Elara’s POV
He emerges from the stream like some kind of water god, all fluid grace and masculine beauty. I watch, mesmerized, as he runs his hands through his wet hair, pushing it back from his face. Water droplets cling to his eyelashes, and there’s something almost ethereal about the way the fading sunlight plays across his features.
“Your turn to blush,” I say weakly, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
“Do I look like someone who blushes?” he asks, moving toward where I’m sitting.
“No,” I say, and then the next words slip out before I can stop them. “You look like someone who makes other people blush.”
A glimmer of heat flickers in his eyes at that statement.
“Do I make you blush, Elara?”
The question is quiet, almost intimate, and it sends heat racing through my vein
