“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” He gives me his full attention.
I lick my lips, pulse quickening at the thought of what I’m about to ask.
“What would you have done if I weren’t your enemy’s daughter?”
He doesn’t answer. But his eyes darken, a storm rising in them. I feel it in my chest, in the beat of my own pulse.
He lifts his hand to my face, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear. My breath stops. Altogether.
And then, just as tenderly, he cradles my face in his gloved hand.
“You don’t want to hear the answer, Princess.” His voice is strained.
I lean into his touch.
“Why not?” I whisper.
His eyes darken further. He’s resisting. I don’t want him to, even though I’m afraid. Afraid of what will come once I give myself to this man whose name I don’t even know.
His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth.
“Some things should remain unsaid.” He speaks like he’s forcing himself.
Slowly, his hand leaves my face. The loss hits me deep in my gut, tightening it. But the tremor in his fingers gives me hope—something to hold onto.He wants this. Something stands in his way.
He moves away from the bed, toward his closet. I slide off the bed. The ache between my thighs is almost unbearable. If this keeps up, I’ll throw myself at him within two days. Which I don’t want to do. After that kiss attempt, I learned that much.
I sigh and walk out of his room.
There’s no option but to endure this frustrating sexual tension.
I reach the dining room before him and shamelessly study him as he enters—the way his body moves, the sway of his hands, the precise distance between each step.
I make a show of it—propping my chin on my palm, elbow resting on the table. For this, I’ve taken Antonio’s chair since it faces the door. He can have mine today.
After feasting on the rest of him, I settle my eyes on his. The heat in his gaze finds its target—my already aching center.
He settles into his chair like a king. Straight back. Shoulders wide, taut with confidence. And the king’s eyes are fixed on me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I purr, teasing. “I’ll start thinking you’re interested.”
He looks away. “Don’t flirt, Princess.”
I grin. “Why not?”
“Your father wouldn’t like his daughter flirting with the man who is planning to kill him.”
I purse my lips and glare, but he’s not looking.
“Monster,” I scoff.
I shoot him dirty looks for the rest of breakfast. He ignores every single one.
After breakfast, I go to Bruno’s room and resume the only thing there is to do here: read. I’ve finished five books so far. Today I’ll start the new one I stole—no, borrowed—yesterday.You don’t steal, Wen. You’re a good girl. You just borrow things without permission.
After two wasted hours on the book, I decide I’m not enjoying it. The book isn’t bad. I’m just not in it, because a gray-eyed, cold, grumpy man has taken up residence in my head.
