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Which meant I should’ve been setting off victory flares, right? This was what I’d been after. A way, some way, to wrap this up before our cool-off turned into a new heat-up—and we were doing more things that wouldn’t be great ideas in anyone’s book. Things I wouldn’t be able to forget come morning…
Yes.The affirmation should’ve lightened my mind as he eased away from my body. Instead, as he lurched all the way to his feet, all I felt was heavy, chilled, and alone. On a logical level, the reaction made sense. It’d been too long since my last orgasm from anyone or thing other than Sam—aka SAMM, the Sexy-Ass Magic Machine, streamlined with my fantasies about the other Sam, as in Heughan, whom I’d never actually fuck because I’d faint from ecstasy first—and I was beyond jetlagged, meaning my emotional defenses were low. That damn wind didn’t help things, rushing in to plaster his T-shirt against the ripples of his torso and his hair against the bold cliffs of his forehead—but none of that was why my pussy throbbed worse than before.
That had everything to do with the wet spot at the front of his jeans.
I know—ew—but something about the knowledge that I’d put it there, that he’d been so heated from the semblance of fucking me that he’d lost control from it, made me literally dizzy. And so damn horny. Yeah, this fast. Yeah, all over again.
He wheeled away—the sight of his taut ass atop those lean thighs didn’t help the rebellious clit, thank you very much—and stalked toward the door. If I were lucky, he’d keep going. I had to keep telling myself that. How he’d make it to his own part of the Palais rocking that wet spot was not my concern. Right now, all this place could be was a facility in which to catch sleep and a shower before the plane left for home. And before all that, a quick check-in with Sam to rub out the edge in my blood, courtesy of the prince who couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
But he didn’t leave.
Instead, scuffed to a stop next to the door, scooped up a phone mounted on the wall next to it, and punched in a pair of numbers to the panel. I’d wondered about the device when walking in, figuring Arcadia’s infrastructure was still so new that they still needed land lines, but the way Shiraz spat a few lines in Arcadian made me rethink the premise. An intercom? Whoever he’d called, he absolutely knew—and wasn’t afraid to growl at like a bear with an ulcer.
I steeled myself for the same behavior after he turned around, but my lifted chin and challenging gaze had him instantly backing off. Outwardly, at least.
“My valet is bringing fresh clothes.” He barely let up on the grump factor. “As soon as he is here, I will most definitely not be your problem anymore.”
What the hell?
I told him as much with my glower—and the surge to my own feet. Good thing I obeyed the instinct, since he spun and started stomping toward the kitchenette. I caught him before he got there, spinning him back around by an elbow.
“Hey,” I spat.
“What?”
“What do you mean, what?” Loud thwacks punctuated me. The lightweight curtains, snapped in by the wind. “Why are you pulling the prince of pricks act?”
He jerked all the way around. Pushed back at me, looming now. Dear hell. Had I already forgotten how much he dwarfed me? “The prince of what?”
“You heard me.” Yeah, but that didn’t mean he comprehended me. European university didn’t include automatic enrollment in American trash talk. On the other hand, I hadn’t known a single word he’d spoken on the phone—but I’d understood. “I’m trying to be cordial here. No, wait. I’m even being nice, dammit, and—”
“Nice?”
I would’ve laughed at his confusion, if it wasn’t so effing real. “Nice,” I flung. “It’s a little expression we have in the real world. It means to be pleasant with one another, especially after episodes of mutually satisfying sexual fun. What?” I challenged at the glare intimating I’d all but barfed on him. “You didn’t have fun?”
“Fun.” He spat it while stepping back, pushing hands down his thighs—wiping away the barf. “Fun. Certainly. Yes. That is exactly what happened. Fun. A grand, galloping lot of fun.”
As he rattled it all off, I watched him carefully. At first, the natural burnish of his skin prevented detection of his flush—and the insight I gained from it.
Oh, my God.
His flinch made me realize I’d blurted it aloud too. The color cranked in my own cheeks. Was it possible? Was Ezra’s crazy claim really true? Could this male of jaw-dropping beauty, who’d been created by heaven to tempt all who saw him into hell, whose every damn step made a woman ache to be fucked by him, truly be a virgin? Because he sure as hell was acting like one now.
“Shiraz—”
He silenced me by raising a hand. A commanding, obey-me-now, very non-virginal hand.
What the hell did that mean? And what the hell did that make me?
His effing yo-yo, of course.
I hated yo-yos.
“The subject is finished, Lucina. And soon, your problem will be, as well.”
Annnnd here came the butt-hurt virgin again.
Meaning the yo-yo should’ve taken her cue and bounced clear.
