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Touch.
I shoved to my feet. Marched back to the table, my sensible fucking flats making dull fucking thuds on the carpet, to retrieve my laptop. The device still showed the opening slide of Expectation’s proposal, which I tapped to close and suck it back down into the folder on the home page. The screen saver was an image of the Arcadian coast, elegant white cliffs parted by a waterfall resembling draped silk strands. I’d left nothing to chance, wanting to prove our dedication to this project in any way I could. Now the image only made my teeth grind and my sex clench, thinking of how close that azure water came to matching the prince of perfection’s gaze.
Another note to self. Priority. Change screen saver back to Henry Cavill the second you get back to your room.
“What are you doing?”
I almost laughed at the incredulity of his demand. “At the risk of making this a meme, Your Highness, I think we’re done here.”
“Done?”
My laugh expanded as I zipped up my satchel. “Done? It’s a word that means complete or finished. Perfect for wrapping it up when everyone knows the event will be orchestrated by the woman about to score the prince’s engagement ring.”
As I straightened, he approached. There was enough time to steel myself against his perfect scent—yeah, I’d noticed how perfectly the currant and bergamot of Creed Aventus fit the man—as well as lock my stare to his neck. Meeting his eyes would be the death of me right now. In more ways than just the figurative.
With a pair of harsh scuffs, he halted. I fought the need to scream. The distance was too close for professionalism, no matter what cultural filter through which it was screened. A glimpse at his bottom lip—that was as high as I looked—said he knew it too. But hell if I’d give him any satisfaction by backing up.
“Done.” He was more final about it this time—as if he didn’t want to let it go. His challenge hung in the air like a whole plate of glass, daring me to break it.
To get to what?
To him?
But then what?
Would we give in to this draw for a minute, an hour, a night? It didn’t change the reality of the situation, confirmed so completely by Ambyr’s confidence then Crista’s explanation. The deal probably had his parents’ seal of approval too. Soon, likely sooner than I imagined, he’d be stepping on a new stage of his life, planning to marry another woman. Even if every set piece there was a fake front, it wasn’t a winning ticket for me to even think of approaching the theater.
And there was the buzzkill I needed.
I sucked it up. Stepped backward. Made my head lift the extra inches to directly meet Shiraz Cimarron’s gaze. God…his gaze…
This was the last time my breath would snag from those stunning blue depths. On a better note, the final time my body would ache, craving to be clutched by the rest of him too.
“I think,”—determined breath out—“that’s a pretty good place to leave it.”
I’d rarely meant anything more.
Nor meant anything less.
And made the mistake of letting both show through on my face—a weakness instantly seized by the man mere inches away.
His hand dropped. Skimmed against mine.
“Lucina.”
My skin tingled.
My sex clenched.
“Your Highness.”
He flinched as I gritted it.
I jerked as he closed fingers around my wrist.
I twisted against his grip. But not before letting his heat permeate into me for a couple of seconds.
Two of the best seconds of my life.
Followed by four of the worst.
The four it took me to summon four determined syllables to my lips.
“Now we’re really done.”
