There was such a simple pleasure in watching the young woman before him, mostly because she seemed so incapable of hiding her thoughts from flashing across her face, or controlling her impulses — as evidenced by the way she has no hesitation in inhaling his scent from his sweater. What came next made his brows rise. All of the languages he knew, and yet the sound that escaped her lips matched none of them.
When she lowered the sweater enough to speak coherently, Cole could see that her face was bright red. It was almost as if she'd spent far too much time in the sun. He nodded when she translated her previous response. With a smile, he reached out to brush the wet hair back from where the strands tangled on her forehead. "That's good—" he started, but soon her face was buried in his sweater again. Cole wasn't sure what to expect the next time she emerged, but it certainly didn't have anything to do with fungi. If he hadn't seen the color in her cheeks, hadn't felt the thrill of energy rush through her when his fingers stroked her skin, he might have thought she was immune to his charms. But no, she was not. It would seem, however, that her curiosity in the world around her ran strong.
As they reached the bench, Cole picked up both cups and held one out to her. "It's no problem at all," he told her. "While you're in the shower, I'll have your clothes sent out to be cleaned." His words slowed as he eyed her outfit, but he didn't say anything further about her choice in clothing. It appeared to be very functional — if one refrained from taking a swim in them. "I'm sure I have something you can borrow."
Cole took a sip of his coffee and then offered the girl his arm. "Shall we? You shouldn't stand around out here too long when you're soaking wet. I will, of course, need to know your name now." The incubus flashed her a slow grin. "I don't let just any stranger into my home."