"You are very good at taking care of me," Mailah murmured softly, leaning back into his broad chest.
Grayson's hands stilled for a moment. He set the towel down on the arm of the sofa, his long fingers moving to wrap the heavy wool blanket snugly around her shoulders. He pulled her flush against him, locking his arms around her waist so securely that not a single chill from the autumn rain could reach her.
"It is not a chore, Mailah," Grayson said into the crown of her head. His voice was low, deep, and smooth like dark velvet. "It is the only thing in this world that brings me absolute peace."
"Even after thousands of years?" she teased lightly, turning her face into the curve of his neck. His skin smelled of cold rain, cedarwood, and the dark, intoxicating warmth that belonged strictly to him—a subtle, magnetic aura that no ordinary human man could ever possess.
