From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

I snorted. “I’m sure.” We reached myy door. “What did yyou need to
talk about?”
He motioned to the room, and figuring what he had to sayy was
something he didn’t want overheard, I went to open the door—
“I should enter first, Princess.” He easilyy side-stepped me.
“Whyy?” I frowned at his back. “Do yyou think someone could be
waiting for me?”
“If the Dark One came for yyou once, he’ll come for yyou again.”
A chill danced down myy spine as Hawke entered the room. Two oil
lamps had been left burning byy the door and bed, and wood had been added
to the fireplace, casting the room in a soft, warm glow. I didn’t stare too
long at the bed, which meant that I somehow ended up staring at Hawke’s
broad back as he scanned the room. The edges of his hair brushed the
collar of his tunic, and those strands looked so…soft. I hadn’t touched
them that night at the Red Pearl, and I wished I had.
I needed help.
“Is it okayy for me to enter?” I asked, clasping myy hands together. “Or
should I wait out here while yyou inspect under the bed for strayy dust
bunnies?”
Hawke looked over his shoulder. “It’s not dust bunnies I’m worried
about. Steps, on the other hand? Yes.”
“Oh, myy gods—”
“And the Dark One will keep coming until he has what he wants,” he
said, looking awayy. I shivered. “Your room should alwayys be checked
before yyou enter it.”
I folded myy arms over myy chest, chilled despite the fire. I watched as
he circled back to the door, quietlyy closing it.
Hawke faced me, one hand on the hilt of a short sword, and the
flipping in myy chest doubled. His face was so strikinglyy pieced together.
From the wide set of his lips, the upward slant of his eyyebrows, to the
shadowyy hollows under his high, broad cheekbones, he could’ve been the
muse for the paintings that hung in the cityy’s Atheneum.
“Are yyou all right?” Hawke asked.
“Yes. Whyy do yyou ask?”
“Something appeared to happen to yyou as the Duke addressed the
people.”