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When I look up, they’re all watching me, but it’s Sonya’s eyes that catch and hold mine. No irony there, no tease. Just a soft sympathy.
“The Hott brothers,” she says, smiling. “No mere mortal woman stands a chance.” And touches my shoulder, a gesture of solidarity.
God, I think. I hope you’re wrong.
22
Ivy
You know how sometimes you torture yourself even though you know it’s a terrible idea?
The house is empty. The security guard who Tuck found for me is gone now that the initial buzz about the wedding has died down a bit and Shane’s assistant and publicist have taken control of the messaging. My security detail will rejoin me closer to the wedding and be at my side through all the pre-wedding festivities, but for now, it’s just me.
I saunter into the living room like it’s nothing. Like I’m not about to do what I’m about to do. This makes zero sense because there’s nobody to pretend for, but…
Well, all the world’s a stage, and I’m my own best audience.
I turn on my TV setup. I flip through my choices—I could rewatch Crash Landing on You (one of my comfort binges) or I could start Queen Charlotte…
Still pretending I’m not doing this.
Or I could watch the second Crown of Spires movie. Dark Skies. The one with the infamous spire sex scene.
It’s a terrible idea. What good could possibly come of it?
I hover my finger over the remote button.
You know how this ends.
I cue it up.
And wow.
All things being equal, I probably wouldn’t be the biggest fan of the Crown of Spires series. I don’t usually love fantasy. But this is a terrific story. The redemption arc for Lord Extyllior is killer…and Shane is playing it to the hilt. Wounded hero with a brutal past, trying his best to be a good person for the woman he loves. And it’s obvious he loves her with every cell of his very, very hard body (and generous soul).
Lord Extyllior’s one of those men who holds himself back, denies himself what he wants…and then falls really fucking hard.
And like a lot of women, I’m a sucker for that kind of man.
By the time their enemies track them down, by the time Lord Extyllior, exhausted near to death from his flight with the woman he won’t admit he loves, is forced to stop and find a safe spot to spend the night, I’m all in. Like, holding my breath, biting my lip, wringing my hands, sweating bullets all in.
He flies the two of them to the top of the world, to the highest spire in the kingdom. Because that’s the only place he knows they’re safe, and he will stop at nothing to protect her—even though he won’t tell her how he feels about her. (To protect her! Sigh!)
His plan is to lash them both to the spire, back to back, so they can get some sleep, regroup, marshal his forces, and fight.
But seeing her like that—bound to the spire, the leather straps he’s torn off his own clothes biting into the softness of her skin—snaps the last thread of his self-control. So when she says “Mav?—”
It’s the first time she’s used his first name, Mavryx.
There’s pleading in her voice.
He can’t resist her, even though he knows he should. She’s so good, and he’s so bad for her.
It’s because he’s such a bad man that he kisses her.
And then?—
It’s all over. All the self-denial, all the waiting, all the pushing her away. He’s kissing her and kissing her, and I have to admit, it’s one of the hottest on-screen kisses I’ve ever seen. Like, on fire hot—or maybe that’s me, peeling back the blanket I threw over myself and fanning my face as his hands roam her body, wrapping over the leather strap at her wrists.
