Page 58 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
“You can look if you want to.” His voice carries a challenge that makes my pulse race. “If you think you can control yourself.”
That sounds like a dare, and my innate rebelliousness rises in my chest. “I have excellent self-control.”
“Do you?” I hear the splash of him entering the water. “We’ll see.”
Unable to resist, I glance over my shoulder. He’s waist-deep in the stream, water lapping at his lean hips, his back to me. The sight of him as he begins washing—all bronze skin and flowing muscle—makes my mouth go dry.
I should look away. I should give him privacy, like any decent person would. Instead, I find myself transfixed by the play of sunlight on his wet skin, the graceful way he moves through the water, the flex of his shoulders as he runs his hands through his hair.
“You’re staring,” he calls out without turning around, amusement clear in his voice.
“I am not,” I lie automatically.
“I can feel your eyes on me, Astra.”
Warmth floods my face, but I don’t look away. “I’m keeping guard, like I promised. I have to watch for threats.”
“Very clever approach.” I see him move deeper into the water, hear the soft sounds of him bathing. “Though I have to question how good a guard you are if you won’t even look at your charge.”
“You’re fine,” I mumble. “You can take care of yourself.”
“Can I?” His voice has dropped to that low tone that makes my breathing deepen. “What if I need help reaching my back? What if I slip on the rocks like you did?”
The thought of helping him—of running my hands over all that warm, wet skin—makes me dizzy. I make myself turn away from him as I say, “You won’t slip. You’re too coordinated.”
“Fine.” His tone cuts off any further discussion.
We fall into silence, broken only by the soft sounds of the water as he bathes. Despite my determination not to look, I find myself hyperaware of every splash, every intake of breath, every small noise he makes. My imagination fills in what I can’t see, conjuring images of water streaming over bronze skin, of powerful muscles moving beneath the surface.
The ache in my belly intensifies, accompanied by a restless energy that makes me want to move, to touch, to do something I can’t quite name. I’ve never felt anything like this burning need,this desperate awareness of another person’s body. It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
“You can look now,” Lucian calls out eventually. “I’m decent.”
I peek over my shoulder cautiously and see him standing in the shallows, water dripping from his hair and running in rivulets down his chest. He’s wearing his pants again, but they’re soaked and clinging to every line of his body in ways that make my breath catch in my throat.
“Better?” he asks, wading toward shore.
“Much,” I manage, though my voice comes out embarrassingly shaky.
He emerges from the stream like some kind of water god, all fluid grace and masculine beauty. I watch, mesmerized, as he runs his hands through his wet hair, pushing it back from his face. Water droplets cling to his eyelashes, and there’s something almost ethereal about the way the fading sunlight plays across his features.
“Your turn to blush,” I say weakly, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
“Do I look like someone who blushes?” he asks, moving toward where I’m sitting.
“No,” I say, and then the next words slip out before I can stop them. “You look like someone who makes other people blush.”
A glimmer of heat flickers in his eyes at that statement. “Do I make you blush, Astra?”
The question is quiet, almost intimate, and it sends heat racing through my veins. “I—No, no, you don’t,” I stammer, but my face burns even hotter at the obvious lie.
“No?” His voice carries dark amusement as he takes in my flaming cheeks. “Then why are you as red as a strawberry right now?”
“I’m not—It’s just—” I bury my face in my hands with a groan. “Don’t be so full of yourself.”
He settles beside me on the rock, near enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin despite his wet clothes. This close, I can see the water droplets still caught in the dark hair on his chest and the way his pants cling to his powerful thighs.
“We should probably head out soon,” I say, though the last thing I want is to move from this spot.
