He watches me, leg rising from the tepid bathwater, as I step down onto the tiled floor. I flip clear my wet, caramel hair and look back at him, seeing his eyes slid down my tattooed spine and linger on my backside. I reach for my robe, but he seizes it in quick fingers and folds it over his arm.
“You’re like a Degas painting,” he says, his smile pure honey. “Woman in a bath. You know it?”
“What do you want, Noah.” I turn, and he sees I’ve released my claws.
“I got a job for the wolf.”