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She almost wanted to run away, the look in his eyes was too—-
No.
She didn’t even want to think about what his look meant. She couldn’t. She shouldn’t.
“I was also busy with school—-”
“More lies.”
Holy sweet crap, he was so close now!
She cried out, “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.” And this time, the prince was standing right in front of her, so darn close she could practically inhale the sexy scent of his aftershave, and oh God, there it was again.
That feeling like she was being drugged—-
That feeling like she was out of control—-
That feeling like she was in need of something she couldn’t name—-
Think about Grant, she thought feverishly.
Grant. Grant. Grant.
The look on her face enraged the prince. He knew right away what she was trying to do – who she was thinking of, and damn her, it was not him –and unable to stop himself, he cupped her face, forcing her gaze to clash with his.
“Tell me the truth,” he growled.
“I d-did!” Oh God, that look in his eyes was even darker now, more of everything that she could and should never name.
“Stop lying.” This time, his voice was ominously soft, and oh God, how her body shivered at the sound of it, and again there was no fear, just a strange trembling awareness that she had never felt with Grant.
Desperate to free herself, she placed her hands against his chest and tried shoving him away. “L-let go of me.” But it was useless, he was too powerful, and the hard, hot feel of his chest was only making things worse, the way it made her breath choppy and her heart race abnormally fast.
“Why won’t you say it?” he grated out.
“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He started to lower his head.
Her eyes widened. “P-prince?”
“I’m going to kiss you—-”
What?
“If you don’t tell me the truth.”
She renewed her struggles, and she even tried kicking him but that only backfired, forcing the prince to haul her close. Her entire body was now tightly plastered against his, and his hold chained her every movement.
Fawn stared up at the prince with a gaze made hazy by sensual confusion. Oh my God, was this really happening? She tried to speak but nothing came out, and it wasn’t really surprising when even breathing was a problem.
And then it started again, that tempting, forbidden, and overpowering sense of awareness. It began with her toes, curling hard inside her shoes, before moving sinuously up her legs, making her knees quake, and then up to her stomach, which felt so strangely queasy. It went further up, making her breasts feel oddly heavy and swollen and her mouth feel so dry she had to wet her lips—-
The prince’s nostrils flared, and his voice was raspy with need as he said, “Do that again, parthena mou, and I will kiss you.”
The threat should have terrified her, should have made her scream for help, but all it did was make every cell in her body even more conscious of the prince’s nearness. Oh God, it was like she was fast becoming drunk on his intoxicating scent while the rest of her senses could only focus on the way his muscles rippled and tensed under his too-stylish clothes.
His head lowered an inch.
She tensed. “P-please.”
Another inch, and this time she could feel his breath fanning her lips. “Then tell me the truth.”
She tried leaning back, putting as much distance as she could between their mouths, but this only made him haul her even closer while his free hand went up to grasp her hair, holding her head in place.
When she looked at him fearfully, the prince only smiled, and she knew he really did mean it. He was going to kiss her if she didn’t tell the truth.
His head started to lower.
Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest, and she cried out, “I’ll tell the truth.”
The prince stilled.
“L-let go of me first. I s-swear I will tell the truth.”
Slowly, the prince’s hold loosened and she scrambled back until there was a good ten feet between them.
The prince gazed at her impassively.
She gulped. “The truth is…”
The prince’s gaze lowered to her mouth, a silent threat if there ever was one.
Darn him.
Her knees knocked against each other, and she blurted out, “I stopped coming to work because you made me feel—-” She squirmed.
The prince wanted to strangle her. If he could be sure it would speed things up, he probably would. “Made you feel what?” he growled. “Just finish what you—-”
“It made me feel gross!”
The prince froze.
“Seriously!” And then she started to babble. “My fiancé never made me feel that way, do you know that?”
The prince wondered if he had ended up desiring someone who belonged in a mental institution. And she believed that was a good thing?
“W-what we have is pure, okay? It’s n-not like what your g-guests do in your parties or what y-you do!” She stared at him challengingly. “I love him, and I’m so glad he’s not like you.”
