He wanted her so badly, but he read her wrong last time. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
She bit her lip, testing the limits of his willpower, then nodded her head.
Tilting her chin up, he lowered his lips to hers. The sweet taste of her shattered what little control he had left. The way she melted into him, kissing him back in equal measure, told Cormac that she wanted it as badly as he did.
Her fingers raked over his bare chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
He returned the gesture in kind, his hands devouring her. Everything about her was soft and supple, yet just as fierce as he’d come to expect from the tempestuous princess.
She gasped at his touch. He ached to pick her up and carry her to his room, to throw her onto his bed and make her his. Instead, he deepened the kiss.
His hands moved over her hips, up the sides of her body until he ran a thumb over her breast, finding a hard nipple and coaxing a moan from her. Maybe he should take her to his room. He shifted, preparing to carry her off.
Someone cleared their throat in the center of the hall.
Astrid gasped, but Cormac could tell from the suppressed laugh that it was his menace of a brother, Conan. Letting his hands fall from the beauty with a beleaguered sigh, he turned and raised a brow.
“Everyone’s on their way to the feasting hall. Best we get over there as well.” Conan’s eyes glittered with amusement but he wisely held his tongue.
Cormac thanked him, watching him leave before turning back to Astrid. He found her honey-hued eyes staring at him from beneath thick, dark lashes, her face flushed and her lips red as berries. He’d never be able to look at her again without imagining her like that.
“You never answered my question the other day. Do you want me to let your Ostman win, princess?”
Her fingers traced the lines of his jaw, her eyes hungry. “Not just yet,” she teased in a husky, playful voice. She pulled his face to hers, her fingers putting gentle pressure along his rough jawline, and she planted one more lingering kiss on his lips. “Meet me outside after the hall clears tonight.”
Astrid fled the hall, leaving him in shock. She hadn’t run off when he admitted his true feelings. Quite the opposite, in fact. Encouraged, Cormac followed after her to join his brothers in the hall, unable to keep a smile from his face.
Cormac entered Sitric’s hall to find the contestants more subdued tonight than they had been previously, likely exhaustedfrom their fight to survive in the harbor. Only one or two of the suitors ventured over to Astrid. Cormac couldn’t help but feel pleased that Teague and Cairell kept to themselves in a corner, no doubt licking their wounded pride. Servants prepared the tables for the meal while folk finished up their conversations.
“So what was it you were saying aboutnotmarrying the princess?” Conan greeted him, grinning like a fool.
“As it stands, that’s still the plan,” Cormac replied.
Conan narrowed his eyes. “It didn’t look like the plan.”
“She hasn’t expressed an interest in it being otherwise.”
“Maybe not verbally,” Conan taunted.
Diarmid spotted them from their usual seats at Sitric’s table and hurried to join them. “Well? What happened?”
Cormac rubbed his neck. “She thanked me for competing.”
Conan smacked him—hard—then turned to Diarmid. “He’s holding out on you.”
“Does that mean you like her now?” Diarmid asked Cormac.
“That’s how it looked, aye. Mutual liking,” Conan teased.
“Excellent,” Diarmid proclaimed, “that means you’re in a good mood, then, aye?”
That could only mean trouble. “Why?”
“I know you’ve been busy, but the tournament is nearly finished, and we’ve still not spoken to him.”
Cormac knew “him” referred to Cahill, as all three of them hesitated to call the man their father. “Let’s get this over with,” Cormac grumbled.
Though Teague didn’t pose a threat to his victory, they still needed to determine what their father hoped to achieve and whether or not he made any progress on it. Cormac led Conan and Diarmid over to where their father skulked near an empty table.
