“My apologies, Lady Aerinne, if I gave the impression I did not take you seriously. I will endeavor to rectify that.” He curtained the predator.
I unclenched, forcing my body to remain relaxed rather than pushing away from my chair and sprinting out of there as fast as I could. Running would only incite a chase.
It was time to amendDon’t wake the fucking PrincetoDon’t tempt the fucking Prince.
Would the real idiot please stand up?
“We might end dinner,” he said, “and commence with—”
I snatched a berry from a small side bowl and shoved it towards his mouth to halt that sentence. He obliged, the hint of a smile on his lips, and ate the fruit from my fingers.
“Another,” he crooned, and my mind began to think about his lips eating other things, his attention fixed on me as he devoured his meal.
Dread and desire uncoiled. His voice was no longer a conversational murmur, but stronger, rich and deep and blooming with life. And by life, I really meant pain and sex and the naked intention to inflict both on me.
So I plucked up another berry and slowly approached his lips. Evidently, I wasn't smart. But. . .this was what Nora had told me to do. Court his interest like easy prey and hope it dissipated. Listening to the advice and taking it were two different things. How could she just expect me to blithely seduce him into a quickie?
Holding my gaze, he took the fruit again, but this time, his hand darted out and locked around my wrist. He pulled one finger into his mouth, licking my skin with a slow, sensual caress.
My body woke up and howled. I bit my bottom lip, struggling with my base nature. His eyes caught on my mouth and flamed.
I yanked my finger back, helplessly imagining his tongue on other places, then mentally slapped myself. Twice. He didn’t let my wrist go, instead lifting his gaze back to my eyes.
“If that was not intended as an invitation, Lady Aerinne,” he said, raw sexual darkness of his voice, “then I suggest you finish eating your vegetables.”
Renaud released my wrist after that gentle rebuke, and I collapsed back into my chair, sweat dotting my spine. He’d proved that any time he wanted, he could just whip his voice out at me, and I would crumble.
Gods.
I squirmed, then mentally slapped myself again and made my body still because his gaze tracked each movement, growing brighter, more lethal.
I was not the only one holding myself back by the strength of my fingernails. The problem was that once he unleashed, damage would actually be done. I just killed people.
The Prince would destroy my soul. I knew it. I couldn’t just invite him into my bed and hope he wouldn’t shred me to pieces.
I wasn’t ready to be obliterated and then remade into something that bent to his will from just his touch, or the look in his eyes, or the timbre of his voice.
I closed my eyes. I feared, greatly, that that was exactly what would happen.
If a fall was inevitable before I died, then how did I drag him down with me?
* * *
A staircaseon the side of the balcony wove down to the Prince's gardens. After we finished eating, Renaud rose, holding out his hand in silent command.
“Walk with me.”
He didn't have the look of a male about to throw me over his shoulder and stride to the bedroom, so I pushed back my chair and took his hand against my better judgment. I had to pick my battles. He said he'd indulge defiance, but I'd save it for something that mattered.
Cool, dry fingers wrapped around mine. He tucked my hand in the curve of his elbow as we descended the stairs. The gesture should have felt casually courteous, but it didn't.
It oozed possessiveness. Anticipation.
Unease skittered up my spine.
“Just a walk,” I said, infusing my voice with warning.
He tilted his head toward me but said nothing.
