“Is that what I need to do? Should I get down on my knees and beg? Please, pretend you actually care about me so that the city doesn’t decide to execute me?”
Her words—a little too loud, even in chatter and music of the ballroom—made Levi grab her by the wrist and wrench her down a nearby hallway to the kitchens. They ducked into the closest pantry, where they could speak freely without the threat of eavesdroppers.
Enne set her empty glass on a shelf beside jars of breakfast preserves, then propped her hands on her hips. “Oh perfect, now we can spend the whole party in here, and no reporter will see us,” she snapped.
“We’ll go back out,” he said. “Just give me a moment of space.”
He needed to untangle his thoughts, which would be easier to do without her here. One kiss, Grace had instructed, but Levi did not feel ready for it. Not with the crowds. Not with Enne looking like that. Not with less than two months passed since Enne had drilled two bullets into his best friend.
“We’ve barely been here for fifteen minutes,” Enne shot back.
“I asked you for space, real space, after what happened,” Levi said, his voice rising. “And so let me have this one mucking minute. And then I’ll go back out there and play doting boyfriend again.”
“What part of that performance was doting boyfriend?” Enne shook her head in exasperation, making her carefully pinned curls slide from their barrettes. “All I’m asking is for you to reciprocate. For you to act for one second like you don’t hate the thought of touching me.”
Levi didn’t hate the thought of touching her—far from it. The threat of one kiss was that he wasn’t sure he could only kiss her once.
“You want me to reciprocate?” he growled, taking a step closer to her.
“You’re the Iron Lord, aren’t you? The master of shows,” she said as though goading him with a dare. “Maybe I should have asked Grace or Roy to gallivant with me across New Reynes.”
“Maybe you should have,” he bit out.
“Because they actually care about me?”
“Because they aren’t in love with you!” he shouted.
Enne opened her mouth to say something, but it only hung agape. She watched him deliriously, and Levi realized he’d spoken in present tense.
“Muck,” he cursed, then he strode toward her and kissed her so fiercely even the scandalous tabloid reporters would hesitate to snap their cameras. He wound his fingers through her hair, cradling her head with one hand and waist with the other, pulling her toward him. The espresso flavor of her aura left traces on her lips, and after all evening craving the taste of her, he finally let himself drink deeply.
At first, Enne gasped, then she drew him closer, pressing against him so tightly he barely had the space to breathe. So long as he did not stop kissing her, he didn’t think he needed to.
“Tell me when it’s enough,” he murmured.
When she didn’t respond, didn’t let go, he steered her by her hips against the pantry’s back wall. Levi had not forgotten who he was. He knew how to put on a show, but this was not that. And with every new touch—his mouth against her neck, his fingers tracing her hem up her thigh, the straps of her dress slipping until the lace of her camisole was exposed—he wanted to prove to her that when it came to what he felt for her, every performance would fall short.
“Tell me when you’re satisfied.”
Enne said nothing, which was good, because Levi wasn’t, either. He wouldn’t be until he purged the taste of cheap taffy and chocolate from his lips. He wouldn’t be until she gasped his name, with no one to hear it but him.
A bright light flashed, making Enne freeze in shock beneath him. Levi sprung off of her and whipped around, facing a small flock of reporters. His mouth went dry. Had they followed them here?
Another flash. Levi squinted, dizzy, and wrapped his arm around Enne to shield her from the people crowding into the cramped space. Enne stumbled as she wrenched down her dress.
“Don’t—We didn’t—Move out of our way,” Levi grunted at the paparazzi, his throat tight each time another stranger bumped into him. He regretted ever coming to this mucking ball.
Once they’d freed themselves, they staggered back into the ballroom to Grace and Roy, who slow danced to a jazzy ballad, not bickering for once.
“I’m done. We’re leaving,” Levi growled, pushing past them to the exit.
Enne hurried to keep up, her cheeks still flushed scarlet. “Did you hint to those reporters to follow us?” she asked.
Levi nearly choked. How could she possibly think that? He hadn’t been pretending at all.
Had she?
Hating himself for his own thickheadedness, Levi fumbled in his pocket for an orb and thrust it into Enne’s hand. “For a cab,” he snarled, as though this had really been a cheap date. And then he fled without a goodbye.
