Heat rushed through Daphne as she was forced to stare into Atticus' golden eyes. Atticus' body heat and the warmth of the bath had an intoxicating effect on her, and she found herself riveted, staring at the handsome contours of his face.
The touch of his fingers underneath her chin burned.
"Cat got your tongue, sunshine?" Atticus asked, leaning in even closer. The tiny space between them narrowed even further, and now they were close enough for Daphne to count the eyelashes framing his eyes, if she wanted.
She didn't want to. But damn was it hard to tear her gaze away from his. The air around them felt electric as though magic was what's binding Daphne to Atticus.
But it wasn't.
There was no glow on his obsidian ring, no special stone he stored in random pockets of his clothes. Atticus was just about as bare as the day he was born.
