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And sadness? Yeah, perhaps a little, but not for regret of what we’d done. I ached because we’d never be able to do it again, especially the right way. Not that there was a damn thing wrong with that way—I sucked in another breath, struggling to remember the last time a sexual experience had been so intense for me—making me wonder, if only for a second, what things could be like if we were truly naked, horizontal, and in a real bed with each other.
“Lucina? What is it?”
Shit. The fervency of his tone made me realize I’d let my longing show through. Hell, had just dropped my guard in general. I bit my cheek to abstain from the obligatory “nothing”, since even a prince from a postage stamp island could see through that bullshit. Instead I answered, “Just spinning down from the high, gorgeous.” New curiosity. I went ahead and let him see it. “How do you say ‘gorgeous’ in Arcadian?”
His brows crunched. Bewilderment was another good look for him. On that note, a brown paper bag would be a good look for him. “We do not really have such a word.”
“Now you do. It’s pronounced sheeeer-ahhzzz.”
His eyes narrowed. “You should be thrown into the dungeon for that.”
“Promises, promises.”
He had no idea how close we danced to the truth. Did he?
“I enjoy it when you invent names for me in your own language.”
He backed it up by gently rubbing his nose atop mine. Every inch of me softened all over again. “Why?”
“Because it means you shall really remember me. Now what?” he prompted, as I snuck in another laugh.
“Gorgeous, you are not easily forgotten.”
“Oh? And how is that?”
I averted my gaze. The force of his deepened. Time to change the subject. “What was that word you just kept using? Tup…”
“Tupulai.” He corrected my pronunciation in his hotter-than-hell accent, taking the syllables toop-ah-lie to the top of my favorites list (sorry, mar-gahr-ee-tah) At the same time, his voice thickened and his body shifted, betraying the impact of the memories—just as I’d hoped. My anticipation hadn’t included my own heated recall of what we’d just done…not that I was particularly complaining about it. “The closest translation in English is ‘little piece of trouble’.”
“Trouble? What the…?” Though my deliberate trail-off, along with a sassy head wag, pretty much validated his point. He said so with a short chuckle before leaning and brushing his lips back over mine.
“It is intended fondly.” Another brush, with a tiny slide of his tongue over my bottom lip. “Very fondly.” Then a growl, not so gentle—utterly perfect. “It fits you well. Very well.”
Shivers.
Dangerous ones.
Dear hell, what this beautiful, purposeful prince did to me…
And kept doing, as he dipped his head even lower. Then lower…before I stopped him with a wriggle of my hips, determined to be cute and girlish about it. This conversation needed to stay light. The reconstruction project on my heart, already begun in earnest, couldn’t handle things any other way.
“You know what? That does fit,” I quipped. “I’m trouble. With a capital T. So be careful if you don’t want to get completely corrupted.”
Perfect. I’d kept it light but warned him off at the same time. With luck, he’d pick up the snark and run with it. But did I mean that? Weren’t his intensity and focus what my body had first reacted to? Wasn’t his power, dealt with such deliberation, what had turned me into aroused mush? Like what it did right now…
“Tupulai?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“I am the equivalent of your politicians, yes? So perhaps I already know a few things about corruption.”
Forget the shivers.
Now, he brought the fire.
God, I yearned to be burned.
My lips parted, almost begging again for more of those nasty words. He didn’t give me the chance, swiftly stuffing the pad of his thumb into my mouth. I opened more, giving him access to darker regions—yet lighting up a thousand other places in my psyche. Naughty, kinky places…
