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Like that was going to stop him from demanding one.
Dammit to hell.
“Lucina?” He halted, hovering his face less than an inch above my sternum.
“What?” I snapped it without thinking, battling to force him back down. He fought me, aligning our gazes in a fiery, feral clash.
Nothing had ever turned me on more.
He grabbed one of my wrists. Pulled it up and away from his head. Released a quiet wildcat snarl…as he lowered it next to my head. The move shifted our positions. He had me flattened against the couch’s back, with him kneeling over me. It was utterly sexual, altogether inappropriate, fully unreal—
A full, fucking, turn-on.
“Perhaps I need to repeat the question.”
The phrase came with mixed messages. His tone was a sultry flirt but his gaze was a definite challenge. Every molecule of my being wanted to take him up on both, but how? Reality was just a sliver of light in my consciousness, despite how desperately I reached for it.
“Maybe you need to change the question.”
“And if I do?”
“Shiraz.” I swallowed hard. Jabbed my gaze up at him. “Change. The. Question.”
He said nothing.
But his frame tensed.
The light in his gaze changed.
Just half a shade, from steel blue to deep cobalt—but it was enough.
Enough to prove he understood me. That he recognized the thin edge upon which we now balanced. That the line, already just a thread between us since the start, could never be redrawn if wiped out.
But maybe it already was.
Our pull was a tangible pain inside me…and I saw that torment in his eyes too. We were careening toward darkness. The shadowed side of our orbiting moons. The nasty beneath our propriety. The connection of souls beneath all the corporate bullshit.
The joining that, to the rest of the world, would be so wrong.
The collision that seemed so damn right.
In every sleek line of his face, I watched the same thoughts—and their ramifications—take hold.
Ramifications. It wasn’t a fun word to think, let alone brace for. But the knot of nails in my stomach grew, knowing exactly what waited ahead. Ramifications. Reality. A fiancée for him to claim. New questions for him to phrase.
Not to me.
“Lucina.”
His whisper was heavy on the air. And technically not a question, though everything about it beckoned like one. Pulled like one.
Frayed my self-control like one.
“What?”
I spat it like before, shutting my eyes before they could issue a silent apology. I didn’t want to be sorry. Not for this.
When I reopened my gaze, I fought to look up at him—but only managed it halfway. My gaze made it as far as his neck. Wasn’t exactly doing myself a huge favor. Was there such a thing as neck porn? If so, I had a serious addiction already.
