He straightens and leans over the table. “So, you’re reading the books in your room?” “I am. Did you put them there?” “No.” My smile falters. “But I ordered it done,” he adds with a smirk. “You are entitled to some pleasure.” Warmth washes through me. He’s not the cold-hearted beast he pretends to be, and this kind version of Ever, the thoughtful one I see a little more of each day, is a greater danger to me than the fierce huntsman I first met. Because I think I like him. A lot. I just wish I understood him better.
