Page 90 of Commanding Flame and Shield
“Still—damn cool.”
“Yeah, it is,” Jason hummed happily. “But lemme tell you, feathers are a bitch to keep clean.”
“Well, now that we’re all acquainted.” Marcus cut in, shaking his head as he shot a glare in Jason’s direction. “How about The Great Commander outlines this strategy for us?” He returned and set the white board down on the coffee table between us, handing the marker to August. He took it and smiled at me, and then he began.
* * *
We spentmost of the evening huddled over the whiteboard, strategizing the way we’d move through the gala—August had found that it was indeed an alumnus gala fundraising for the new art building being held only three days away. He’d already donated a sum large enough to make mortal men squirm, in exchange for three tables at the black-tie event.
August’s breathing came hot and heavy, his sweat dripping down his face as he did pushup after pushup on the floor of the bedroom we were sharing. I'd finished my set and was dragging in long breaths as he finished his own. We’d already done a full circuit, and this was the last stretch, so I granted myself a few gulps of water. When he finished wiping sweat from his brow, August reached for the water, and I tossed it to him. He drank deeply, panting when he lifted the bottle from his full lips.
“Thanks.”
My responding smile seemed to be all he needed. I thought about telling him we should go into the city to find formal attire for the gala, but a vision flashed, and deciding not to ruin his plans, I bit back the words. A smile fought to curl my lips, but I shoved it back, too.
August narrowed his eyes at me. “What?” He finally asked, brows drawn skeptically.
“Nothing. I’m just...proud of you. That’s all.”
That endearing crooked smile stretched across his face, a little dimple popping into existence on his just-shaved chin. “Well, thanks then.”
The blood rushed into my cheeks, and I didn’t bother to stuff it down as he stretched in long, disciplined movements. Fuck, I’d kept myself so busy over the last weeks that I forgot how breathtaking he was up close.
“You can shower first, if you’d like.”
“Thank you, I’ll be quick.”
He nodded as he strode across the room to our open bags and began rummaging through his belongings. I followed in his wake, plucking up fresh undergarments and my favorite silk pajamas.
The bathroom was simple and elegant. Smoky gray walls met a white tile floor and a black metal lattice shower wall. Stepping up to a white vanity with black counters, I flipped on the warm water and pulled out my tiny toiletry bag to find my often-neglected skin care. I jumped in and out of the shower as quickly as I could manage, while still tending to shaving and washing my hair.
Hurrying out the door, I motioned for August to take his turn, and he vanished behind me. The door gave a soft click as it shut. My bookmark caused the pages to fall open just where I’d left off, and I got cozy and vanished into the novel. Fiction had always been a favorite pass time in the human world.
Moving so silently even my ears strained to hear him, August padded out of the bathroom wearing only sweatpants, revealing each and every chiseled muscle he’d further defined across his chest and abdomen through those long weeks of training. My core tightened as I took in the dark hair that trailed up from his sweatpants to his chest, fingers humming with the need to touch him. I tucked the blankets up a little higher against my slip, stuffing down the response that stirred. Fucking hell, he had no business looking that good. None.
Wordlessly, he crossed the room, tossing his dirty clothes atop his bag. The way he moved his body, those dark, damp curls stuck across his forehead and emerald eyes shadowed with the night sent my heart racing to match my shallow breathing. That fresh sage scent hit like a jolt of adrenaline, leaving the silky slip nightgown ungodly vulnerable. I forgot. Forgot why I’d leapt at every calling that hit the board, every mission, every nest of demons that needed dispatching, all so I wouldn’t have to sit here salivating over the man I couldn’t let myself want. No matter what pieces I moved on the board, the vision was the same, and surviving that twice was…impossible. But dammit, the man had me twisted up, body demanding I feel him, and—for fucks sake, Ally stop thinking about licking his obliques. Jesus.
August hoisted an armful of heavy looking blankets out of an armoire in the corner and began to make himself a bed on the floor. He flicked off the light, leaving only the omnipresent glow of the city to illuminate our little room. Our eyes met as I sat upright in the bed.
“Oh, you don’t have to sleep on the floor. I don’t mind the couch.” He eyed the loveseat skeptically. “Somehow, I didn’t note the sleeping situation when we cast this vision.” My cheeks burned, and he smiled like he knew exactly why I was babbling like an incoherent teenager.
“How dare you.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. I really don’t mind.” He plunked down on his makeshift floor bed with comical finality, and then raised one arm in the air. An aching grin stretched across my face, and I tossed him a pillow. He caught it, gave a quick thanks, and then settled in.
A beat later, August muttered, “Fuck, it’s really hard.”
Choking on a laugh, face scorching hot, I said, “Pleeeease tell me you’re talking about the pillow.”
“Oh,” August chuckled quietly. “That too.”
“Jesus,” I laughed nervously, grinning as I tucked deeper under my sheets and his amusement settled in my chest. I tossed another pillow his way, but he hadn’t expected it, this one landing smack on his face. I snorted a guilty laugh, as he chuckled, the sound like a warm hearth in December.
“Goodnight, Miss Alvara.”
My face couldn’t seem to remember how to do anything except for smile, as I thought about the man lying on the floor below my feet. It took a bit of effort, but I summoned the gumption to finally respond.
“Goodnight, August Porter.”
THIRTY-SIX
