Red Heir - Lisa Henry Page 0,33

a light dusting of freckles.

“Angel kisses,” he said, quietly delighted.

“What?”

“Angel kisses. That’s what they call freckles.”

Grub huffed out a laugh. “You’d think if angels spent all that time kissing me they could have rescued me from that damned dungeon sooner.”

Loth ran both soaped-up hands over Grub’s shoulder blades, pleased to find that the skin that had been covered by clothing was easier to clean, and it didn’t take long before rivulets of grey water ran down Grub’s back, leaving more heat-pinked skin and freckles that did, indeed look like a smattering of kisses. Loth rinsed the skin one last time, stopping just short of the top of Grub’s arse. “Maybe I’m an angel, sent to rescue you.”

Grub flat out snorted. “Right. And maybe I’m the lost prince.” He reached back and plucked the washcloth from Grub’s hands, soaping it up and washing his face and neck. “I’ll do the rest, and then can you wash my hair?”

Loth nodded and watched while Grub cleaned himself efficiently. They were the movements of someone used to washing as quickly as possible and gaining no pleasure from it. There was something undeniably sad about the thought that Grub had spent five years cleaning himself with cat-licks and damp cloths.

Loth gave himself a shake. He wasn't the one who’d locked Grub up. He had no reason to feel guilty. Still, once Grub was done, Loth was gentle as he poured the barely hot water over Grub’s tilted-back head, and set to work washing his hair. Grub let out another one of those filthy sounds as the water streamed over him, and once Loth had worked his fingers through his tangled mop and rinsed it again, he was surprised to find that the red was much brighter than he’d previously thought; a shining copper that gleamed in the firelight.

“Oh, that’s good,” Grub sighed, before running his hands through his hair and pushing it back from his face to reveal a genuine, proper smile. It was at that exact moment that Loth came to a startling realisation.

Grub was attractive.

Not just in that ‘in the right light if a man was desperate’ way that he’d previously thought, no. Now that Grub didn’t smell of swamp and straw and despair, now that Loth could really see him, he was genuinely pretty. Washing his hair had yielded unexpected curls, and combined with his porcelain skin and delicate features, he was almost fae-like in his beauty. Loth could have stared at him all day, except Grub chose that moment to splash him with bathwater playfully, laughing when Loth jerked back to avoid the spray. Grub splashed at him once more, before standing without warning and giving Loth a perfect view of his backside, perhaps as revenge for Loth doing it to him earlier.

As far as revenge went, it failed. Loth drank in the sight of the pert globes eagerly, struck dumb by their pale perfection, and it was only when Grub stepped out of the tub that he thought to hold out a towel. Grub took it, and he didn’t pull away when their fingertips brushed. His skin was warm where Loth was touching him, and Loth wrapped a hand around his slim wrist and caught his gaze. Grub bit his lip and his cheeks flushed, but he didn’t move away.

One thing Loth was good at was reading people, and Grub was no exception. Something in his shy glance told Loth that while the prickly, bad-tempered, underfed Grub from before would never have accepted an offer to bed him, there was at least a slim chance that this Grub—this clean, damp, bashful sprite, with tiny droplets of water dripping off his curls and beading against his pale skin—might not turn him down. Not tonight, not if he asked nicely. The words were out of his mouth before he thought twice. “Come to bed with me, Grub?”

Grub barely hesitated before answering, “Yes.”

Well, that was unexpectedly easy. He’d thought he might have to cajole at least a little. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Grub ducked his head and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Unless—unless you’re teasing.” His cheeks burned and his gaze grew wary.

Loth took a step nearer, draped the towel around Grub’s shoulders, and pulled him in close, close enough to look him in the eye. Grub’s gaze was wide, and both hopeful and fearful.

“I’m not teasing,” he assured him, and leaned in for a kiss. Nothing extreme, just a brush of lips, a hand running through Grub’s curls, but it was