Greylen loved that her playfulness was back, but what pleased him more was that she seemed to glow these past weeks. He filled her in on his conversation, rubbing away the line of worry that crossed her forehead as she sat on his lap. “He’ll be home soon, Gwen,” he assured her, “hopefully in but a month’s time.”

“I hope you’re right, Greylen. Isabelle’s so hard to keep company. I swear if I had some Prozac, I’d add it to her tea every morning. And your hair.” She sighed, running her fingers through it. “Well, your hair becomes grayer with each day that passes.”

“I fear you’re right,” he agreed. “Does my appearance bother you, love?”

Gwen could only stare at him. Greylen had never been more appealing and that was saying a lot. His face was more sculpted now, his looks more penetrating, and his hair made her want to jump him all the time. He had enticing gray streaks now, not many, but in contrast to his black hair and bronzed skin—jeez, the man was hot.

“Greylen, I…I—You—well—” Her face was flaming as she backed away.

He laughed, pulling her against him. “For someone
with all your intelligence, I find your stammering enchanting.”

He muffled her embarrassment with a kiss and carried her upstairs. He sat patiently on a chair in their bathing chamber as she poured water over his head before trimming his hair. She knew he loved the way she rubbed her fingers into his scalp in a deep massage, careful of the scar along the back of his head.

“Do mine now, please,” she instructed as she held the shears before him.

“Are you daft? I’ll not cut your hair.” He reached out, brushing his fingers through her hair.

“Please, it bothers me,” she asked again.

“You ask much. What would you give me in return?”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.”

“You’ve no secrets from me, Gwen. You’re completely guileless.”

Her mouth fell open at what sounded like an insult. “Thanks.”

“Very well,” he conceded. “I’ll cut your gorgeous locks. Then I’ll reveal your secret myself.” Greylen carefully trimmed the ends of her hair, then finally relented and cut it to rest between her shoulder blades as she’d asked.

“Well, great master, in your most arrogant, pigheaded, overlord way, tell me, what’s my secret?”

“If you insist on playing games, you’ll lose,” he said, pulling her against him.

“Oh, I’ll not lose, husband,” she assured him.

“I can taste your defeat,” he growled, fisting her hair in his hand and bringing her face close to his. “Tell me again the names you carelessly flaunt,” he demanded.

“Master.” She breathed against his lips. “Arrogant.” She breathed again, this time rewarded with a slow, sensual kiss he ended with a gentle scrape.