Chapter 5 Adele
CHAPTER FIVE
ADELE
Iwoke to unfamiliar softness.
For a moment, I lay perfectly still, cataloging sensations. Silk sheets against my skin. A mattress so comfortable I’d slept through the entire night without waking once, a rarity for me.
Then memory returned. The wedding. The flight. Raoul’s bed.
I sat up, blinking in the dim light filtering through the windows. Dawn was just breaking, painting the sky in shades of purple and pink. I’d fallen asleep studying the cloud formations, dressed in one of Raoul’s tunics because I’d had literally nothing else to wear other than my wedding gown.
The tunic was much too big on me, the hem reaching mid-thigh, the shoulders sliding down my arms. I’d found it draped over a chair in the bedroom, and after struggling out of my wedding dress, I’d gratefully pulled it on. It smelled like him, a spicy scent I couldn’t identify.
Since I was so rushed yesterday, I was wearing no undergarments. The tunic covered everything important.
I slipped out of bed, my bare feet silent on the cool stone floor.
My mind was already churning with questions about the weather patterns I’d observed last night.
The way the mountain’s volcanic heat interacted with the glacial air currents created fascinating convection systems that I must analyze further.
After cleansing my teeth and taking care of important business in the small bathing area, I padded into the sitting room, planning to make some preliminary notes before breakfast. I stopped short near the sofa with the huge fireplace in front of it.
Raoul was asleep on the cushions.
He lay on his side, scrunched up due to his height, one arm draped over Fletcher’s furry body.
My basset hound sprawled across at least two-thirds of the cushions, snoring so loudly the sound echoed off the stone walls.
Raoul had somehow contorted his tall frame to fit in the remaining space, which couldn’t possibly be comfortable.
The blanket he must’ve covered himself with last night had slipped off, onto the floor, and he wore only a loincloth.
I tried not to stare. I really did. But I’d never been good at ignoring new phenomena, and I found Raoul’s body interesting.
His eyes opened. Amber and intense, they fixed on me with a look that made heat rush from my chest to my cheeks. I wasn’t used to blushing. Blushing required paying attention to social situations, which I rarely did.
His gaze traveled slowly from my face downward, pausing where his tunic had slipped off one shoulder, then continuing to where the hem ended mid-thigh. The journey back up was just as heated.
No, not heated. He didn’t like me in that way.
Did he?
I became acutely aware of my body in a way I hadn’t been in a very long time.
My body was a tool. It carried my brain where it needed to go, manipulated weather patterns, and occasionally remembered to eat. I’d never particularly cared what it looked like or what anyone else thought of my shape. Function over form had always been my philosophy.
But the way Raoul was looking at me made me suddenly, vividly aware that I had curves. That the tunic clung to them. That my legs were bare and my hair was probably a disaster.
And the strangest thing of all, I found myself caring.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. “You’re wearing my tunic.”
“I had no choice.” The words came out higher than usual, and I cleared my throat.
“I didn’t pack anything, remember? I was two hours late to the wedding.
I barely remembered to show up, much less bring a change of clothing.
” My jittery laugh shot out. “I didn’t even wear undergarments yesterday. I was in such a rush—”
I stopped, realizing what I’d said.
His gaze drifted down again, slower this time, and I watched his throat work as he swallowed.
“No,” he said finally, his voice dropping to a tone that made my stomach flip. “You can wear my tunic anytime. It…” He paused, and for the first time since I’d met him, he almost appeared uncertain. “It looks good on you.”
Unfamiliar warmth bloomed in my chest. That feeling was pleasure, I realized. I was pleased that he liked seeing me wearing his clothing.
Why should it matter? This was a political arrangement. We’d agreed to maintain distance. His opinion of my appearance was irrelevant to our arrangement.
Except I couldn’t quite convince myself of that as he rose from the sofa, leaning over to gently ease a still snoozing Fletcher further back onto the cushions.
Sweet merciful moonbells, he had an amazing ass.
I’d known in an abstract way that Raoul was well-built. You didn’t transform into a dragon the size of a small house without having significant muscle mass in your regular form. But abstract knowledge and visual confirmation were entirely different things.
His shoulders were broad, tapering to a narrow waist and hips.
His chest was sculpted planes of muscle, not bulky but defined in a way that suggested raw strength.
