“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I say, trying to wriggle out of his strict hold so I can steal another glass. That champagne was tasty, and I like the way it’s warming my belly.
“Why not, Orlaith?”
His words cut into me, and I cringe, thinking back to my little trip across the beam ...
He’ll work it out, and then I’ll probably wish I’d fallen off the damn thing and plummeted to my death.
I glance over to see him staring at me with wide eyes. “Well, now I’mveryintrigued,” he bites out, steering me toward a corner fringed with large urns that are spilling potted night lilies, turning our backs to the wall so that we’re looking out on the busy crowd.
Though his proximity chills me to the bone, it also sets fire to my skin. “Just remember, you’re the one who wanted me to come.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t very clear,” he mumbles, the baritone of his voice only serving to weaken my knees. “But me telling you not to come, trying to secure your dress, then locking you in your tower was my way ofuninvitingyou.”
Praying my cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel, I compose my features into what I picture is a vision of regal poise. “You took me to that meeting because you wanted to nudge me over my line. If you think I’m ready to face the world, why stop me?”
His eyes harden. “What I want, what I need, and what isrightare three entirely different things.”
I almost laugh, stabbing my gaze at the crowd giving us a healthy crescent of space. “How very cryptic of you.”
Can he hear the hammer of my heart? Because I can. It’s roaring in my ears, rattling me to the core.
It’s telling me to push him further—to hack and hack until I break him apart so I can inspect his insides. See if he’s just as stony beneath the hard surface.
I don’t realize his grip on my arm has loosened until cold fingertips graze across the bare skin at the small of my back ...
I jerk from the contact.
“Despite howmurderousI am,” he mumbles, and there’s a roundness to his words, like they had to veer their course to get here. “You do look ravishing in that color.”
My breath hitches, head whipping to the side, blood rushing to my cheeks as he begins to trace little circles over my sizzling skin.
They’re tight, taunting, and more delicate than the tapered tip of a paintbrush. They’re stirring my insides, twisting a coil of nerves in my lower stomach like a living, breathing, hot-blooded serpent.
A dampness forms between my legs, and I tighten the press of my thighs, feeling that flush shift from my cheeks, down my neck, where it pinches my nipples into hard peaks.
I’m a stone statue, tentative to move lest I scare him away. Worried that if I shift, he’ll smell my body’s reaction to the small dose of attention he’s gifting me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, barely loud enough to stir the air.
“Though I’m not sure how I feel about everyone being privy to all ...this,” he grinds out, drawing his circles lower,lower, until they’re dancing around one of the twin dimples stamped above my bum.
I clear my throat and try not to squirm.
He’snevertouched me this way—open and exploring. Like he’s painting little secrets on my skin.
“It’s just a back ...”
“It’s not justanyback, Orlaith.”
I swallow the tart taste of indecision, questioningeverythingI’m about to do.
With a few stirs of Rhordyn’s finger, he’s unwoven my resolve and turned me into a pathetic puddle of need. I’m a slave to these sips of attention he feeds me—I need them like I need the breath in my lungs—and I can’t afford it.
The cost is far too steep.
Strong, composed, resilient ...
“Why did you lock my door?” I ask, biting the words from my slate of hardened resolve.
