Page 27 of Enemies with an Earl
Thorne shifted toward Felix and then abruptly halted, frothy soap-covered brush frozen in mid-air, gaze slowly coasting up Felix’s bare torso.
Something wildly intoxicating simmered in Felix’s blood at seeing Thorne being the one thrown-off kilter. It fed his confidence, helped combat the nerves skittering just beneath. Thorne’s attention finally made its way up to Felix’s face, and Felix arched a knowing brow. But instead of—oh, he didn’t know. Guilt? Embarrassment?—at being caught, Thorne’s lips slowly crept into a mischievous smirk. And there Felix went once more, unbalanced yet again.
Thorne moved forward, the wide breadth of his shoulders looming over Felix, and then his bare fingers stroked over Felix’s jaw, slowly—so bloody slowly—angling Felix’s head up toward his. And Felix found he didn’t even care if the man did slit his throat with his shaving knife. The man’s fingers on his skin would be worth it. It had been so long since Felix had felt another’s touch. An intimate touch. Tender, teasing, tempting…
Soft bristles worked over Felix’s skin as Thorne massaged the lather in small circles. It was baffling how a hand so large held his jaw so gently, guiding his head side-to-side to spread the shaving soap.
Thorne’s gaze was glued to his task, occasionally going back to the bowl to gather more soap, not once letting his stare meet Felix’s. Which somehow made it all that much worse. Made every touch, every sensation, that much more pronounced: the graze of Thorne’s knuckle nudging Felix’s chin up, the drag of the bristles down his throat, the warm, sugar-scented breath puffing over his cheek as Thorne leaned closer. Cherry? Berries? All Felix knew was it was sweet and fruity, and it had his mouth watering.
At this close, finally having a moment to study the man, no barriers, Felix soaked him in. His jaw was taut in concentration, full lips pursed slightly. They were the only thing soft about the man. A jaw so sharp it could cut glass. A heavy brow that shadowed those mesmerizing grey eyes, only adding to the man’s mystery. His jet-black hair fell over his brow, and Felix tightened his fists to keep from reaching up. Pushing it back. Confirming it was as soft as it looked. He wanted to trace every hard ridge. And then over those pale pink lips, right over the bow at the top.
Breathe. He needed to remember to breathe. His bloody heart needed to remember it was supposed to stay in his chest, but with the way it was beating, it was making an excellent attempt to race right out of his ribcage.
Thorne turned away, and Felix let out a quiet breath. A small reprieve. It would be much easier to withstand the torment of the man’s touch when there was a sharp blade at his neck.
But then Thorne was back in front of him, fingers lightly sinking through the soap on his jaw on each side, sliding, coasting, swirling.Oh God. Oh God.
Grey irises clashed with his, melting him on the spot. “I need a point of reference to judge when the hair is soft enough to shave.” That rough-timbered voice.
Felix’s mouth parted on a shaky exhale. It was sweet as sin.
And then those fingers, those wicked, wonderful fingers, slid slowly down Felix’s neck. All the while, those stormy eyes held him captive. Lungs. Where were his lungs? Or the oxygen that was supposed to go in them?
With one last swipe of his thumb over Felix’s jawline, Thorne stepped back and busied himself at the dressing table.
Felix sank in his chair, finally able to draw in a full breath, then let his head fall back, eyes sliding shut. Holy fucking shite. The rhythmic scrape of blade against strop surrounded him. It wasn’t definitive, but Felix was pretty sure he had his answer. No valet shaved a man like this. Unless perhaps in a brothel. His grip on his shirt tightened. A shirt that hid the very clear evidenceFelixwas attracted to the man.
Silence settled over the room, and Felix lifted his head, gaze snagging on Thorne. He leaned against the table, arms crossed casually, unabashedly taking Felix in. His attention flicked to Felix’s lap and back up.
“Awfully tight grip you have on that shirt, my lord,” he murmured. A dangerous gleam entered his eyes, and those sinful lips curled infinitesimally at the corners. “Would you like me to take it off your hands? It would be a shame for it to wrinkle permanently.”
Felix willed himself to remain composed, but he lost the battle, and the telltale heat of a blush hit his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Better I keep it… You never know when I might need to strangle you.”
Thorne’s teeth dug into his bottom lip, clearly tamping down his mirth. Something burst in Felix’s chest at knowing he was the reason behind that small flash of amusement. Which was daft. He needed to stop thinking thoughts like that. He didn’t want to accidentally start to like the man.
Thorne pushed off the table and ran a finger through the foam on Felix’s cheek, then paused and caught Felix’s gaze. “Well, you are well-practiced at tying knots that could strangle.”
Felix gave the man his best unimpressed expression and winged a bored eyebrow.“Or perhaps a better use of it would be to silence that mouth of yours.”
Thorne’s eyelids lowered, gaze flaring ebony black. “That’s not the threat you think it is,” he said softly, and spun back to the table.
Shite.
13
Sam
LordBentleywasdifferenttoday.
Flustered.
Sam had no idea where the put-together bastard the man usually was disappeared to, but this version? Fuck. He was kind of adorable. Which wasn’t a term Sam ever thought he’d use to describe the man. Sam didn’t like it. It added more confliction to all the conflicting feelings he was having.
He slid the freshly sharpened blade down Lord Bentley’s jaw, just beneath his ear. Then a quick rinse of the blade in the bowl of water. Another stroke. He’d thought Bentley had been jesting when he’d mentioned being nervous about Sam having a knife at his throat, but…
Based on the out-of-character awkwardness, the way the man’s thigh was rock-hard where it pressed against Sam’s—Sam’s gaze swept over Bentley’s face, mouth drawn tight, nostrils flaring—Lord, the man truly did appear afraid.
Which was confounding.
