"Lover At Last" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ward, J.R.)

Standing naked in front of the mirror in his bath, he put the hair dryer down and drew his fingers through things up top. The waves settled into their normal pattern, the blond strands finding a perfect arrangement to complement his square, even face.

The image he regarded was exactly as it had appeared the night before and the night before that, and yet as familiar as his reflection was, he felt like it was of a different, separate person.

His insides had changed so much, it seemed only reasonable to assume the transformation would be echoed in his appearance. Alas, it was not.

Turning away and walking out to his closet, he supposed he should not be surprised, either by his inner upset, or his outer, false composure.

After he and Blay had spoken, it had taken him an hour to move everything from the bedroom he had stayed in with his former lover back to this suite down the hall. HeтАЩd been given these accommodations when heтАЩd initially come to stay within the household, but as things had progressed with Blay, his belongings had gradually made their way into that other room.

The process of migration had been incremental, just as his love had been: a case of one shirt here and a pair of shoes there, a hairbrush one night, and socks the nextтАжa conversation of shared values followed by a seven-hour sexual marathon chased with a tub of Breyers coffee ice cream and only one spoon.

He had been unaware of the distance traveled by his heart, similar to the way a hiker became lost in the wilderness. A half mile out and you could still see where you had started, could easily find the way back home. But ten miles and a number of forks in your trail later and there was no going back. At that point, you had no choice but to marshal the resources to build yourself a shelter and put down fresh roots.

He had assumed he would be constructing this new personal place with Blay.

Yes, he had. After all, how long could unrequited love truly survive? As fire required oxygen to kindle, so too did emotion.

Not when it came to Qhuinn, apparently. Not for Blay.

Saxton was resolved about not leaving the royal household, however. Blay had been right about thatтАФWrath, the king, did need him, and moreover, he enjoyed his work here. It was fast-paced, challengingтАжand the egoist in him wanted to be the lawyer who reformed the law the proper way.

Assuming the throne didnтАЩt get overturned and he didnтАЩt lose his head under a new regime.

But you couldnтАЩt live your life worried about things like that.

Withdrawing a houndstooth wool suit from the closet, he picked a button-down and a vest out, and laid everything on the bed.

It was a sad, rather unattractive clich├й to go looking for something nubile and pneumatic to self-medicate emotional pain with, but he much preferred having an orgasm over getting sloppy drunk. Also, the pretend-until-you-find-purpose-again maxim did hold water.

And was especially true as he looked at himself all dressed up in the bathroomтАЩs full-length mirror. He certainly appeared to have it together, and that helped.

Before he left, he double-checked his phone. The Old Laws had been recast per WrathтАЩs orders, and now he was on standbyтАФawaiting his next assignment.

He would find out what it was soon enough, he imagined.

Wrath was notoriously demanding, but never unreasonable.

In the meantime, he was going to drown his sorrow in the only kind of six-pack that appealedтАФsomething twentyish, six-foot-ish, athleticтАж.

And preferably dark haired. Or blond.





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