The soft glow of candlelight danced across the room, shadows licking at the pale curtains as Nesta stood by the vanity, steam still curling from her damp hair. The scent of jasmine and warm bathwater clung to her skin. She had just begun to roll the sheer black stocking over her calf when she heard the low, rasping voice that never failed to ignite something deep in her chest. “Let me,” Cassian murmured. She turned slightly, her breath catching at the sight of him kneeling behind her. His broad, muscled frame—still damp from his own bath—filled the space with a quiet kind of power. He had shed his shirt, leaving only the worn leather warrior pants clinging to his thighs. His hair, dark and loose, brushed his shoulders as he looked up at her with eyes that burned hotter than any battlefield flame. “Cassian…” she started, but her voice trailed off as he took her ankle gently, his calloused hands a stark, delicious contrast to the softness of her skin. He slid the stocking higher, inch...