Protecting Shaylee (The Fae Guard Book 1) by Elle Christensen Page A

small gap between us. Keeping his eyes locked with mine, I see determination darkening his green gems to the color of fresh grass. I try not to notice how beautiful they are, holding tight to my anger and hurt, to keep from falling under his spell once again.
    “Just what I said, baby. ” He emphasizes the endearment with a low, smooth tone and it washes over me, heating my skin and making my panties even damper. “I’m not going to play games with you, Shaylee—you’re mine.” His head lowers until his lips are at my ear. “And you know it.”
    Tingles work their way down my spine, settling between my legs in a dull throb. I want to respond with a snarky comment, to tell him he’s wrong. But, I can’t. The words won’t come. Because he’s right. I am his. He pulls back slightly and I see a smug grin on his ridiculously perfect face. My eyes narrow and I mirror his actions, bringing my lips to his ear and letting them brush against the shell as I speak.
    “Maybe I am yours, Aden.” I feel his smile widen as his cheek rubs against mine. I run a finger down the middle of his chest until it reaches the band of his boxers, molded to his impressive ( why deny it?) erection. I slip the finger in and tug slightly, pulling him just a little bit closer. When I feel his breath hitch, I continue. “But, that doesn’t mean you get to have me.” I step back and bring my hand up to, condescendingly, pat his cheek. The smile has been effectively wiped from his face. I take advantage of his momentary astonishment and quickly step around him, entering the bathroom, firmly shutting the door, and clicking the lock. Perversely, I enjoy the fact that he is stuck, waiting for a nice warm shower after having been drenched in icy water.
    And this round goes to Shaylee!
    Once I grab a quick shower, I step out of the tub and wrap myself up in a scratchy, white towel, barely big enough to cover my chest and ass. As I stand here, dripping onto the rug, I contemplate my circumstances. Ok, so, I didn’t think things through when I huffed into the bathroom—I forgot clothes. Nice going, airhead.
    I don’t want to step outside the bathroom in my, practically nonexistent, towel. And the obstinate twit in me doesn’t want to ask him for help. The practical me rolls her eyes at my stubbornness, and her logic wins out. I call out to Aden and wait for his response but am met with silence. I call again and, when there is no response, I wonder if he has stepped out. Maybe he went to get breakfast or some other errand. I sigh in relief, that I’ll be able to get dressed before he returns, and open the door.
    Damn it! I stumble on my feet, when I see Aden leaning against the wall across from the door, wearing a towel wrapped low around his hips. My body reacts and I pull the towel tighter around myself, not that it does any good. His arms are folded across his muscular chest, but his stance is relaxed as he lazily peruses me from head to toe and back up. A cocky grin breaks out on his face, “Forget something, baby?”
    I glare at him and he just chuckles. Jackass. With an obnoxious ( ok, completely sexy) wink, he unfolds his arms and reaches down to grab the handle of my small suitcase. He lifts it easily and holds it out to me. If I reach for it, I’ll lose my grip on the towel. The arrogant look on his face tells me that he is completely aware of that fact. After a second of deliberation, I come to a decision. Why the hell not? Maybe it’ll torture him just a little. I drop the towel and grab the suitcase before spinning around and storming back into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind me. I can hear his laughter through the door. Next round to Aden. Shit.
    Digging in my bag, I pull out an old pair of stonewashed jeans and a black t-shirt with the words, “ You’re a great friend, but if the zombies chase us, I’m tripping you. ” I have a thing for funny shirts.
    I braid my long hair, quickly finish getting ready, and then step