He just grunted, lifting the bottle to his lips as he watched the fire. I tried not to stare at him. His face was faintly flushed from both the booze and being scrubbed clean. His hair was wet and braided back again. The firelight flickered over the tattoos on his neck and long fingers. My gut clenched with want, but I tamped it back. It was stupid to want him. I couldn’t even trust him.
