Salviana's hair fell over her face, but before she could brush it aside, Alaric's fingers were there, tucking the loose strands behind her ear.
His fingertips were cool against her flushed skin, and she murmured a soft, "Thank you."
Alaric simply smiled, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer before returning to his plate, continuing to eat with that same mesmerizing grace.
Her attention drifted to the way his clothes fit him. He was dressed impeccably, as always, in a crisp white shirt that hugged his shoulders and broad chest, the collar open enough to hint at his collarbones and a glimpse of the bare skin she had glimpsed after he'd bathed.
Earlier, he had worn only a robe, and the memory of his bare chest—sculpted and strong, with smooth, pale skin that seemed to draw her in—came rushing back to her.
