If eyeballs weren't held in place by nerve threads, Lethia's eyes would've popped out by now—she was glaring so wide. Her eyelid muscles strained like a tight biceps lifting pounds of wet cheesecloth stuffed with curds when she was making artisanal cheese.
How the hell did she not feel Zeran sneaking up to hug her like that from behind?
Her late father was right: don't make yourself at home in a stranger's place. She regretted ditching her satin robe now more than ever.
Lethia swallowed hard, trying to steady the erratic rhythm of her heartbeat. It was true—Zeran's hand over her lower belly gave off a kind of warmth that soothed her.
His embrace didn't flood her body with lust like she feared. No, it felt more like a lingering touch that smoothed over the restlessness she'd been fighting since this afternoon. A silent comfort.
But still, she hated this kind of surprise. The loss of control, the suddenness that rendered her helpless.
