He nodded gravely. “His madness worsened after my mother died. He probably doesn’t have much time left now. The family’s looked after his comfort as best we can, but it’s…difficult.”
“I’m sorry.” Ashayla had heard about the mating bond between Incubi and Nephilim, of course. It was eternal, and since Incubi relied on their Nephilim mates exclusively for sustenance, separations were almost always a fatal sentence for the one left behind. “Sorin, I’m sorry for him and for everything you’re dealing with.”
She felt awful now, as selfish and unreasonable as she had believed Sorin to be. She’d been so obsessed with making Gran happy by getting her heirloom back, Ashayla never stopped to consider the burdens Sorin might be faced with as Master of Ebarron House.
He had his own personal struggles to contend with, his duties as head of his family and their business interests, all of it compounded by the demands and increasingly dangerous politics surrounding the fate of the Obsidian Throne.
Sorin shrugged, then stripped off his shirt. Although she hadn’t intended to let her gaze stray so long on his body at that moment, it was impossible not to notice the magnificence of him. She’d suspected he’d be big and athletic and gorgeous underneath his refined clothing, and he was. Beyond gorgeous. Smooth, golden skin wrapped bulky shoulders and beefy pectorals. His chest was broad and strong, his abdomen rippled with lean muscle.
She couldn’t keep her mouth from watering at the sight of him. Her cheeks flamed, and a liquid yearning pooled in the center of her being. No doubt about it, this male had been made for sin.
When he reached for his belt and zipper, she had to remind herself that she wasn’t interested. More to the point, she was determined to hold him to their new bargain, so the less she warmed up to him—the less she saw of his magnificent body—the better.
At his knowing glance, she forced herself to look away. “I’ll, ah…I’ll be in the other room.”
Damn him for chuckling as she pivoted on her heel and practically fled out of his presence.
She resumed her seat in the salon as the water hissed on in the en suite bathroom. She absolutely did not want to picture Sorin Ebarron lathering up naked under the spray, but no sooner had she told herself to avoid thinking about it than her mind eagerly went to work flooding her head with a vivid play-by-play.
Ashayla stood up and started to pace the hand-woven rugs in her tall, high-heeled boots. Would he come out of the shower and begin his seduction of her? He promised not to force her in any way, but how could she be absolutely certain of that? Could she trust him at his word alone?
What would he do if he discovered the vial of Nephilim magic secreted in her boot? Dread went tight in her chest. He would be furious, for sure.
What if he took the vial from her?
It was a risk she couldn’t chance, even if she fully intended to win Gran’s pendant back according to the terms of Sorin’s new deal.
With the shower running in the other room, Ashayla crept into the bedroom and carefully tucked the pinky-sized metal vial between the mattresses on the enormous, four-poster bed. She took the opportunity to peruse the Incubus’s living quarters, from the gleaming dark-wood furniture and leather seating, to the art-covered, millwork walls.
A collection of trinkets and masculine jewelry lay in a small tray on the bureau, much of it bearing the Ebarron griffin sigil. His closet was a room of its own, filled with suits and other fine clothing befitting a rich, spoiled playboy.
Yet he wasn’t at all how he appeared on the surface.
She was seeing that now. He was a complicated man living a complicated life. A solitary life, despite the family members who occupied the Ebarron stronghold with him and the business that kept him surrounded by beautiful people every night.
Not to mention all of the adoring female companions a man like him was certain to attract wherever he went.
Why that thought should put a twinge of disapproval in her breast, she had no idea.
“Already making yourself at home, I see.”
Sorin’s deep voice made her spin around to face him.
And, oh, God…that was a terrible mistake.
He stood there with a white towel in hand, but the rest of him was absolutely, gloriously naked. His golden hair was slicked back off his face, still wet, curling at the ends that kissed his strong neck. His smooth skin glistened with tiny droplets of water that just begged to be licked off him.
Every inch of him was perfectly carved, from his broad shoulders to his powerful chest, trim waist, and long, muscular legs. Good lord, even his feet were beautiful. His physical perfection bordered on angelic, he was so delectably formed.
But if there was any doubt this demon male had been spawned for a carnal existence, his cock left no question at all.
It jutted out fully erect, as large and magnificent as the rest of him.