Page 55 of Restored

“I wish it was the alcohol.” His laughter dies as his eyes rove over me, his neck flushed pink from the liquor. “Everything used to be gray before I met you, dull and uninteresting. Somehow, you’ve managed to bring color to it.”

I’m rendered speechless as he slowly grasps the bottle intentionally brushing my fingers before bringing it to his mouth. He sways as he swallows and I reach out to steady him.

“We should get you back to your room, while you can still walk.” I attempt to wipe the smile off my face. “Or before you tell me you love me.”

Ledger huffs a laugh setting down the bottle and pushes up on wobbly legs. “I won’t turn down the opportunity to get you alone in my room.” He staggers forward and I toss my arm around his waist.

“Don’t get any ideas prince, I’m too smart to be seduced by you.” We leave the library and weave through the hallways.

“That’s why I like you.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re a lot more fun when you’re intoxicated.”

“So I’ve been told.” He lurches forward as we reach his room and we both almost topple to the ground. The guards standing at attention eye us, and I give them a timid smile.

Once inside, Ledger stumbles backward, shutting the heavy wood-carved door and steadying himself, and I cockmy eyebrow. He gives me a knee weakening grin that has me fighting my own back.

I lead him to his bed and sit him down. “Medical supplies—where are they?” Dried blood is crusted on his skin, and I can’t leave him like this.

“In the cabinet.” He nods to the washroom and I jog over. Pulling out some alcohol and bandages from it, I then wet a cloth before making my way back over to him.

I bring it to his jaw and wipe away the crusted blood. Soaking a few cotton rounds in alcohol, I dab them against a shallow cut on his temple.

He winces slightly as his eyes roam my face. I grip his wrist, running another cotton round over the various cuts that litter his forearms. I admire the veins that run the length of them, the dusting of hair over his tanned skin.

He sits still, watching me in silence. I throw away the rounds and eye the cut on his neck that disappears into the collar of his shirt.

“May I?” I ask, eyeing the top button.

“You may.” The sweet scent of alcohol washes over my face as he responds. Though I know the taste from the bottle, I wonder if it would be any sweeter off his lips.

My fingers brush his muscled chest, his abdomen flexing when they sweep over the sensitive skin there. On the last button of his shirt, my hands tremble. I carefully lift the torn side, folding it over his shoulder to get a look at the damage beneath. My knees nearly go weak as I fight to focuson the thin scratch marks on his upper body. His skin smells warm, inviting.

I scold myself. I’d worked on hundreds of shirtless men over the years and never remember being affected quite like this.

My breath hitches as I step between his legs to get a closer look. His thighs hug my hips. I skim the side of his neck with my fingertips, trying to determine how deep the wounds are. They go from his neck to the bottom of his chest but are mostly superficial.

Power trickles out of my fingertips against my will, and I snatch my hand back to avoid going against his wishes.

My cheeks redden as I push my abilities back down. “My power seems to have a mind of its own tonight. It doesn’t enjoy the sight of you injured and likes being denied access even less.” I wet a few more cotton rounds as I speak.

“Your power is fond of me?”

“I suppose you could say that.” I glance up, seeing a ghost of a smile on his lips. I press a cotton pad to the scratch on his neck, and he grimaces. “Don’t let it go to your head. I can assure you it is only because you are always bleeding around me.”

“Mmmm,” he hums back in answer, and it vibrates the air, drawing my attention to his lips, tipped up in amusement.

His power curls out of him in a swirl of smoke. It sweeps over my thighs from where he is gripping his mattress. It is cool and seductive and sends my mind reeling.

“What are you doing?”

I shiver as his powers ripple over me. Such an intense bliss fills my veins I fist my hands to keep myself from clutching onto him.

It hums over my skin much like his voice, in such tantalizing, powerful waves that my eyes drift shut. It’s a welcome caress, a teasing taste of what he could offer.

“Do you like that?” The question is gravelly, seductive and it takes everything in me to respond.

“No.” I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

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