A trail of dark auburn hair started below his navel and disappeared beneath the loincloth.
His arms looked like they could lift—well, me.
I realized I was staring and tried to look away. Failed. Tried again.
He was moving toward me. No, past me, toward a cord hanging near the door.
Every step appeared economical, graceful.
Muscles shifted beneath his tanned skin, and I found myself calculating the biomechanics of dragon shifter musculature before remembering that was absolutely not what I should be thinking about right now.
He pulled the cord, and moments later, a knock sounded at the door.
“Come,” Raoul called.
The door opened to reveal a slender man with silver hair and kind eyes. He bowed, his gaze flickering to me for a moment before returning to Raoul.
“Geoff, this is my wife, Queen Adele,” Raoul said with perfect formality, as though he wasn’t standing there wearing nothing but a loincloth. “Adele, this is Geoff, my head of household.”
“A pleasure, my lady.” Geoff’s bow was deeper this time. “Welcome to Emberforge.”
“Thank you,” I managed to say, hyperaware that I must look like I’d been dragged through a hedge backward.
Geoff’s expression remained perfectly neutral.
“We’d like breakfast,” Raoul said. “A selection of items.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Adele, is there anything you don’t like?”
Everything. I realized I like everything.
I dragged my attention from Raoul’s chest. Why was it so difficult to look away?
And I tried to focus on his question.
“I—no. I eat whatever. I’m not particular about food.”
“Very good, Your Majesties.” Geoff bowed again. “I’ll have breakfast sent up shortly.”
He departed, closing the door softly behind him, and I was alone again with my nearly naked husband.
“There’s a bathing pool through here.” Raoul gestured to a door off the sitting room I hadn’t noticed last night. “You’re welcome to wash before breakfast arrives.”
“That would be wonderful, thank you.” I hadn’t bathed properly in days, too absorbed in my research. The magical rain shower yesterday didn’t count.
I followed him through the door into a cave that took my breath away.
The space was large, easily the size of my research tower’s main room, with a high ceiling that disappeared into shadows.
In the center, a pool of steaming water stretched at least twenty feet across, its surface perfectly still and reflecting the soft blue glow of luminescent crystals embedded in the walls.
The water was so clear I could see every stone at the bottom, arranged in natural patterns by centuries of water flow.
At the pool’s edge, someone had arranged thick, fluffy towels on a polished stone shelf alongside an array of soaps, oils, and bathing gels in clay bowls. The scent of minerals hung in the air. Volcanic springs, I realized. Naturally heated by the mountain’s geothermal activity.
“This is beautiful,” I said, already calculating the temperature of the water based on the steam patterns rising from its surface.
“Please, feel welcome. You can put my tunic back on after, until I have more clothing brought to the chamber.”
“Thank you, that’s very—”
I stopped talking because Raoul had reached for the tie of his loincloth.
And unfastened it.
And let the scrap of fabric drop to the stone floor.
I spun around so fast I nearly lost my balance, my face burning hotter than the volcanic springs could possibly account for. Behind me, I heard his footsteps, then the soft sound of water lapping as he descended into the pool.
He released a contented sigh. “Aren’t you going to join me?”
I turned slowly, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on his face. He sat in the pool, water kissing his chest, his arms spread along the carved stone edge. Steam rose around him like dragon smoke, and he watched me with that same predatory expression from last night I could not define.
“Join you?” I croaked.
“For a bath.” His head tilted. “Isn’t shared bathing customary where you’re from?”
“I… We… That is…” I couldn’t seem to form a complete sentence.
This was ridiculous. I was a grown woman. I’d been intimate with someone before, though sex hadn’t been worthy enough to bother with more than once. I’d studied anatomy, both ours and that of magical creatures. The male form held no mysteries for me.
But theory and practice were proving to be vastly different things.
Raoul’s expression shifted to what might be concern. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Dragon shifters are less particular about nudity than other species. It’s impractical to be modest when we’re constantly shifting forms. If you’d prefer privacy—”
“No,” I blurted out, then wondered why I’d said it. “I mean, yes.” I took a breath. “I’m not uncomfortable. Just surprised. We’re supposed to maintain distance, remember? Professional partnership?”
I could almost hear the huff he bit back. “This is a bath, not a declaration of intent. Unless you’d rather I leave?”