Xaden Riorson is kneeling before me, his black hair at the perfect level for me to run my fingers through the thickness. It’s probably the only thing that’s soft about him. How many women have felt those strands between their fingers? Why the hell do I care? “You’re going to have to walk through the pain, and we have to do it fast.” He grabs a boot, then taps my foot. “Can you lift it up?” I nod, lifting my foot. Then he robs me of every logical thought by putting on my boots and lacing them one at a time. This is the same man who had no problems with my death just a few months ago, and my
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