“Mostly I spent a lot of time being angry at you,” she muttered, which really meant that she'd missed him enough to be angry at him. Nel didn't hold onto anger all that long, in general, because she was more predisposed to turn her attention to happy things than to dwell on the unhappy ones. But she'd dwelt on Murdoch. After a minute or two, she tilted her face to nuzzle into his hair, simple affection that better answered his question, really, than any words she might have used. Then she sniffed. “You smell awful.” Well and he'd just been on the road, where she doubted he'd been often able to find a bucket of water, let alone any kind of soap. She didn't mind, really, not really, but it certainly knocked him down a few pegs as far as pleasure slaves went. A smile still played on her mouth as she lifted her head, and she nudged him a little with the arm he'd preoccupied his face with. “You're not allowed in my bed til you bathe. It's a nice bed. It's like the nicest bed I've ever had.” Which was sad, but utterly true. |