GRAYSON STARED at the small wooden tub as if it were a trap. "Wash it? In that?"
"Yes. In that," Mailah said, pouring hot water from the kettle. Steam rose between them, dampening the stray hairs at her temples. She slid a rough block of gray lye soap across the table. "Take off the shirt."
He didn't hesitate. He grabbed the hem of his dark tunic and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion.
The sudden bareness of his chest filled the tight kitchen space. He was a mountain of hard muscle and old, faint scars that didn't belong to this world. The heat radiating from his skin hit the chilly morning air, instantly warming the space between them.
He dropped the egg-stained shirt into the water with a splash that hit his boots.
"Gently," Mailah warned, taking a step back. "You're going to flood the kitchen."
Grayson didn't listen. He plunged his large hands into the tub, grabbed the fabric, and squeezed.
