Free Breaking Fate by Georgia Lyn Hunter Page A

bureau in the dressing room. The buttons on her top had been fixed, too. She had no idea who was responsible — probably Hedori — but was extremely grateful.
    Darci left the dressing room and made her way back to the lounge. It was better she called a cab. Blaéz would be tired after an all-nighter. She picked up her cell phone and stopped. Damn, she had no idea where she was.
    At movement in her peripheral vision, she spun around, her hand clutching her throat. Blaéz stepped out from the other door to the left of the fireplace and stopped when he saw her. Her fear eased, but her foolish heart tripped up at the sight of him, so tall and gorgeous clad in leathers and tee. He must have just come in while she was in the shower. “You startled me.”
    “It wasn’t my intention.” His gaze skimmed over her. He frowned. “It’s still too early to leave for the library.”
    “Yes, I know. But I have tons to do. I like getting an early start.”
    After a moment, he nodded. “All right. Ten minutes.”
    “Oh no, I can't impose. You’ve already done so much. I can get a cab.”
    He sauntered across to where she stood in the living room and, taking her by surprise, he gently traced a finger over the bridge of her nose as if connecting the few freckles she had there. Those pale blue eyes drifted to her lips. Lingered. Tension crept into the stark lines of his striking face as if he were fighting some inner battle. Fingers clenching, he dropped his hand. “Ten minutes, Darci.”
    She stared for several long minutes at the empty doorway he’d disappeared through, her emotions all over the place. How could a simple touch unravel her so easily? Then Blaéz’s words hit her. Ten minutes? Damn it. She unglued her fingers from her phone, dropped it in her bag, and hurried to the dressing room for her shoes.
    She could hear the shower running as she hunted around for it.
    Cherrywood cupboards and shelves lined the walls on both sides, and adjacent, a floor-length mirror that reflected the entire room was mounted onto a wood-paneled wall. Darci found her pumps near the bureau and slipped them on. Setting her tote on the wooden chest, she searched through it for her travel-size moisturizer and quickly went through her facial care routine.
    As she tried to put some kind of order to her damp, curling hair, the bathroom door opened.
    Blaéz walked out. A towel draped precariously low on his hips. She gaped, speechless because what else could a girl do? Droplets of water rolled down his lightly tanned body. The man was a powerhouse of muscles. His sheer sensuality slithered around her and tightened like a silken trap.
    He raked his fingers through his short dark strands as he crossed to his closet near her. The tattoo on his biceps caught her attention. He was the epitome of big, bad, and dangerous, so it actually surprised her to see that he sported just that single piece of ink.
    The jet-black artwork appeared almost ethereal in design; a myriad of detailing and symbols made up the blade. “That’s an unusual tattoo.”
    He glanced at her. “It’s a sword.”
    She snorted. “I can see that.”
    His lips quirked as he pulled out a pair of jeans, then the towel dropped. Her breath caught at the side view of a perfect male backside.
    Jesus! Was he trying to kill her?
    She pivoted, grabbed a hair clamp from her tote and gripped her hair.
    Wait, were there scars on his back? Her heart pounding hard, she dared a look at him through the mirror, but he’d already pulled on a t-shirt. Perhaps she’d imagined those puckered, crisscrossing slashes? With everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours — her attack, the smoke woman, and a dire lack of sleep — she wasn’t surprised at her overworked imagination. Still, the images left a raw, clawing sensation in her stomach.
    Blaéz straightened from pulling on his boots. He met her gaze in the mirror. “Ready?”
    Caught staring at him, warmth surged into her cheeks. She