdryer on the bench, gripped her nape, and yanked her so close that when he lowered his head, only a hairbreadth of air separated their lips. “You better start talking.”

She didn’t say anything. What was there to say? The evidence that dangled from the fisted knot of his fingers said it all.

Tags: Charmaine Pauls Seven Forbidden Arts Fantasy
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