Page 32 of Avalon Tower

Raphael is sitting, watching me, his body completely still. Honeyed light spills in from the tall windows, casting half of him in gold. In the large wooden chair, he almost looks like a king.

He doesn’t say a thing. He must be concentrating hard on the clothes because there is something intense in his gaze that I can’t read. It’s not the coldness he seems to reserve for me. On any other man, I’d assume it was desire. But on Raphael? Probably quiet loathing.

“It fits well.” His voice sounds husky. “I got your size correct, but you look uncomfortable. The Fey don’t walk around with their arms folded in front of their chests, grimacing.”

I run my fingers over the delicate fabric. “I don’t usually wear anything like this.”

“Well, that’s why you’re here, to get used to it. Do you mind if I adjust the back a bit?”

“Do whatever.” My voice comes out sharp and angry, but I lift my black hair to give him access.

He stands behind me, tightening one of the straps.

“You breathe with a slight wheeze.” His voice thrums over my bare shoulders.

“Asthma,” I say. “My inhaler is running low.”

“We’ll get you a new one.” A little brush of his fingertips sends tingles over my skin, and my muscles tense at the sensation. Oddly, the wheeze in my lungs goes away, and my airways open up.

“You’re going to need to relax,” he says quietly. He steps in front of me again. “It fits perfectly, but your body looks as supple and relaxed as the stone walls behind you.” He cocks his head. “This will need a lot of work. The Fey will immediately identify you as a spy. So, your job is to relax.”

I clamp my hands on my hips. I am fucking terrible at relaxing, especially when someone tells me to relax. And especially when that person is Raphael, the gorgeous man who once broke my heart.

“You look like you hate everyone around you,” he adds.

“Oh, that’s because I do.”

He drops into the chair, appraising me with those piercing eyes. “Okay, pixie. Close your eyes for a moment. Breathe in deeply and focus on your breath. Think of the place where you feel most comfortable, where you feel completely yourself. Somewhere in your home, maybe. A place you would be right now if you could.”

For a moment, my mind is blank. I’ve never felt comfortable at home. Home is a place of chaos. Home is a place where my mother screams at night.

The bookstore, maybe.

But then my mind blooms with maroon grapes, plump with sunlight. There was a time there, before it all turned sour, when that Bordeaux vineyard felt like a perfect, golden idyll.

With my eyes closed, I hear Raphael moving behind me again. “May I touch your shoulders? They’re hunched up.”

I nod.

I feel his fingertips at the base of my throat, then the brush of his skin on my shoulders. Heat follows in the wake of his touch. He keeps his hands on my shoulders. “Your shoulders need to be down here, not up by your ears.”

He touches the base of my spine. “Shift your hips forward. There. Fey women lead with their hips when they walk, chins held high.”

Warmth is radiating off his body, and it’s infinitely distracting. Maybe if I pretend he doesn’t hate me, I can relax. I pretend he’s Jules, the reasonably handsome waiter.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Take deeper breaths, fill your lungs. Then I want you to walk across the room. Fey movements are fluid, relaxed. Imagine that rivulets of water are flowing down your skin, dripping down the curves of your body.”

My pulse is racing for reasons I really don’t want to explore.

“Walk across the room,” he commands me quietly. “Toward the window.”

As long as I’m not looking at him, I can relax a little more. I ease the muscles in my shoulders and picture water running down my body. Except as I walk, I’m picturing myself completely naked and Raphael’s hand stroking up my spine…

At the window, I turn back to him. My lips part, and my cheeks flush, but I feel a magnetic pull toward him. I hate this man, but he’s godsdamned seductive, and I might as well not lie to myself.

When I’m only a few inches from him, I stop and look up at his face. This close, his silver eyes are hypnotic, so striking against the black eyelashes. Something about his expression is searing. Is that still loathing?

“Good.” He licks his lips.