I watched her walk away with a heavy heart.
For all her tough talk, I’d seen the flash of hurt in her eyes when I pulled back from that almost-there kiss.
Alisa had always been terrible at hiding her feelings. I remembered that from our time together. Her face had always been an open book. This one time, when we’d been dating for around four months, I told her in passing that I’d take her out to dinner next weekend. Something came up with my brother Achille, and all those plans for dinner had just slipped my mind.
When I met her the next time around, I instantly knew I’d fucked up. She had smiled, alright, kept her polite face on. But she wore her disappointment in her eyes.
Today, once again, I knew I let her down. The way she fluttered her eyes closed and gasped out those little breaths—she wanted me just as bad as I’d wanted her.
God, that made me want to chase after her, but I stayed rooted to my spot. Because the truth was that I wanted that kiss more than my next breath, but I wouldn’t be that guy who makes her trade affection for freedom.
I sat back in my chair and groaned. What the hell was I thinking? One minute I was teasing her about snooping, the next I was practically begging for a kiss, and then—I’d rejected her?
I leaned back and stared at the ceiling. When I’d suggested that kiss, I meant it. I wanted to taste her again, to feel those soft lips against mine, to lose myself in her the way I used to. But when she’d actually leaned in, something in me rebelled. She was only doing it for a night out by herself because I’d backed her into a corner.
What kind of an asshole does that? Making deals for kisses like some playground bully?
I’d rather have her kiss me because she wanted to, not because she felt she had to. And even if by the end of it, she wanted that kiss, she didn’t lean in with that intention from the start.
So what other choice did I have than to stop before I did something that would have gnawed at my consciousness?
***
The next morning, I waited in the dining room, without touching any of the food laid out. Maria, my housekeeper, kept giving me curious looks as she arranged the place settings for two.
“Will there be anything else, Sir?” she asked.
“Would you please ask Mrs. Lebedev to join me for breakfast?” I requested.
Maria nodded and disappeared upstairs.
Ten minutes later, I heard Alisa’s annoyed voice drawing closer and smiled.
“This is ridiculous. I’m not a child who needs to be fetched for breakfast,” she was saying as Maria escorted her into the dining room.
She stopped short when she saw me. Today she wore loose pajama pants and a tank top, her hair falling in messy waves around her shoulders. She had no makeup and looked like she was still half-asleep.
She looked exactly like the Alisa from years ago, who used to nestle into me and mutter nonsense in her sleep.
“Yes, your highness?” she demanded, crossing her arms.
I gestured to the chair across from me. “Come. Take a seat. Sorry to bother you this early, but I had a busy day ahead and needed to talk before I left for work.”
“Seriously?” she hissed. “You needed to talk at the crack of dawn?”
“It’s seven-thirty,” I pointed out.
“Like I said. Crack of dawn.”
“Still not a morning person, huh?” I grinned. Back when we were together, I’d learned to let her sleep in on weekends if I didn’t want to have my head bit off, bringing coffee to her bedside as a peace offering when I had to wake her.
“Still trying to scam me into a meal?” she snapped back, finally taking a seat.
“You refuse to have meals with me,” I explained. “So I was reduced to… alternative tactics.”
“By kidnapping me from my room?” she asked, eyebrow raised.
“Maria hardly kidnapped you. She invited you down.”
