Page 13

“Long enough,” he finally says.

I know enough about fairies to knowlong enoughcan just as easily mean centuries as it can decades. And the comment Malaki made earlier…

I’ve been waiting centuries to meet you.

I tilt my head to the side. “You’re really freaking old, aren’t you?”

A sly smile creeps along Des’s face. “I can answer that, but it will cost you.”

I don’t need to buy a favor to know the dude must be ancient.

I back away from him, heading toward the bathroom. “Rain check…Grandpa.”

I only have time to see his grin widen, and then he’s scooping me up, throwing me over his shoulder.

“Naughty thing,” he says, smacking my butt.

I shriek then begin to laugh. “No wonder your hair is so white. How many centuries ago did it lose its color?”

I feel Des’s rumbly laughter shaking his shoulders.

“I’ll have you know it kept its color until the day I met you,” he says.

He marches us to the bathroom. As he does so, my boots tug themselves off my feet before clattering to the ground. My pants and underwear go next.

“Des!” Now just about every inch of my bare skin is pressed tightly to his.

“Callie.” He mimics my tone.

“What are you doing?”

His hand caresses my upper thigh. “Disrobing my queen.”

That stops me completely.

Oh God, hisqueen.

“Des, you don’t mean that, do you?” Because—nope. Nope, nope, nope.

I’m just getting used to the idea of there even being anus. Anything more is beyond what I can handle.

“It was a turn of phrase,” he says smoothly. “If you’d rather, I call you a scullery maid—”

I whack his back, which only makes him laugh again. The sound has me relaxing again. Just a turn of phrase.

As he carries me, his own pants slide off his hips and down his ankles. Gracefully, he steps out of them.

And now we’re both naked.

Ahead of us, the grand bathtub’s spigot turns itself on.

He steps into the giant tub, setting me carefully on my feet. For a moment, I stare at my soul mate, his face just as painfully lovely as the first time I laid eyes on him, his white hair loose. His crown and war cuffs are gone, and the only remaining adornment he wears is the ink that runs down his arm.

Without clothes, Des is all the more appealing, his torso massive, large ropes of muscles cording it.

Just as I drink him in, he drinks me in, his eyes moving to my breasts then downward to my waist and hips.

He steps in close, tilting my chin up. “I want to be good at this, cherub. At us.”