I almost curse when his cold hand grabs a handful of my ass, cupping it like he’s measuring the size.
Bile rises in my throat. Please, god. Don’t let Malec watch me like this. He’d hate me for this, maybe even think I’m playing him too.
It’s for Diana.
Get a grip.
“I don’t remember you having scars, my little fairy…”
His breath rasps against my bare skin—so close the excuse of a panty I’m wearing doesn’t even block it.
One drop. Two.
Screw it—three. Just in case.
I take a deep breath and toss the tiny bottle under the leather sofa, knocking over the metal ice bucket in the same motion—loud enough to draw his eyes away as the bottle disappears beneath the it. Then I turn around.
“Silly fairy me… walking is so hard sometimes. How about we fly instead?”
I settle into his lap, holding his glass, teasing it against my lips as my eyes lock onto his.
I never thought I could hate green eyes this much.
He wraps his fingers around mine on the glass, his face tilting toward mine.
The glass is the only thing separating our lips.
“You’re not Tatiana,” he growls.
But I know that tone—it’s not suspicion, not anger. It’s a pleasure.
“Of course I’m not Tatiana, silly human. I had to beg her for just a few minutes with you… so you could taste a little new magic.”
I drag my tongue slowly across the cold surface of the glass. My pulse starts racing, but my gaze doesn’t move from his.
Thank god for this disguise. At least it lets me pretend this isn’t me—for my sake. Not Roran, but someone else behind the wheel.
Still, my stomach flips when he groans. The illusion doesn’t feel so safe anymore.
He takes the glass from my hands but keeps me in his lap. He releases his grip on my back and dips his little finger—crowned by a silver cup ring—into the drink.
He pulls it out and glances between the glass and me.
I freeze.
Did he notice? He couldn’t have…
He leans forward, casually placing the glass on the black wooden table.
Then—before I can react—he rips off my mask like it’s nothing but paper.
Fuck.
My heart slams so hard it feels like it might crack through my ribs.
He can’t recognize me. Not like this.
I never wear makeup like I did today, maybe I’m still safe. I don’t dare move, holding still like a ticking bomb as his eyes narrow on my face.
