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“Kian.” I reach an entreating hand out to him, but he looks at it like it’s a snake about to bite him. Or worse, like I am.
“That’s Prince Kian,” he grinds out.
Wow. The only thing missing is the to you. And considering how much time he spent with his tongue in my mouth yesterday, I’d say he’s really pissed off to pull the whole prince card out.
Not to mention, even before that I’d never thought of him as Prince Kian—I spent so many months listening to Garrett tell stories about his “little” brother, Kian, that it’s hard for me to think of him as anything else—even though he’s a captain in the Navy and currently first in line for the throne. But if that’s the way he wants to play this…
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Excuse me?” I sound confused, but keeping up with his conversational twists and turns isn’t easy.
“I asked what exactly you’re sorry for.” His gaze cuts like broken bottle glass. “For addressing me in an improper manner? For kissing me at the gala and at your house yesterday? Or for fucking my brother? There’s a lot of ground between the three, so I’m curious as to which one it is that you’re apologizing for.”
Behind him, Lucas shifts uncomfortably and suddenly he’s looking anywhere but at the two of us. Even so, I can feel my cheeks start to burn. The lack of privacy is one more similarity from my time with Garrett, and it somehow makes all of this so much worse.
Humiliated now—and angry and hurt—I lash out before I can think better of it. “I’d never apologize for fucking Garrett. He’s way too good in bed. Besides, you’re the one who kissed me.”
He steps forward then, fists clenched at his sides and for a moment—just a moment—I’m afraid of the storm I see in his eyes. But Kian’s touch is gentle even as he presses the palm of his hand against my collarbone and his fingers against my pulse points.
“Who are you?” he demands.
“Exactly who I told you I was the other night. A waitress, a bartender, a writer.” I clear my throat. “A woman who came here as an exchange student in college and fell in love with this country.”
“With this country or with my brother?”
It’s the question I’ve been dreading, the one I really, really don’t want to answer. But the look on Kian’s face warns me not to lie and I wouldn’t anyway. He deserves the truth.
So I swallow, my throat bobbing against his fingers, before admitting, “Both.”
He recoils like I hit him and I find myself wanting to apologize again, wanting to explain myself even though he’s the one with all the power in this situation. Even though he’s the one acting like an ass.
“So why the fuck did you come on to me at the gala if you’re in love my brother?” For a second—just a moment, really—his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly. But then he takes a deep breath, and his hand slowly relaxes. He doesn’t move it, though. He keeps it right where it is, an intimate and eerie imitation of collaring. “Or is it just the crown you love and you don’t care who’s wearing it?”
“You’re going to accuse me of being a crown chaser one time too many, and you will pay the consequences for it.”
His eyes narrow.
“Yeah, well, if the crown fits, wear it, right? I said I was in love with Garrett, not that I love him still. It was a long time ago.” I glare up at him, refusing to be intimidated by the ice in his gaze or the calloused fingers at my throat. “And I wasn’t coming on to you. I was rescuing you from an uncomfortable situation. It’s a very different thing.”
“And yesterday?”
“You came to my house. I told you it was a bad idea and you kissed me anyway.”
He lifts one sardonic brow. “And you were just along for the ride?”
“What can I say? You’re a really good kisser.”
That startles him, shakes him out of his rage for one second, two. I can even see the corners of his lips start to crook upward in his trademark sexy smile.
“I bet you say that to all the royals.”
It’s my turn to lift a brow. “Just the ones I want to fuck. Obviously.”
He lets out a frustrated sigh, shoves his free hand through his wild hair. “You should have told me.”
“I should have told you,” I agree.
