AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”
He steels his expression. “His words were unforgiveable. His demeanor was detestable. To call you a…a homewrecker—”
I gesture at him. “This is what I mean. I don’t need you doingthisfor me. I don’t needanyonesaving me. Ever.”
“You may not need saving, but you are worthy of it nonetheless. You deserve to be defended by your fiancé.”
“You’re not my fiancé.”
He takes in a sharp breath. His countenance flickers with the barest hint of sorrow. “Trust me. I know.”
My throat feels tight, and part of me wants to apologize. For what, I’m not sure. All I know is that my anger is in danger of slipping away. If it does, I don’t know what it will leave behind. Something too soft and vulnerable, probably. Gathering the cooling embers of my rage, I do my best to rekindle them. I narrow my eyes to a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He steps closer and places his cane on the counter behind me. I gasp, leaning back as far as I can as he props his palms on the edge of the counter, framing my waist with his hands. My breaths grow sharper, faster.
With burning intensity, he holds my gaze. “You know what it means.”
I shake my head, unable to disentangle words from my tongue.
His eyes search mine, and he leans closer, stopping only when our faces are mere inches apart. His voice turns to a whisper. “Tell me you don’t feel it too.”
“Feel what?” I say, far breathier than I intend.
His throat bobs. “Feel…the spark between us.”
As if in answer, heat surges from my heart, spreading over my body in a tingling warmth. Despite how pleasant it feels, it’s a dangerous sensation, one I haven’t felt in decades.
The last time I felt this way…
No. No, I can’t let myself feel like that again.
Training my expression into a cold mask, I say, “How could I have feelings for you? We’re fake.”
A ghost of a smirk plays over his lips. “Are we?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe for you. For me…well, very little of what I’ve said or done around you has been fake.”
“You’re just acting. You’re playing a part.”
He leans ever closer, and a traitorous thrill buzzes low in my belly. Slowly, he takes one hand off the counter and closes over my bare palm. With the tenderest care, he brings my hand to his chest, slipping it beneath his jacket, then his waistcoat, until only the smooth fabric of his shirt stands between my palm and the pounding drum. “Does this feel fake?”
My mind spins, dizzy as it dances to the tune his heart plays for me.
He runs his thumb over the back of my hand. “You’ve consumed me, Amelie Fairfield. I’ve thought of little else but you since we met at the Salty Satyr.”
“Why?” The word comes out part sigh, part question.
“What do you meanwhy?” His dimples deepen as his lips stretch into a wide smile. “Because you’re…incredible. Beautiful, yes, but brilliant too. You’re creative. Talented. Funny. And when you show me that flirtatious side—just a hint of lust—it drives me wild.”
The wordlustsends a ripple of fear through me. Lust was once my demise. But somehow, when he says it, it feels like it might be the greatest virtue.
He speaks again. “The only acting I’ve done is pretending you don’t completely disarm me.”
The buzzing warmth increases inside me, filling every inch of my mind, body, and soul, and sending every trace of fear scattering. His heart continues to slam into my palm, and the pleasure it brings is more euphoric than the most intoxicating fae wine.
His expression falters, turning more serious. “If you don’t feel it too…”
