Page 48 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

“What? Why?” She squeaked and lost her footing on a slippery patch and nearly went under. Lachlan’s hands were already on her, fingertips digging gently into her hips as he dragged her against his chest. His very wet, very broad chest. His nose touched hers. She could have licked the water off his lips if she wanted to.

If she wanted to.

She wanted to.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is the water here like fairy fruit or fairy wine?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

Drat. She wanted to feel him pressed against her and to lick his bottom lip just because he was Lachlan Thorn, not because she was drunk on silvery pond water.

That was inconvenient.

And deeply unwise. A sensible woman, after being abducted for violent magical trials—wish or no wish—devoted herself to painful revenge upon said abductor. She did not wonder about his mouth.

Or his clever fingers. Or the way he angled her so that her legs went around his waist as he dragged her through the water and out onto the bank. She stayed there for longer than was proper. Much, much longer. It was hard to look away from that burning violet gaze, the dark intensity, the sudden change in the air between them.

He released her slowly, letting her drag down the hard length of his body. She swallowed, wet hair sticking to her collarbones, chemise catching around her knees. Her bare feet finally dug into the grass. There was still steam lifting off the surface of the water behind him. And the acidic flash of grindylow eyes.

“Get some rest,” Lachlan ordered her roughly. “Training starts in the morning.”