I meet his eyes from below my lashes. “You want to leave?”
He kisses the corner of my mouth and skates his bottom lip across my cheek to the shell of my ear. “Everything I want to do to you right now, I can’t do in front of all these people.”
That statement could mean somethingreally badorreally good, and even thereally goodmeaning would be areally badidea. But then again, I’m still drowning in that scent of his that used to equate to safety, and home, and love. The way he’s holding me and grazing his fingers and lips across my body are perfect, delicious deja vu of everything before, and I’m suddenly powerless to resist the seduction ofhope.
“Okay.”
He claims another deep kiss before stroking his fingertips across my hairline and braces his arm around my waist to weave me through the crowd as he leads me back to the ballroom entrance.
Upon exiting the building, there’s another explosion of flashes, this time accompanied by shouts from the mass of paparazzi.
“Isla! Isla! Isla! What happened to your face?”
“Isla! Over here, Isla!”
“Corwick loves you, Isla! Give your people a smile, Isla!”
“Isla! This way, Isla!”
“Isla! Tell us how you injured yourself!”
“Isla! Isla! Isla!”
Malachi holds me close against his side as he marches toward the car, but pauses after a couple of paces and reaches for one of the photographers, gripping his collar. “You will not address yourduchessin such a manner.”
He shoves the guy backward, and I stare at him with wide eyes.
He’sdefendingme. And it makes as little sense as the sudden passionate, loving kiss from moments before, but it only gets me that much more drunk onhope.
The driver opens the door for us, and Malachi braces my arm so I can slide into the seat before him. He speaks in the driver’s ear before dropping himself into the seat as well, and the driver shuts the door. Malachi turns to me, draping his arm around me and angling me toward him while he claims my mouth for another searing kiss that causes an aching heat to pool between my thighs and rush through all of my extremities. His large hand grips my waist before sliding down over my hip, fingers gathering the fabric of my dress so he can slip his hand under my skirt. He clasps my knee, tongue probing into my mouth and retreating while I clench the lapels of his tux jacket, and then he sweeps his palmway upthe inside of my thigh.
“Dios mio,” I can’t stop myself from moaning against his mouth as he pushes my thighs apart and his thumb skates teasingly close to my now-soaked panties. “Malachi, what—”
He nips my bottom lip, and then drags the tip of his tongue across it.“Tell me exactly what you want, Duchess.”
“I want.” I’m panting rapidly, my heart slamming against my sternum, my head spinning out of control, and I could faint.“I want us to talk. I want to know what happened, cariño. I want to know where you went.”
“Hmmmm…”he hums, nipping my lip again and giving my inner thigh an aggressive squeeze. He slides his arm off my shoulders to cup my cheek, and then a totally out-of-place chuckle rumbles deep in his chest. “You amuse me, Duchess.”
I draw back my face slightly to meet his eyes, but also notice that the limo is still parked at the curb. “It’s not amusing. We have all the time in the world to dothis, but before we do that, we need to talk about everything.”
Malachi presses his lips together in a tight smile as another chuckle shakes his shoulders. Andthen, he draws away from me completely andwipes his mouth. Like he’s trying to clean it of a foul taste. Like we’re suddenly children again, and he’s trying to ward off cooties.
“No,” he finally says, matter-of-fact. “There will be no talking. There will only be you going back to the palace, and me dealing with the media shitstorm you created by defying me.”
My heart sinks like a brick as my jaw falls open, and he shoves the door back open to step out. Before closing the door, Malachi ducks his head inside to narrow his flashing, silver eyes at me.
“But feel free to think of me when you’re dry-humping your pillows later.”
He slams the door shut, and the driver pulls away from the curb. I’m blindsided by the urge to retch from total humiliation and dismay, but I manage to look out the back window at him.
Malachi stands at the center of the red carpet that leads to the entrance of the building, palms lifted placidly as the paparazzi gather in a half circle around him. He starts speaking to them in a placid, confident, controlled manner. I watch him speak to the press as he grows smaller and smaller, until the limo rounds a corner, hiding him from my sight.
Oh, Isla, my mind hisses at me,how can you be so naïve?
A complete one-eighty of his feelings over the course of no more than ten minutes?
You’re smarter than that.
