Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Neeka might be willing to offer insight about him and the others. Perhaps Rathbone should speak with her before he visited the stable.
His blood heated, and he scowled. With more force than necessary, he grabbed a towel from its hook, ripping the material, and flashed to his dresser. He opened the top drawer, where stacks of leathers were folded, then dried off as he contemplated which pair to wear. Brown-black, jet black, or pitch black? Appearance mattered when you faced a foe. Had nothing to do with looking his best for his new employee.
“After some top-notch oracling last night, I’ve decided to accept the position as your royal matchmaker,” Neeka announced, barging into his bedroom. She held a notepad and pen, scribbling thoughts. “We can discuss the increase in my pay later.”
Rathbone stiffened. He had yet to don a stitch of clothing, and she’d dared—dared!—to invade his private space without permission? A rebuke barreled to the tip of his tongue, only to die a swift death.
Desire stole his breath. She might be chaos walking, but she was also the loveliest creature he’d beheld in centuries.
Curly dark hair spilled from a messy bun. Long lashes cast shadows over high cheekbones. A straight nose led to lush red lips.
Not by any stretch of the imagination could this female be referred to as a quote, unquote surrogate mother. If anything, Neeka was the babysitter who planned to throw a party as soon as Mom took off. And Rathbone dug it.
She stunned in a blue tank top with the words Trust Me, I’m a Professional haphazardly embroidered in the center, as if she’d done the needlework herself. While blindfolded. Tiny yellow shorts displayed her lithe long legs to perfection. Multiple pieces of jewelry adorned her throat and wrists. Necklaces and bracelets she must’ve found in trunks throughout the palace. Not a surprise. Harpies loved thieving trinkets. They were also, supposedly, quite fastidious, yet this one was streaked with dirt from head to toe.
“Why are you so dirty?” he asked.
Never glancing up from the notepad, she said, “There’s no need to sing my praises. I know my brilliance is boundless. Also, I’m not using my boon for this. You’re going to accept because it’s the right thing to do.”
What? That made no—ah. Obviously, she hadn’t heard him and jabbered on, expecting him to listen. He required her attention if they were to have a two-sided conversation. But even as she traipsed deeper into his room, she remained utterly absorbed by that notepad. Did she plan to ignore him the whole time? While he was naked? He snorted. Good luck with that. He was a large male. Huge. And growing. Impossible to miss.
“Well?” she demanded, finally pausing to glance at him. “Are you going to sing my praises or not?”
He stood in place, allowing her to drink her fill. Except, she didn’t drink her fill. She didn’t even sip. Her attention remained fixed on his lips as she awaited his reply.
Irritation budded. “You said there’s no need for praise.”
“And there isn’t,” she replied, a schoolteacher admonishing a naughty student. “But you should still do it when it’s warranted. That’s only polite.”
Did she seriously not notice his massive erection? Not care enough to discover whether he was pierced? “You’re right,” he grated. “It’s only polite to praise something when warranted.” Like the metal-laden battering ram between his legs!
Mumbling about errant employees, he yanked on a pair of black leathers, struggled with the straining zipper, and stomped his feet into his best combat boots. The mátia on his chest watched the oracle without blinking. Not. A. Single. Reaction. From. Her.
Irritation sharpening, he flashed to his closet, tugged a T-shirt from a hanger, and returned to his spot near the dresser.
“Why are you so dirty?” he repeated as he jerked the material over his shirt.
“I was hoping you’d tell me.”
Did she truly not recall or was she faking to hide her activities? He might desire her, but his trust in her remained shaky at best.
She moved her gaze over his room, her mouth forming a small O. Awe radiated from her. “Oh, Rathboner. Your chamber is incredible.”
Pleasure puffed his chest. Until he clocked what she’d done to his name. He scowled. Then he shrugged. As far as nicknames went, it wasn’t bad.
“After seeing the rest of the house, I expected plain ole ordinary luxury, not pure class and sophistication,” she said.
While he’d left the rest of the palace mostly untouched, saving the bulk of rooms for Lore, he’d designed this spacious suite with his wife in mind. Each piece of furniture was molded from solid gold. On the walls, gemstones created a dizzying mosaic, mimicking the secret throne room. Sheer, wispy curtains welcomed a cool, salty breeze from an open balcony, inviting the sounds of a rushing river.
“Your room is only missing a Rath Boned original by Anya,” Neeka added. “You should stage your favorite over the mantel.”