Chapter 51: Everly

Chapter

Fifty-One

EVERLY

I won't kiss him tonight. Not when I have too much pride to be rejected and pushed away again.

I scrub my face with cold water and try to ignore the fact that Cenric is in my tent. The water tingles on my skin as I splash it over my cheeks.

Cenric sits at the table in the corner, one hand curled around a goblet of deep red wine.

Earlier, he had only left me for a short while, but he hadn't exactly left me alone. He appointed Liam to watch over me.

Liam entertained me with stories of his childhood until Cenric returned.

Now, Cenric is back, and he's staring.

How can I clean myself with him watching me?

It's too much. Too everything.

I cup water in my hand and wonder what he would do if I flicked it in his direction. A smile pulls at my mouth as I imagine him scowling as the droplets hit his surcoat. He'd probably toss me over his shoulder and march me straight to the river for a dunking.

I sneak a peek at him from the corner of my eye as I pat my face dry. Torchlight caresses his features and dances in his eyes. My cheeks flush, and I quickly turn away before he notices me staring.

Knowing he's still watching me, I slip my surcoat off my shoulders, allowing it to pool around my feet. I step out of it, fold it neatly, then place it on the table.

My cheeks burn hotter as I imagine his eyes trailing over me. I've never undressed in front of a man before.

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye again. His focus is still fixed on me, his expression unreadable.

If it were warmer, I would sleep in my chemise, but I don't relish freezing to death. So, I grab my nightdress and yank it over my head.

Silence stretches between us as I lie on the right side of the bed. I try to keep my eyes closed, but the sound of Cenric's chair scraping against the ground draws my attention. My eyelids flutter open as he stands and moves to the washing stand.

His fingers work at the straps of his weapon belt. He sets it aside. I bite my lower lip as he grips the hem of his surcoat, yanking it over his head.

Mercy!

I should look away. I really should. But my eyes are traitors, drinking in every sculpted muscle, every scar etched into his skin .

Cenric dips a cloth into the basin, wringing out the excess water. He runs it over his face, down his neck, across his broad shoulders. Droplets trail down his chest, and I imagine licking them. Every drop. Every inch of his chest.

Stop it!

As if sensing my thoughts, Cenric's eyes flick to mine. I freeze, caught red-handed in my ogling. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and heat floods my cheeks.

Well, this is mortifying.

Quick! Say something clever. "I was...admiring your...scars."

Amusement glints in his eyes. "Is that so? And here I thought you were admiring my other assets."

My face burns hotter than the coals in a blacksmith's forge as I scoot to the edge of the mattress. I press myself against the canvas wall of the tent, even though every muscle in my body screams to close the distance, to feel his warmth against me.

The bed dips as Cenric settles beside me. He's close enough that I can count his eyelashes and see the faint stubble along his jaw.

Don't you dare move, Everly.

You are a boulder.

An immovable oak.

Oh, he smells good!

"Scared?" he asks.

I lift my chin. "No."

My fingers itch to trace the lines of his chest, to tangle in his hair. I clench them into fists instead, willing them to behave.

"Then, why are you hugging the tent wall?" Cenric asks, his voice a low rumble that I feel in my bones .

Because if I don't, I might do something incredibly stupid.

Like kiss you senseless.

"I'm giving you space," I say. "Your arrogance takes up most of the bed."

He lifts his brow. "My arrogance?"

"Yes. It's so massive that I'm surprised it fits in this tent."

His lips twitch. "Is that so?"

I nod. "I've seen smaller palaces."

The bed creaks as he shifts closer, and my skin heats even more. "Perhaps you'd prefer if I slept outside, then? To make room for you and my arrogance?"

I roll my eyes. "Your arrogance would follow you out there."

"You wound me, Everly," he says with mock severity.

"I doubt it."

He leans even closer, his face mere inches from mine. "You'd be surprised what can get through my defenses."

Don't look at his lips.

Don't look at his—

I look at his lips.

Damn it.

"I…I…." I stammer, my wit deserting me entirely.

Cenric's gaze flicks to my mouth, then back to my eyes. "Yes?"

Say something clever.

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. His eyes 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.

"Well, if you're done being a nuisance, some of us would like to sleep," I huff, flopping back onto the bed.

Cenric laughs again. "By all means, don't let me stop you."

I close my eyes, determined to ignore him. But I can feel his stare on me, heavy as a physical touch.

"You know," I say without opening my eyes, "it's rather difficult to sleep when you're staring at me like that."

"Like what?"

I crack one eye open. "Like you're trying to memorize every freckle on my face. "

"Perhaps I am."

"Well, stop it. It's unnerving."

"I thought you weren't scared of me."

"I'm not." Determined to not cave to the need strumming inside me, I yank my blanket to my chin. "But your intense staring is making me self-conscious. Do I have porridge on my chin or something?"

Those vivid blue eyes roam my face. "No porridge. Just an absurd number of freckles."

I gasp. "My freckles are delightful. They're like constellations."

Using his knuckles, he skims my cheek. "What constellation would you call this one?"

"That's the It's none of your business constellation . It's very rare."

"I see. And this one?" His finger moves to just above my lip.

Mercy, is he trying to kill me?

"That's the If you don't stop pointing at my face , I'll bite your finger off constellation ," I say, my voice embarrassingly breathy.

Something flashes in his eyes. Something I dare not name, because if I do, I might forget about my vow to not kiss him tonight.

"Is that a threat or a promise?" he asks.

Both.

Neither.

I don't know anymore.

"It's a very serious warning," I say. "I have sharp teeth."

Cenric's focus drops to my mouth again. "Do you now? "

I swallow hard. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be guarding me, you're awfully preoccupied with my face."

"I'm multitasking," Cenric says, his eyes still fixed on my lips.

Is it hot in here?

It feels hot in here.

It takes everything in me to not fan my face. "Well, you're terrible at it. What if rebels burst in right now? You'd be too busy counting freckles to notice."

He quirks an eyebrow. "I assure you, I'm always alert."

"Truly? Then, what color are my eyes?"

Cenric's gaze flicks up to meet mine. "Blue. Like the sky before twilight."

Well, damn.

That was oddly specific.

"That was a lucky guess," I say, even though he was looking right at me.

He leans closer. "I don't guess, Everly. I observe."

"Oh? And what else have you observed?"

A slow smile spreads across his face. It makes his eyes twinkle and his features soften. "That you bite your lip when you're nervous. Like you're doing right now."

I immediately release my lower lip from between my teeth. "I'm not nervous. I'm contemplating."

"Contemplating what?"

"How long it will take before you let me go to sleep."

Cenric backs up slightly, his warmth receding with him. "You can go to sleep right now."

I shift, trying to find a comfortable position. The blanket rustles, loud as thunder in the quiet. A peek reveals Cenric still watching me. My skin prickles with awareness, and I curl my toes, fighting the desire to stretch out and brush against him.

Instead, I roll onto my side, facing away from him. But even with my back turned, I feel the weight of his gaze.

I force my breathing to slow, trying to mimic the rhythm of sleep. In, out. In, out.

The bed shifts as Cenric moves. I tense, wondering if he's coming closer or moving away. The suspense is maddening. I want to turn and look, but that would give away my wakefulness.

So, I lie there, caught between anticipation and dread.