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“Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, he walks into mine,” I remarked in a teasing tone, not betraying my existential crisis.
Karson’s eyes flickered downward to my chest. My stomach fluttered at the hunger I could see even in the dim light of the bar. My slinky slip dress dipped way low in the front, and the air conditioning in this place told him all he needed to know about my bra, or lack thereof.
“You’re still dating him.”
Not a question. Nor was there any kind of accusation in the statement. It was just that.
A statement. Uttered in a flat, nonthreatening tone.
Nothing told me Karson was bothered by this fact. His posture was taut but not wired. Hands not clenched into fists. Brows not pinched together. Not even a hint of fire in his eyes.
Everything else about him screamed that he was an alpha male. A possessive one at that. Yet he wasn’t pounding on his chest, throwing me over his shoulder and declaring me ‘his.’ No, he was just standing there, staring at me mildly.
That pissed me off.
It shouldn’t have, of course.
I was a modern woman. A feminist. One who didn’t believe in monogamy, who didn’t think that any man should feel ownership over a woman. I loved reading about those men, of course, but in real life, I wasn’t a fan.
Yet here I was, lamenting over the fact that Karson wasn’t throwing me over his shoulder and muttering about killing a prince for daring to lay a hand on what was his.
Maybe I was drunk.
“Yes, I’m still dating him,” I responded pleasantly, not letting an ounce of my fury leak through. I couldn’t let him know he was getting to me. Couldn’t betray that my feelings for him ran deeper than I’d intended. “He’s a prince. He is a gentleman. Inside and outside the bedroom.”
I hadn’t slept with Tenzin since Karson. The mere thought of his smooth, gentle hands running over the same skin that Karson had branded with his touch sickened me.
I wanted to see something on Karson’s face. Wanted to make him jealous. It was ugly and petty, and I hated myself for doing it, but I couldn’t seem to help it.
Karson, for his part, didn’t even flinch. His expression stayed the exact same.
I gripped the stem of my martini glass with such force I was surprised I didn’t snap it in half.
The silence he let linger between us served to wash shame over me. Embarrassment for resorting to such juvenile methods in order to fuck with a man. A real man.
“You’re used to playing with men,” he said finally. “You don’t mean harm, and fuck, I don’t even think you do it on purpose. But you know what an effect you have. That you drive most hot-blooded men fucking crazy. I know it because if I hadn’t lived the life I have, I’d be just like them. Like all the other poor bastards who have come before me. But I have lived the life I have, so I can hold on to my sanity. Doesn’t mean I want you any less, and fuck, baby, do I want you.”
He paused to let his words sink in, to stare at me in a way that could’ve burned the silk right off my body.
“And I’ll have you,” he murmured. It was an oath. “But I won’t let you fuck with me. Play games. You want to continue to date the prince who touches you with soft hands and doesn’t have you close to coming when he’s fucking you … be my guest. Just know his life is forfeited the second you lose interest, the moment you understand you’re hiding behind your games because I’m the only man you can’t control. Then, he’s dead for touching what’s mine. And you’re mine, darlin’.”
The words thrummed through my brain as Karson stood there, towering over me. And he wasn’t done.
“You’re gonna fight that,” he continued, adjusting his collar. “And I’m lookin’ forward to it. You’ve got enough fight in you to last a lifetime, and I’ve got a lifetime of battles ahead of me with or without you. And Wren, fighting with you is not a chore. Not something I’ll get bored of. But I am the only man who has stood up to you. Will be the only man who stands up to you.”
I tilted my head, regarding him, digesting all of the things he just said. My stomach was swirling, full of butterflies, my heartbeat rapid, my breathing shallow. Physical symptoms of being scared, terrified. Or very fucking turned on.
I was both.
It was pretty much what every single woman wanted to hear. Well, minus the promises to murder a prince. Especially when they came from a man like Karson. One who meant every single fucking word he said. One who would burn the world down just to keep the woman he chose warm.
And he was choosing me.
He was making it very fucking clear that he was choosing me.
Many men had chosen me during my life. Because of my tits. My ass. My pussy. My money. The version of me they’d created in their minds. The idea of the life they might have with a woman like me. How jealous their college buddies would be if they landed a woman like me.
Not to be conceited, it was just the truth. And it wasn’t exactly a compliment, because men only chose me because of my looks, because of an idea they had of me. None of them truly knew who the fuck I was. Not really. And deep down, they didn’t care.
