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He toasted me with his empty glass, then fixed himself a drink. He shrugged off his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, and kicked off his boots. He dropped onto the couch, his glass in hand, and stretched out with a sigh.
My gaze wandered over his bare chest. He was beautiful.
I sipped my absinthe. “If you weren’t a necromancer, what life would you have now?”
He sank deeper into the cushions, his eyelashes shadowing his cheeks. He lounged like a prince sitting on his throne. “I would be trying my hardest to ruin my reputation. Though that might not be enough to stop them from marrying me off to some duchess or princess to uphold the Hohenzollern honor.”
I scoffed. “Duchess or princess?”
“Only the bluest blood.” He had a shameless smile. “I am the eldest son, after all.”
“Eldest son? So you have brothers?”
“One.”
“Is he as horrible as you?” I teased.
“Hopefully.” His smile faded. “I haven’t seen him since I left home. Nor my sister.”
I waited for him to say more, but his eyes looked distant. A little jittery, I swigged the rest of my absinthe and reached for the bottle.
“Let me refill your glass,” I said.
He glanced sideways at me, then finished his drink and handed me the empty glass. He watched as I rested the absinthe spoon over his glass, balanced a sugar cube there, and twisted the cap off the absinthe bottle.
“Backwards,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“You did it backwards. Add the absinthe first, then the sugar, then the water.”
“Oh.”
He swung his legs over the couch and leaned against my back. He snaked his arms past my waist, reaching for the glass.
“Like so.” His breath tickled the nape of my neck.
Distracted by the heat of his skin, I turned in his arms. He stared down at me with a glint in his eyes. It was impossible to ignore just how much taller he was, and just how masculine he felt against me. My heartbeat pounded as I explored his chest with my fingertips, feeling the scars crisscrossing his skin.
“Why so many scars?” I asked, with a shy glance into his eyes.
“I have been hurt many times.” He leaned over my shoulder. Metal clinked on glass, followed by the gurgle of liquid pouring.
“You must be thirsty,” I said. “You want the absinthe more than me.”
His lips twitched. “I find you infinitely more charming. But I’m not seducing you, remember? My intentions are innocent.”
“Innocent?” I glanced down at the bulge of his cock. “You look guilty to me.”
He couldn’t hide the shadows in his eyes when he smiled. “If only you knew.”
A penny-sized scar puckered the skin above his collarbone. My fingers lingered there. “What is the story behind this scar?”
His laugh surprised me. “That particular scar was from a duel before the Hex.”
“You were shot?”
“I lost the duel.” He rubbed the scar absently. “I can’t always be amazing.”
