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Hotel Magnifique(83)

Author:Emily J. Taylor

Cautiously, I turned.

Bel leaned against the opposite side not four feet away. His hair was soaked and poking in all directions.

I was still so angry with him, but I had an urge to smooth his hair down, wipe the water from his brow.

His eyes landed on me, then flicked away. “The storm should let up soon.”

“Let’s hope.”

I pressed my back against the cold stone wall—the farthest from Bel I could stand and still remain dry—and rubbed my hands together to keep warm. Bel must have been feeling similarly because he didn’t meet my eyes again, and I certainly didn’t meet his. After a minute, I started to shiver. I hugged my arms across my front, but my sleeves were as wet as the rest of me.

Bel took off his uniform jacket and held it out. “I don’t have a dry dress this time, but this should help until the rain lets up.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said through chattering teeth.

“Don’t be stubborn,” he cut in sternly. He pulled the jacket around my shoulders.

The wool was still warm from his body heat. I tugged the collar up around my dripping ears. Even though it felt wonderful, I still made a point to scowl.

The corner of his mouth curved up. “I missed your scowls.”

I relaxed my mouth and turned away from him to stare at the rain.

“I was an ass at the Wish Market,” he said after a little while.

“Well, then that’s one thing we agree on.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” I balked. “Save your lackluster apology. It’s the last thing I need right now.”

My body stiffened when Bel took one of my hands in his own. He wouldn’t let me pull away. “You’re still freezing,” he said.

“I’ll survive.”

“I would hope, considering you’re a suminaire.”

I straightened at the word, almost in disbelief.

“You’ll never get used to it,” he said, as if he could read my mind.

I wanted to ask him what it was like, but I lost my train of thought when he turned my hand over and gently smoothed away drips of water from my palm before kneading it with his thumbs.

My fingers smarted from drawing maps and his hands were warm. The heat of his skin felt divine.

“Better?” he asked.

I muttered something incoherent, and a smile flickered on his lips. He dropped my hand and lifted the other, continuing his ministrations. For once, I didn’t mind the silence between us. It was still tense, of course, but less so than the silence awaiting me in the map room.

“How is your drawing coming along?” he asked.

“Not good. I still can’t draw a map to the ring.”

“Interesting,” he said, and I could have sworn there was relief in his voice.

“If I can draw a map to it, won’t you at least come with me to find it? We can figure out what it does before we bring it back.”

Bel dropped my hand. “If Alastair suspected anything, he would punish us more.”

“We’ll be careful.”

He shifted his attention to my face. A raindrop dripped from the tip of my nose onto my mouth. Bel brought a finger up and wiped it away. His thumb lingered against my bottom lip, and my breath caught.

“Please,” I murmured.

I inhaled sharply when his hand ran down my jaw. The hard edge of his switchblade hilt pressed into the skin below my ear. His eyes looked almost pained, but there was a flicker of something else there that I felt in my belly.

Thunder cracked.

Bel jolted. He pushed away, and I felt his absence like a sudden sting. “I’m sorry, Jani, but I won’t help you find that ring.”

I blinked back tears. “For a while there you had me fooled. I thought you were my friend.” And when you look at me like you are now, I know you’re much more than a friend, I wanted to add, but I was too afraid.

Bel dug a piece of wet moss from the stone wall and rubbed it between his fingers. “You know, today we were supposed to be in a forest north of here. Alastair was in a mood this morning so I promised I’d find him an artéfact to make up for changing the itinerary.”

“You brought me to Aligney?”

“A lackluster apology,” he said, repeating my own words. “I had hoped . . .” His eyes searched mine for a moment, then dropped to the ground. He shook his head. “Forget it.”

I stood openmouthed as the man who had a witty remark for everything kicked up a clod of soil and stalked into the rain without another word.

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