Page 20 of Queen of Tempests and Sin

As I touched his hand, a jolt of sparks fired up my arm and settled into a delicious hum low in my belly.

I stood, my hand in his huge paw, and looked up to meet his tempestuous eyes. He was the most devilishly handsome man I’d ever seen: his sharp cheekbones and aquiline nose made him look almost aristocratic. A fine stubble shadowed his square jaw, and his soft, lush lips made him simply mouthwatering.

As the breeze worried a lock of his hair which had escaped his top-knot, his gaze was intense, his focus on me absolute… consuming, and my breath stuttered in my lungs.

But this man was not human. His movements a moment ago were superhumanly fast and preternaturally smooth—it was unnatural. He was faster than thought; faster than instinct. Was he a demigod? At the thought, fear surged, swift and sharp, like poison flooding my bloodstream, threatening to take hold. I breathed through my nose and exhaled slowly as I tried to steady my hammering heart.

‘Are you well?’ His deep voice rumbled through me, grounding and terrifying in equal measure.

‘Yeah. Yes.’ I gave a breathy, startled laugh. ‘I’m fine. Where are we?’ I pulled my hand from his and glanced around the quiet street, noting the soft light spilling from a restaurant called Jolie.

‘It’s a French restaurant. The food is exceptional. I’ve hired the whole place.’ My brows hiked up. ‘I like my privacy.’ He raised one broad shoulder and turned to cross the quiet street. When I caught up to him, he turned to me again. ‘You don’t eat fish, do you?’

‘No, I don’t eat anything that breathes. I’m vegetarian.’

‘Good.’ He extended the word, and my heart did a sort of extra little pitter-patter. Gods, I needed to get a grip on my raging hormones. ‘Come on, Little Red. Let’s eat.’ He moved again, graceful and commanding, holding the door open as we stepped into Jolie.

Little Red. My heart squeezed at the nickname. I’m not small by any means, but this colossal man made me feel tiny. He dwarfed me, standing almost a head and shoulders taller.

As I stepped into the restaurant, the itch of anxiety returned—a kernel of unease sprouting deep in my gut. The fear from earlier seeded like a toxic weed, because I knew this situation was off—something about it made me jittery, and I never got jittery.

He’s almost certainly a demigod.

The thought sank its claws into my chest, scraping nerves raw. If that were true, this job had just gone from risky to near impossible.

‘Is everything alright?’ Si’s voice was low, laced with concern as he stepped closer, laying a hand on my shoulder. The warmth of his touch made my heart stumble. His scent hit me next, wrapping around me like a luxurious blanket on a frosty afternoon—masculine spice, patchouli, and the crisp kiss of ocean air. Blood rushed to my cheeks, and more… delicate parts. I inhaled deeply, greedy, like someone chasing the high they swore they’d never need again.

Fear and arousal—what a heady, but reckless mix.

Act normal. Act normal. Act fucking normal.

‘Of course,’ I said with a short, airy laugh, taking a step away from his warmth and looking around.

Jolie was charming, breezy—clean lines and character everywhere. Exposed wood beams, rustic brick, and gleaming white tile gave the restaurant a modern yet welcoming feel.

‘Monsieur Thalassa.’ A man with salt and pepper hair and a matching goatee strode towards us, his hand outstretched.

‘Content de te voir, Albert,’ Si responded as he clasped the man’s hand firmly, then the two exchanged fluid words in French.

Hmmm, he speaks French.

Si reverted to English as he turned to me. ‘May I introduce my friend, Amelia?’

Albert greeted me with a polite bow of the head and a strong handshake. ‘Champagne?’ He tilted his head at me.

‘Would be very well received,’ I said with a smile. He chuckled and led us to an elegant marble bar, where he poured flutes of Cristal with practiced elegance.

We sat to eat. The starter of charred radicchio with hazelnut vinaigrette, thinly sliced apple, and onion soubise was divine. Our conversation so far had stayed surface-level: travel, wine, a touch of politics.

‘You speak French?’ I asked, popping the last bite into my mouth.

His shoulders tightened ever so slightly, but he recovered smoothly. ‘I do.’ His eyes seemed to drill into my very being. ‘So… ‘ he said, voice dipping. ‘Tell me about your ex-husband.’ Those beguiling eyes held mine, and I almost snorted wine up my nose.

Shit. Here we go.

I took a steadying breath and let the chameleon take over, sliding into character as easily as slipping on a glove. ‘He’s a narcissist,’ I said. ‘I married him when I was young, you see, and I didn’t see the signs. He’s much older… and I was just another beautiful object for him to collect. A trophy.’ Si’s eyes swirled with something akin to gathering clouds. I blinked, leaning in slightly.

What the hell is going on with his eyes?