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Prescott grabbed her drink, and together, they endured another hour of the event. Fordham never came to find them, and as soon as they could manage, they snuck out. Prescott deposited her back into Fordham’s rooms a little drunker than she’d started.
Kerrigan pulled the stays of her dress loose, and she took a deep inhale for the first time that night. Then, she collapsed back on the bed, the room spinning. She hadn’t had as much to drink as the night she’d gone out with her friends, which felt like a full lifetime ago. But the faerie punch here was potent. Maybe even more so than back home.
She didn’t know when she drifted off, but she woke again to the sound of a door closing in the darkened room. “Hello?”
And then Fordham’s tall figure appeared in the entrance to the bedroom. His cravat had been discarded, the jacket of his suit hanging over his shoulder and the first few buttons undone on his shirt. His eyes were hollow. His body a map of sensuality.
“Fordham,” she said, coming up to one elbow. Her mind was still fuzzy. “How long were you at the party?”
“Hours after you,” he said, dropping the jacket onto a divan and walking to the bed. His steps were unsteady, as if he, too, were drunk.
“Have you been drinking?”
He kicked off his shoes. “Yes.”
She swallowed as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. The material opening to reveal the smooth planes of his abdomen and the muscular build of his chest. “What are you doing?”
“You responded when I offered you commands,” he said with a playful smile on his lips as he let the shirt drop to the ground. “Normally, you just yell at me.”
“I couldn’t be that person tonight.”
He crawled forward on the massive bed. She remained as still as possible. She had never felt quite like she was trapped and wanted to be nowhere else.
“I almost missed that mouth of yours,” he said, dragging a finger along her red-painted lips.
“Fordham,” she whispered hesitantly. It was one thing to play-act this. It was another to do… this. Because when he was sober, he didn’t want this. He’d made that clear. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you,” he said.
His mouth covered hers, hot and tasting of strawberries and honey. She knew that she should stop him. A part of her told her that this couldn’t happen. And yet there was no stopping Fordham Ollivier. He was a hurricane wreaking havoc on her heart. His mouth ravaging her.
Everything slowed to that moment, this very second, where his body pressed her into his bed and the taste of him on her lips, arousing her need for him. She wanted this. Even if he’d said no before, she never had. It was hard to even process the thought as his tongue delved into her mouth and touched hers.
“Oh gods,” she breathed.
And then with the only force of will she had, she used her air magic to physically push him away from her.
She scrambled off of the bed, her chest heaving, stays undone and dress askew. She would have done anything for him that night. Anything. But not like this. Not after today.
Fordham came to himself as the force of her magic hit him. His eyes rounded. “Kerrigan, I …”
“You should go.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“No, you shouldn’t,” she said. “You told me once that we couldn’t be together because you were cursed. That I couldn’t have this. Do you feel differently?”
He straightened at the harsh reality. “No. No, I don’t.”
She nodded, grinding her teeth together. “Is this because of what happened with Dacia?”
“Don’t,” he snarled, stepping back from her as if she’d slapped him. “Don’t mention her.”
Kerrigan reared back in alarm. Prescott had said not to mention that name, but she hadn’t thought it would elicit this much of a reaction. Was he still in love with her? Was that what this was?
“Fordham, I …” Now, it was her turn to be at a loss for words.
He bowed dramatically at the waist. “My lady.”
Then, he vanished from the room, slamming the door shut between them.
Kerrigan collapsed backward. She had just made a terrible mistake. A mistake in turning him down, a mistake in bringing Dacia up. Why couldn’t it have just been fun and easy? This wouldn’t have been her first time with a man. It hadn’t had to be complicated. But this was Fordham. Nothing was just fun with him. Everything meant more, felt more, needed more. She’d lied to herself for long enough. About everything. She couldn’t lie to herself about him.
9
The Wall
Fordham was gone the next morning when Kerrigan awoke. The night before was a fuzzy mess in her head. She needed to figure out where they stood and what he was going to do about the king. Now that neither of their brains was addled with drink. But he was nowhere to be found.
