Ara's POV
I lay on the bed after changing into the tshirt Aurelia brought in. The food remained on the table, untouched. I had no appetite. My thoughts tangled like knotted rope, when the bathroom door creaked open. I told myself not to look.
Don’t you dare look.
But my traitorous heart lurched the second that intoxicating scent of mint and sage curled into my lungs.
And there he was, standing tall, with a dampened chest.
A single, damn towel slung low on his hips, clinging to the sharp V of his pelvis like it was hanging on for dear life. The wounds were almost gone, leaving scars. Water glistened over the hard planes of his chest, sliding down the grooves of his eight-pack abs in slow, torturous paths before disappearing beneath that flimsy barrier. My throat went dry. My fing
