While I’m caught up in the complexity and forbidden effect of her outfit, her face remains completely placid. As if she couldn’t care less whether anyone else was here or not.
But that indifference only adds to Cinder’s allure, only enhances her mystique in a shroud of enigma that surrounds her.
Everywhere I go I command the attention of the room, whether I’m a prince or simply a man who exudes sexual confidence and power. But at this human girl's boots, I’m nothing. I’m no one. And she is everything. All that matters.
The power I’ve always innately held slides over until she sucks it up like a sponge, absorbing it all.
And for some reason, I find that impossibly and unforgivably hot.
“As enchanting as they are elusive, our Lost Girls,” the genie declares, his arms sweeping toward the three girls with dramatic flair. “Each night they weave magic behind the bar, serving concoctions that dazzle and delight. But beware,” he adds, his tone dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, “for their charms are potent, and their tales are as intoxicating as the drinks they pour.”
The crowd cheers, riled by the introduction as the Lost Girls dance and sway, urging them on. Goldie raises her arms over her head as if commanding the beat that controls the room like a living pulse. Snow leans over and pours liquor directly into someone’s mouth.
Cinder clomps several feet across the bar before dropping her ass like it’s hot. The move is so fast and slick it acts as a defibrillator to my heart, jolting it so hard I think it might actually beat. She rises slowly from the crouch, her slim hips rolling.
A guy reaches out and clamps a hand on her boot. Cinder’s head snaps in his direction, violet eyes narrowing with danger.She tilts her head slightly as if considering the man at her feet. Then she pushes a single finger into the center of his forehead, pushing him back until he stumbles away, releasing her. She struts off without looking back.
Using the stairs on either side, the Lost Girls descend and take their positions behind the bar. In an instant, the atmosphere shifts from anticipation to exhilaration. Bottles fly, liquids swirl and glasses clink—a dance of spirits orchestrated by the trio.
As the genie steps down, blending into the background from whence he came, the bar erupts into a whirlwind of activity, the Lost Girls at its heart.
A whoosh of air flows over my face. Once, then twice.
I turn to find the hot librarian chick fanning me with her book. “Thought you could use a cool down after that.”
Hot librarian is right.
Chapter 6
A Proposal from Prince Hot Pants
CINDER
Of course, the prince of persuasion is wearing leather pants. I hate the way they cling to him because it makes my mouth water.
It takes every bit of my control not to gape at Kaison as I take my place behind the bar. In the Common World, Prince Charming shows up as a different persona, and seeing this side of him rocks me to my core.
And my core gives an involuntary clench having suddenly become very hot, wet, andwanty.
Traitorous bitch.
Tonight, spikes dangle from Kaison’s earlobes and a line of metal studs curve along the shell of his ear. Not silver of course—unlike mine. My knees weaken when I drink in the tattoos spreading like a web of temptation across his chest, exposed by the unbuttoned shirt. The intricate feathers of the wings were crafted by a master tattoo artist. They almost look like they are about to flutter and ruffle in the wind.
My temperature shoots up as my heart is strangled by an invisible hand, and desire rushes downward toward my belly.
I fucking hate it.
I especially despise the twinkle in his eye. It’s as if he knows just how devastating his boyish charm mixes with his dangerous, taboo energy. He looks as though he’s stepped straight from the pages of a dark mafia romance novel, complete with the billowing shirt.
Since when am I attracted to men who exude sex and schmooze whether in Hessian boots or leather and piercings?
Now apparently. Right freaking now.
I’ve had my fair share of sexual partners, but not a single one of them affected me to this degree. Not even when they were shoving their dicks between my legs did I feel this level of heat or internal volatility.
It has always been about scratching an itch, experimenting with touch and pleasure, nothing more.
It’s. . . fine.
