Page 79 of The House Saphir
“In case you get cold,” she said. Her voice squeaked only atinybit.
As he draped a towel over himself, Mallory examined the shaving instruments. She could feel Armand’s attention upon her as she picked up the silver blade.
“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”
She clenched her jaw. “Do you want my help with this or not?”
“I’m honestly not sure.”
Mallory bent over him, inspecting the tiny hairs beneath his left ear, planning her attack. Armand’s cheek twitched. “Usually Claude puts a damp towel over my face, then uses the brush to add the soap.”
“I know that.”
She did not know that, but as she dunked a towel into the basin—still lukewarm from Armand’s botched attempt, she sensed him starting to relax. His eyes even twinkled with a hint of amusement.
And… trust.
Far too much trust.
“I’m not telling you what to do,” he said.
“Hush. I’m focusing.”
She squeezed the water from the towel and handed it to Armand, who pressed it to his jaw.
Mallory dunked the brush into the water next, before swirling it around the soap, building up a lather that smelled faintly of peppermint.
The lump in his throat jumped as she spread the lather down the length of his neck.
She reached for the razor and flipped open the blade with a satisfying click.
“Be careful,” he whispered. “It’s very sharp.”
“I thought you weren’t telling me what to do.”
Armand didn’t even flinch as she pressed the blade along the side of his cheek. It made a quiet scraping noise as she slid it along his skin, hair and soap gathering against the thin metal edge.
After each swipe, Mallory dunked the blade in the washbasin, where suds and bits of hair floated together. She briefly stilled, squinting at the tiny specks of hair on the surface—not black, but as blue as the sea itself.
Her movements were careful and steady, passing systematically from cheek to cheek, the bow of his lip to the line of his chin. Armand was so still, she wondered at times if he was breathing at all.
She made the last couple of sweeps up his neck, careful to avoid his previous wound. The blade glided above his carotid artery. She tried to ignore how he was watching her, his gaze uncannily piercing, inhumanly vibrant, as if he were seeing straight into her thoughts. Which at this moment, would be very bad indeed.
His lips parted, the tiniest bit. “Mallory…”
In her suddenly nervous state, Mallory could have sworn he’d said,Marry me…
She gasped. The blade dug in. He winced. At first, there was nothing. Then, slowly, a line of blood beaded up on his skin and dripped toward the towel.
“I’m sorry!” Mallory dropped the razor into the basin and grabbed another towel, pressing it to the wound.
She could feel her world upending. One hand remained pressed to his throat, feeling his warmth through the towel, the fluttering thumps of his pulse. This felt like a lover’s caress. How she might touch him if she woke up beside him in the morning. If she could curl her body beside his, lift herself onto an elbow, smile down into his sleepy eyes, be met with his drowsy grin. If she could run a thumb along the edge of his jaw. Dig her fingertips into the hair at the nape of his neck.
Armand was watching her, his breaths a tiny bit erratic, his brow lightly furrowed. Still entirely too trusting, too vulnerable. She could do anything. Kill him. Kiss him. He was at her mercy, and yet—he did not seem afraid.
“Mallory,” he whispered again, more uncertain now. “What’s wrong?”
Her body was electrified. Her knees were barely keeping her upright.
