Fiona's POV
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I swallowed hard, and my throat suddenly went dry.
"Put the shirt on."
His voice was, barely above a murmur.
I blinked, out of the spell the gods had let me fall into.
"Wh-what?"
He turned toward me slowly, one brow arched.
"The shirt, Fiona."
Oh.
Right.
I looked down at the tee shirt still shamelessly clenched in my hands. I was holding on to the fabric like it was some kind of lifeline.
Ragnar looked at me, steady and unreadable as always. He was waiting to see if I would argue.
I should have.
But the room seemed smaller, and his proximity was close.
I turned away from him and slid the damp sweater over my head. The wind caressed my naked body.
I swear I could feel his eyes burning right through me. Tracing every inch of flesh between my sports bra and jeans
