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She could feel Wilder’s stare.
‘Getting a good look?’ she said, her voice surprisingly low and sultry.
Wilder’s gaze darkened with desire. ‘I want to do more than look,’ he half growled. He came to her side once more, under the guise of helping her line her cue up to the striker. ‘I’d fuck you right on this table if I could.’
‘So do it, Warsword,’ Thea said brazenly.
‘Didn’t realise you liked an audience, Princess.’
‘You’re big enough and mean enough to make them leave.’
‘I am. But I won’t.’
Thea straightened, so close to him that she could feel the heat rippling from his body. ‘And why’s that?’ she challenged.
Wilder’s gaze dipped to her mouth. ‘Because I’m already dangerously close to —’ He cut himself off.
‘To what?’ she demanded.
She saw the internal battle flickering behind his silver gaze. The look he gave her told her he was mere seconds away from throwing her down on the table and taking her then and there, despite the tavern’s patrons. She wished he would.
Revellers had started to clear from the nearby tables, as though they could sense the pair were about to fight or fuck, or both.
‘We can’t,’ Wilder murmured against the soft skin of her neck, nearly eliciting a moan of frustration from her, the game of billiards forgotten.
‘Why?’ The word came out as a breathy demand.
‘Because a Warsword has no business feeling the things I feel for a princess.’
‘I’m not a princess.’
‘But that’s exactly what you are.’
Thea lifted her chin in defiance, but that wouldn’t be her sticking point, not in this moment. ‘Then tell me, what do you feel?’ she asked.
The energy surging between them was palpable, a current that formed around them, drawing them together, so powerful that Thea felt it in the soles of her feet.
Wilder was so close that she could feel the tremor of restraint that gripped his body.
‘Everything,’ he said at last, and then he kissed her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WILDER
He’d all but told Althea Zoltaire that he loved her, that she, the lost heir of Delmira, the living storm, owned him mind, body and broken soul. That his cold, weary heart was hers, if she would have it.
But he didn’t let those words fall from his lips.
Instead, he tried to capture them in every kiss, every touch as they stumbled back to the palace, tangled in one another like teenagers, consequences be damned. He drank in her sea-salt-and-bergamot scent like it was a drug and he was an addict.
Gods, he could feel the tempest building in her, his own unique magic answering its call with power of its own. There was no end to the wanting of her, the loving her. It was in his blood, etched in his bones, and it burned through him like wildfire.
Neither of them were drunk, but Furies save him, he felt like he was – drunk on her.
They ignored the guards as they rushed through the outer palace grounds and then the corridors, breaking apart only to catch their breath before they got lost in one another again.
Wilder couldn’t remember a time where he’d felt so alive, so young and so free. He pushed all thoughts of duty and vows, expectations and honour aside and decided that for tonight, he would live and live hard, with Thea.
