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But those were ghosts, and this was now, and she knew exactly what that light in his eyes meant.
“I am sorry if I have begun to bore you,” she managed to say. “A solution, of course, is to allow me to remain in this room until we go to court. You need never see me until then.”
She sounded desperate to her own ears, yet Leo only smiled, a lazy, knowing smile that sent heat spiraling through her until her toes curled inside her shoes. It would be far too easy simply to move toward him. She knew he would catch her. He would sweep her into his arms and she would lose herself completely in that raging wildfire that was his to command.
A huge part of her wanted that, needed that, more than she wanted anything else—even her freedom. And that terrified her.
If she touched him, if she pressed her lips to his, she would forget. She would forget everything, as if it had all been a nightmare and he was the light of day. Wasn’t that exactly what he’d done for her after her father had died? But she had no idea how she would ever fight her way out of it—not again. Not whole.
And she could not be this broken again. Not ever again.
“That would not suit me at all,” he said, his attention focused on her mouth. “As I think you know.”
“I don’t want you to touch me!” she threw at him from the depths of her fear, her agony and her broken heart. Because she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could not trust herself, not where he was concerned. She still wanted him too much. She bit her lip but then pulled herself together somehow, even as his arrogant brows climbed high.
“I beg your pardon?” He was all hauteur, untold centuries of nobility.
“You heard me.” She looked around as if there was anything that might redirect her focus when he was standing so close. She sucked in a breath and returned her gaze to his. “The chemistry between us is damaging. It can only lead to confusion.”
“I am not confused,” he offered, smirking slightly.
“I do not want you,” she lied, in a matter-of-fact voice. She did not smile; she met his gaze. “Not in that way. Not at all.”
She expected his temper. His disbelief. She was unprepared for the full force of his devastating smile. He crossed his arms over his tautly muscled chest and gazed at her almost fondly. Somehow, that was far worse than any sardonic expression. It made her almost yearn.
“You are such a liar,” he said softly, without heat. Flustered, she began to speak, but he cut her off. “You want me, Bethany. You always have and you always will, no matter what stories you choose to tell yourself.”
“Your conceit is astonishing,” she said even as her heart leapt in her chest and her legs felt shaky underneath her. Even as she felt the roll and sway, the seductive pull, of all that grief just beneath.
“Just as I want you,” he said, shrugging as if it was of no matter to him—as, she reminded herself forcefully, it doubtless was not. “It is inconvenient, perhaps, but nothing more dangerous than that.”
“Leo, I am telling you—” she began, feeling flushed and edgy.
“You need not concern yourself,” he interrupted her, his words casual, almost offhand, though his gaze burned. “I have no intention of seducing you into my bed. In fact, I will not touch you at all as long as you are here.”
She stared at him, letting those unexpected words sink in, telling herself that this was exactly what she wanted to hear, that this would make everything easy, that this was what she wanted. Though she could not entirely ignore the empty feeling that swamped her suddenly, nearly taking her off her feet.
“I am happy to hear that,” she said. His eyes seemed to see straight through her and she was as terrified of what he might see as of what she might feel. What she already felt.
His smile took on that edge again and the tension between them seemed to crackle with new electricity, making it hard to breathe.
“I will leave it to you,” he said in that compelling voice of his that slid like whiskey and chocolate over her, through her, inside of her.
“To me?” She could hardly do more than echo him.
“If you want me, Bethany, you must come to me.” His deep-brown eyes were mesmerizing, so dark and rich, with that gold gleam within. His voice lowered. “You must be the one to touch me, not the other way around.”
“That will work perfectly,” she said, her voice betraying her by cracking even as her breasts and her hidden core grew heavy and ached, yearned. “As I have absolutely no intention—”
“There are your intentions and then there is reality,” he said smoothly. His gaze sharpened suddenly, catching her off-guard. “You cannot keep your hands off me. You never could. But you prefer to pretend that the passion between us is something I use to control you. Is that not what you said so memorably? That I would prefer it if I could keep you chained to my bed? It certainly makes you feel more the martyr to think so.”
