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Three: yes, all of them.
Wasn’t like it was going to be hard, right? The switches had been there a long damn time, and I was extremely used to powering down the “less acceptable” side of myself by now. Or so I liked to keep telling myself.
“An expression meaning what?”
“Many things,” I volleyed to his quiet question. “And nothing. Sometimes, things are just better said without real words.”
“Things like what?”
I bared teeth in teasing exasperation. The man hardly reacted. At last, he lifted both hands to the back of his cushy chair. Period. Not a blink, flinch, or twitch after that.
“Anyone ever call you a dog with a bone?” I finally groused.
“More than once.” Still no falter—though he did grip the chair tighter. Sweet God, he had breathtaking fingers. They’d even be creepy long, if they didn’t bely such latent strength. And sensuality. And the ability to use both quite well…
Switches. Off.
“So what did the ‘gah’ represent this time?”
Yeah. Dog with a damn bone.
“Confusion,” I confessed. “Maybe frustration.” Probably frustration, if my raging hormones had anything to say about it. What the hell was in the secret sauce of this man’s presence that had fried my libido this hard, this fast? He was so perfect even now, with his stance visibly tensing and his features crunching to a grimace.
“Hmmph,” he grunted. “That does not sound like a very constructive word, then.”
“Says you,” I flung back. “It’s very constructive. And versatile. As a matter of fact, it’s my go-to for celebration as much as frustration.”
“And I have not given you cause for much celebration yet.”
Well…hell. He had to go and do it again. Flip my game plan completely on its side. Who the hell was I kidding? The game plan had been shredded the moment I walked in here. His quiet, commanding concern just aided in the shred.
Not. Acceptable.
I needed him to be the uptight asshat I’d drawn out so clearly in LA. While we were at it, where was the doughy dude who wasn’t more beautiful than his gossip rag pictures? And the prince who was too royal to be worried about a “commoner” like me?
Flip. The. Switches.
“Well then, let’s talk about a celebration.” Inner fist pump. There was the switch flipper I knew and loved. Long as I had the ball rolling, I nudged a little harder. “That starts with being straight-up with me. Your Highness, will you or will you not be proposing to Ambyr Stratiss?”
