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Chapter Seven
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Why wasn’t I more relieved when he did exactly what I’d asked?
Okay, had demanded. In my bossiest, huffiest, tone—and in case I hadn’t forgotten, with words I did mean—and now yearned to suck back into my lungs so he wouldn’t rise, silken as a curl of smoke, to walk away.
And all I had left to drool over was the V of his back, etched flawlessly by the black cotton, as he moved past the first sitting chair. Around the edge of the couch.
Shit. He really was going to leave.
At the last moment, on the farthest side of the couch, he sat again. Hitched an elbow to the armrest and lifted his hand, which became the instant cradle for his forehead. His fingers kneaded in, their tips as taut as his expression.
Turning me into an equally bunched ball of feelings.
Conflicted ones.
Part of me squirmed, a little contrite. I’d cranked up the snark, when he was clearly troubled about something. He’d even come all the way to the guest wing, to my room, to talk about it. But hold the phone. My room? To talk about what? Our business with each other—all three seconds of it—was over.
But I couldn’t ignore the stiffness in his shoulders. The taut kneadings of his fingers. The fist his other hand had become.
“Okay.” I forced myself to rise, just to have something to do other than sit and gawk at him. One foot in front of the other, Luce. It’s called walking. You remember it, right? The small in-room bar felt like a good direction. Maybe I’d find more nectar there. “You going to need some gargle juice for this hot topic?”
His head lifted a little. His gaze narrowed a lot. “Some what?”
“Sweet sauce.” I nodded at the alcove. “Hard stuff? Maybe some basic nectar?”
“No.” He looked like I’d asked him to swallow explosives. “Merderim, but no.”
I canted my head, acknowledging a new realization. “You don’t like letting go of control, do you?”
His posture didn’t change but his aura sure did. The change in his energy was nearly a visual force, as if the air groupies around him had tensed, waiting on his next breath. If he took one, I didn’t discern it. His tight swallow, consuming the length of his neck, was a different story. Noticed every second of that—wondering when I’d become a “neck woman”. Just thinking of tucking my face against it, then licking my way along the muscled column until his growl rumbled beneath my lips…
Oh my God.
“There is nothing wrong with self-discipline.”
His commitment to that was understandable. From where he stood, both his brothers had shirked their self-discipline, choosing their hearts (and perhaps a few other things) over their country. In Shiraz’s world, where black was black, white was white, and numbers became sums that were either right or wrong, those decisions didn’t compute. After Evrest changed a major law to have Camellia, the Palais was breached by Pura rebels. After Samsyn went public about his love for Brooke, the Grand Sancti Bridge was blown apart. In his mind, the lunatics were taking over the asylum—and it was up to him to appease them again.
Somewhere in that logic, I actually found the reason he’d come slumming in the guest wing. But how to broach that little sticky?
I started by submitting, “Nope. Nothing wrong with discipline at all—unless it becomes your middle name.”
He lifted his head fully. Regarded me with extra caution. “I am perfectly happy with my middle name.”
“Really?” I pushed out a little hmmph. “Could’ve fooled me.”
He rose once more. Though his movements again belied the strength of a quarterback, they were as tense as one—at the damn Super Bowl. “I am not trying to fool you.”
“No?” I scooted from behind the bar, striding back toward the terrace. The bottle I’d been sent came with two of those cool flutes, along with a plate of cheese, crackers, and plump local olives. “Then come out here and join me for some nectar.”
Soft snarl. “I already said—”
“Yeah, I know.” I had his glass poured and extended. “But I seriously need you to cut the cologne ad antics, sexy as they are, and be real with me.”
“Sexy.” He backed the stupefied stutter with a little scowl. “I am not trying to be…sexy.”
“Which only makes that shit sexier.”
