“I do that every day.”
“I know, but you could look less— that?!”
His jaw tightened.
If I had not been half-insane with arousal, I would have enjoyed that more.
I pointed toward the house. “Move, mountain. Our siren called.”
That did it.
Thane dropped the axe like it had just burnt his hand and started toward the cottage.
We were both disgusting.
He was slick with sweat from chopping wood, chest damp, hair escaping the knot at the back of his head. I was sweat and grease and engine dust, with black smears up my arms and probably across my face because dignity had abandoned me sometime between breakfast and the first time Perse moaned through the bond this morning.
The downstairs shower was a tragedy.
Tiny.
Old.
Possibly designed by a person who hated broad shoulders.
The hot wa
