Celine bit down on her molars, trying to keep her expression levelled as she huffed internally. The most cloistered and devoted monk would have surrendered with a reaction. It irritated her to no end that Bastien could not be breached, that he could easily find effective ways to taunt her and she could find none. Perhaps she had misjudged his ability to act the celibate when it suited his interest.
“Unless you’re too scared to risk it,” Celine mumbled indifferently.Come on. Come on. Come on.
“Mind games are not your forte, baby vamp.”
Ugh!
Still, Bastien had a few wounds she knew would hurt—or at the very least, prickle him if she pressed on them. So she decided to try her luck with each, hoping one would be tender enough to make him bend.
Placing her palms on the table behind her, she leaned back. “You are not denying it.”
At long last, Bastien pitched himself forward. He approached her with a nonchalance that made Celine’s skin crawl with ire. Looking down at his hands, he chuckled. “And what exactly would I be scared of?”
Celine only lifted a brow.
“Jacques?” he scoffed. “It’s adorable how you think that makes a difference. If I wanted to have you—”
“What is stopping you, then?” Men were so easy to bait. Celine wanted to laugh. “Since you think I don’t love him, it should be elementary for you to have me.”
Her elation died down when Bastien pushed her knee to the side with his and settled himself in front of her. Celine swallowed the gasp that rose in the back of her throat. She didn’t expect his hands to drop on her thighs next, slyly pushing the dress up even higher, until it revealed the little lace detailing on her stocking.
But his eyes were fastened on hers, not looking down, and they had turned a serious shade of grey.
“You don’t think I can have you?” he asked calmly.
“You don’t,” Celine said flippantly, tugging a piece of thread off her dress, pretending not to notice his fingers moving up, along the soft curve of her waist. “Jacques has me.”
Bastien rolled his eyes.
“You always say how you’re better than him—”
“Oh, I am,” he insisted, splaying his hand firmly on the small of her back, tugging her closer.
A flash of anxiety clutched around her heart as she said, “Then show me.” What if he thought she was being serious? What would happen then? She didn’t actually want him to do anything.
But Celine refused to let her nonchalance break. She was the one who had initiated this—if Bastien was playing along, he was the fool. “Show me what you were going to do at the masquerade.”
As if in answer, he leaned forward. She felt his breath on the crook of her neck, a shiver running down her spine.
“And what do I get in return?” Bastien asked, running the back of his hand deliberately between her shoulder bones, stopping where the dress was already buttoned and undoing just one. Then another.
“Count it as your apology for the party. And the challenge we almost lost.”
His fingers halted on the third button. “I have already delivered something to your house as an apology for that,” he said quietly.
“Your secret deliveries were the start to all this. I don’t care for it.”
“What do you want then?”
Hoisting herself up, Celine got close enough to touch the tip of his nose with hers. “A kiss,” she whispered.
When Bastien tilted his head to the side, she saw the slightest hint of hesitation flit across his features. Then a lock of hair slipped from the gel, obscuring it. Instinctively, Celine reached her fingers to smooth it back.
His eyes were roaming her face intently. “Are you sure?”
Celine could only nod as his lips parted, enough that she could feel the breath of a kiss on the corner of her mouth.
And then, he laughed.
