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“That means,” he continued inexorably, “that in this realm we are not enemies.”

And if they finally weren’t …

“Well, of course we’re not!” Relaxing, she rolled her eyes at him with all of her usual impudence. “Had you already forgotten, darling? We’re partners as long as we’re here—we both agreed to that yesterday, remember? That’s why—”

“That is why I can finally do this.” Every moment in the last few days—no, the last seven years—had led him here, now, taking a single purposeful step across the grass with all the weight of worlds behind it. Coming to a halt just before her, he raised both hands until they hovered by her shoulders.

She tipped her head back, golden curls sliding over her shoulders, to watch him with wide eyes.

The palms of his hands already burned with the light and energy she gave off even from half an inch away. What would it feel like to finally close his hands around her?

For years, he’d sworn that he would never know. But now …

“Lorelei,” Gerard said hoarsely. “May I kiss you? Please?”

The breath stopped in Lorelei’s throat as his words sank through her.

Gerard de Moireul—the Emperor’s own godsdamned Golden Beacon, famously noble, stoic, and brave, heart-wrenchingly softhearted and wrong for her in every possible way—was holding his big hands cupped in the air around her shoulders as if she, of all people, were too delicate to touch. His amber eyes gazed down at her with unconcealed, devouring hunger, as if he’d been starving for years and she was his final meal.

Gods, but she understood that feeling! Lorelei flung herself at him with a moan of pure, undiluted need. She had yearned for this man in her arms, in her bed, in her life, for so long now!

Something about that thought set distant warning bells chiming in her ears, but she couldn’t stop to listen to them now.

Lorelei braced her hands on his broad shoulders as she leapt, and his arms closed firmly around her, warm bands of strength holding her safe and close as she wrapped her legs around his waist and finally, finally kissed Gerard de Moireul in waking life, just as she had in so many hot, frustrating dreams over the last seven years.

Ohhh but real life was so much better! No bubbling champagne could ever taste as intoxicating as his lips, no longer held firm in resistance against her but soft and welcoming her touch. She nibbled at them until they opened, savoring his harshly indrawn breath, and then she drew his tongue into her mouth and nearly swooned at the gorgeous taste of him.

He might not be an experienced kisser, but as she’d already known, Gerard de Moireul was determined to win every new challenge he was set. Within moments, he had learned to wield that tongue as a weapon, stoking the heat inside her into flame. Within another minute, he was scraping his teeth against her bottom lip, and she was horrified to hear a helpless, mewling sound fall from the back of her throat as she writhed desperately against him, nearly ready to explode.

Sylvana save her! She was notoriously experienced. She couldn’t let him take her apart so easily!

Lorelei had never before kissed him, though. When she drove her fingers into his thick, short-cropped hair and scraped her nails lightly against his scalp, she wasn’t only enjoying one more beautiful man; she was exploring Gerard, the infuriating, impossible opponent who’d consumed far too many of her thoughts and plans over the past seven years. When her sensitive breasts rubbed against his hard, muscular chest, it was Gerard setting all of her senses alight through their layers of interfering clothing, that unstoppable mountain of a man turning all of his focused energy and determination upon the challenge of her pleasure.

It was everything she’d secretly longed for without fully confessing it to herself until this moment, and it felt glorious. No, more than that: It felt life-changing. It went far beyond the pleasure of mere satisfied attraction, unthinkably far beyond anything she had experienced in years, until it almost felt like …

“No!” She wrenched herself back, panting for air, as ice-cold realization flooded through her.

She couldn’t do this. She would not! She’d learned her lesson too many times.

Never again.

Gerard’s arms still supported her full body with unbending strength as he stared at her from mere inches away, his broad chest heaving with effort and his golden hair standing out in wild hanks, disordered from her desperate finger-work. His massive body pulsed against her, and she bit down hard on her lower lip to swallow down a groan.

“Lorelei.” Her name rumbled like crushed stone from deep within his chest, at least half an octave lower than his usual speaking voice. The sound sent a shiver of pure need coursing through her, instinctively tightening her legs around his waist.

No more! Forcing her recalcitrant legs apart, she pushed the flats of her hands against his chest to shove herself free before she could dissolve back into him and lose everything.

Without a hint of resistance, he released her and helped her leap safely to the ground.

Of course he did. Gerard de Moireul, damn his eyes, was a gentleman, and that was exactly what made him so dangerous. Unlike Lorelei, he was noble and high-minded and everything else that she’d once dreamed a man could be: the kind of man who could become a true partner in life, one she could safely put her faith in forever.

Lorelei was a grown queen now, not a child to indulge in self-destructive fantasies. She knew exactly what happened whenever she let down her guard and allowed emotions to overcome her common sense with any man in the real world.

So she backed swiftly away from his deliciously looming figure and felt his tingling, hungry gaze track her every fleeing step. She couldn’t stop her hands from trembling, but she locked them behind her waist as she pinned a careless, carefree smile to her face, as if he were any other would-be lover and she were as unaffected as she should be. “Well! What an eventful day it has been. Shall we rejoin the feast now that we’ve worked off a bit of spare energy?”

His gaze rested on her, shifting before her eyes from raw hunger to cool calculation.

He had always been the worst sort of enemy: the kind who could think clearly in any situation and who never missed a single false step on her part.