I have clean clothes and the salve you requested in the workshop, sir,” the butler intoned. “Miss Greyson insisted I tend to your back. Threatened to do the task herself if I refused.” “Did she?” Darius grinned as he toweled his hair dry. The thought of Nicole’s fingers delicately applying salve to his scalded skin was a rather tantalizing prospect. Too bad it was also highly improper.
-Karen Witemeyer
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