Page 33 of The Encore’s Crown

“Excuse me,” he mutters as he stands.

Everyone looks up, confused. Rithy mouths, What? But Kiri doesn’t answer. He’s already weaving through the empty tables and chairs in our private dining area, heading straight for the bathroom. My heart jumps, for the first time since the temple, I’m not angry or hurt. I’m aware, in a very inconvenient and heated way, that something I did got to him. That he cares.

That he feels this dangerous, messy thing as intensely as I do.

The hallway between the bathrooms is narrow and dim, music drifting from the kitchen. The air is coated in steam, warm and humid against my skin. I’m halfway to the ladies’ room when Kiri steps out of the men’s with his head down, shaking water off his hands like he’s trying to get rid of whatever thought just destroyed him.

Perfect.

“What the hell was that?” I snap, not bothering to lower my voice. My patience is paper-thin.

The words hit him before he even sees me. He startles, then covers it so quickly it would be impressive if it didn’t piss me off. He leans one shoulder against the wall like he’s the calmest man alive, like the thud of his heartbeat isn’t trying to fight its way out of his throat.

“What was what?” he replies, aiming for something nonchalant. I glare back at him, long enough that his mask slips and he swallows. His eyes linger along my face, my mouth, the neckline of my dress, then yank away like looking directly at me might actually kill him. He drags a hand over the back of his neck, jaw tight, skin flushed from something that has nothing to do with the steam.

“The idea of being friends was to protect you from this world,” he mutters. “Not for you to just jump into bed with another musician.”

I cross my arms, slow and pointed. Letting him feel every ounce of restraint scraping under my skin.

“I’m sorry, did someone protect my sister? Her and Rafe are so happy it’s gross, existing in this terrible world you think I need saving from.” He flinches, barely, but I see it. I step closer. “You're just jealous, that's all this is.”

He scoffs, the kind of scoff men use when they’re caught and cornered.

“Whatever.” He looks down, then looks up. He checks behind us like he’s hoping someone will appear and save him from me. Then he starts drumming against the wall, restless, like he’s trying to burn the feeling out through his fingers. Finally, he meets my eyes.

“You know what?” he says, voice tight. “She’s your age, no messy past. I bet they’d all fucking approve. Go for it. Knock yourself out.”

I push off the opposite wall, arms still crossed, stepping right into his space. “You’re a bad liar. Did you know that?”

He steps into me too, two magnets pretending they’re not already seconds from collision.

“No, I mean it,” he says, mouth twisting. “A double wedding? Fuck, the fans would eat that shit up.”

I press a single finger into his chest, light enough to be a tease, firm enough to be a taunt. “Do you actually hear yourself? I bet you were just jerking off in there, thinking about me and Signe and this movie you've made up in your head.”

He pushes forward like he’s done being careful, and suddenly I’m the one stepping back, once, twice, my spine meeting the wall before I can decide whether I meant to retreat or invited him to follow. He cages me there with nothing but his body and the ruin in his eyes. His other hand flexes at his side like it’s taking every ounce of control he has not to put it on me, until finally he places it tentatively on the wall beside my head. My breath catches.

“Is that what you were thinking about? Me? Doing that? Who's making up movies now?” he murmurs, deep and dangerous, trying to sound in control when he looks like he's coming apart. His chest is close enough that I can feel the heat of him through my dress. Close enough that one careless breath would make us touch. My back arches off the wall, pulled toward the space he refuses to close, my body betraying me so completely his eyes drop. His jaw clenches like it hurts.

“You wish,” I whisper. It should be a warning, but it's not. It's an invitation and we both know it, both want it.

Then the tension in the air finally snaps.

He grabs me, rough desperation guiding his hands. One wraps around my waist, the other slides into my hair, and then his mouth is on mine, hard enough to steal whatever cruel thing I was going to say next. The kiss ignites between us; there’s no other word for it. Heat, desire, and months of denial catching fire all at once. I make a helpless whimper into his mouth, and that's when he loses the last thread of willpower he was pretending to have.

He drags me against him. My hands reach for his shirt, gripping hard, pulling him closer even though there's nowhere left for him to go. He presses me into the wall, his body solid and overwhelming, and the impact runs through me like a spark dropped into gasoline. His mouth moves over mine like he’s angry at how much he wants this, like he wants to punish me for being right and himself for wanting me anyway.

I kiss him back just as hard. My fingers shove into his hair, pulling at the dark strands before I drag my nails down his neck, leaving my marks on his skin. The sound he makes against my lips is rough enough to weaken my knees. He catches it and his arm tightens around my waist, holding me up, holding me still, pinning me exactly where he wants me, not even pretending he has any intention of stopping. There's nothing careful about him now. Gone is all his detached confidence. Nothing dressed up as just friends.

His hand skims down my side, grazing my hip through the thin fabric of my dress, and I feel his resistance ebb away. I can feel the fight in him, the way he keeps stopping himself one inch before too much. One breath before no return. I drag my mouth from his and find the sensitive spot on his neck, the one he told me about in one of our endless voice message exchanges. Back when we used to trade secrets about our bodies like we didn’t intend to use them. My lips brush over it slowly, intently. His entire body goes rigid.

“Nat,” he breathes, a plea and a warning in one.

I do it again, softer this time, with just enough bite to make him break. He groans, graveled and helpless, trying to muffle the sound and failing. His hand slams flat against the wall beside my head, like he needs something to hold on to that isn’t me. Like if he touches me the way he wants to, we’re both finished. The thought goes through me like lightning. I pull his mouth back to mine and he surrenders so willingly.

The second kiss is hotter, messier. His tongue slides against mine, and I forget where we are. There's no restaurant. No Rafe or Kasia or every single reason this could go wrong.

All I see is Kiri. All I feel is him. His breath and hands and mouth. The hardening of him pressed into me, the tremor of need that moves through us every time I roll my body into him. He breaks the kiss and drags in air like he’s drowning.