Page 7 of Dragon Touched
The woman, short and portly, had a small hump on the back of her neck.
“Are you”—she peered at Sacha, then stuck her head farther out, as if looking for someone else—“alone?”
A single nod sent what remained of Sacha’s soaked updo across her forehead and over her eyes.
“Good grief, child.” Her gray eyes swept Sacha from head to toe, then did a double take. “Get inside before you drown.”
“Thanks so much.” Sacha dashed into a small, dark foyer.
A large fireplace sat farther inside what looked like the main living room.
Cheery light threw shadows over a genuine bear rug and a small, brown leather couch. Rows upon rows of bookshelves lined the stone walls on either side of the mantel.
The books looked old, and their spines were ornate with gold and black lettering, covers either purple, red, or blue cloth. To the immediate left was a table crammed with shiny trinkets and knickknacks. A narrow, stone staircase lay beyond and spiraled out of sight.
Fresh bread and spicy vegetables wafted through the air and hit Sacha’s stomach, which growled in response.
Droplets of rainwater dripped from her dress and pitter-patted on the stone floor, echoing in the recesses of the little alcove next to the door. An ever-widening pool of water dribbled at her toes and snaked under a Victorian-like chair with oversized padding. The murky stream meandered a path into the living room and made a beeline toward the bear rug.
“Do you have a towel? I don’t want to get your—” she broke off, not sure if this was a house, tower, or a squatter’s refuge “—your, uh, place drenched.”
“Of course, child.” She patted Sacha’s arm, stepped into a closet and reappeared with a hand towel.
“Thank you.” Sacha offered a smile and began drying her drenched hair. Sensing movement out of the corner of her eye, her attention wandered to a dark form descending the stairs two at a time.
Next to her, the old woman sighed. “Oh Lord, here we go.” The words were barely more than a whisper.
Dull footsteps settled with precise placement against each hard stone they graced. He wore a dark gray robe which contrasted with pale-yellow hair. When he reached the bottom step, he stopped and turned crimson eyes in her direction.
An immediate flush climbed her neck.
Their color was extraordinary, and Sacha wondered if he wore contacts.
His hungry stare blazed a path on her skin and roved over her face, chest, and feet.
A small, jagged scar rested above a clean-shaven top lip. It was silvery-white and shaped like a comma or an upside-down hook. No longer than an inch or so, its visibility intrigued Sacha. Instead of detracting from the sharp cupid’s bow, it refined his face and gave it a dangerous flare.
The breath in her lungs stilled, and she couldn’t look away. Standing under his piercing scrutiny, the room felt like a snow globe, with her trapped in the center, waiting for him to shake her alive.
Exquisite, high cheekbones stood out, but a scowl greeted her. His face was lean and angled, yet she detected a hint of curiosity in the strange, maroon irises. He was one of the most striking men she’d ever encountered.
Her fingers twitched and wanted to skim the little imperfection.
Snap out of it.
When he caught her eyes staring at his lip, his lids narrowed. With flushed cheeks, he turned to the older woman.
“What is the meaning of this?” Smooth and low, his voice carried a strong, British clip.
Thudding in her chest, her heart flipped. An instant arrow of desire shot to her lower belly, and she squeezed her thighs together.
This is not the time to get all hot and bothered.
“Fin, this little lady—”
“Uhm, hi. So sorry.” Sacha wanted to make her own introduction. “I sort of ran away from my wedding and need a dry place to wait until the storm passes.”
Why’d I tell him I ran away? I sound like a child.
