“You ended the night in the arms of your mate,” Dayton says, standing. “How’s a guy supposed to compete with that?” “Day—” He heads to the door. “Get ready, and for star’s sake, have a dip in the hot springs and wash off the Prince of Thorns’ scent.” My fork clatters to my plate. “I—” “And,” Dayton growls, “you better damn well tell me what he was doing in your room last night.”
