When she realized what she was doing—and more importantly, where she was—Ephyra's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red. She hurriedly let go of his shirt and tried to push herself off his lap. But before she could, Lyle's arms tightened slightly around her waist, holding her in place.
She stilled, her heart thundering in her chest. "What are you—" she began, her voice laced with both confusion and embarrassment.
Lyle met her gaze, his amber eyes steady and unyielding. There was a flicker of something there—possessiveness, perhaps, or a quiet refusal. But then, just as quickly as it had appeared, his expression softened. Without a word, he loosened his hold and let his arms fall away.
Freed, Ephyra quickly scrambled off his lap, smoothing down the wrinkled fabric of her gown as she stepped back toward the bed. "Sorry," she mumbled, avoiding his gaze as she perched on the edge of the mattress.
