He chuckles. “I’m sure you do.” He traces along the leather line of the sheath, circling my thigh before returning his fingers to where I’d originally placed them. “Do you perform often in the main salon? In the shows?”
“I used to, though now I stick to just one number an evening. I love being onstage.” I don’t know why I answer him, and so honestly, except the way his fingers trace delicate swirls on my thigh seems to have hypnotized me. “Unclip here,” I instruct in a soft whisper, pointing to my garter. “And here.”
I don’t have to guide him any further after that.
His hands slide the delicate hose down to my ankle, pulling my foot free before gently placing it back on the floor. “If you love it, why only one performance a night?” He reaches for my other leg, performing the same ministrations and leaving me breathless once again.
“You are a quick study,” I say, bringing him back to his feet.
He grunts and I want to swallow the sound.
His hands still, as if he knows I’m ignoring his question.
“My time is better used elsewhere these days. Working here used to be more than a job, but things have changed lately.” I need to stop talking, stop sharing these unbidden thoughts, but those blue eyes pull me in and I find myself wanting to tell him everything.
“You enjoy what you do?” he asks without a hint of judgment.
“For the most part. At least, I did.” When I was actually helping my clients instead of just milking them for every cent. “What about you, Your Highness? What occupies your days?” I take his hand in mine, guiding it to the laces of my corset.
I immediately realize it was a mistake to wear a corset that laces in the front instead of the back, as now I have to watch as he toys with the ribbons. I have to breathe in his woodsy sage scent and not let it show how much I want to bury my nose in his chest and inhale.
His eyes meet mine and they are blazing as hot as my cheeks. I can’t wait to be released from the fabric because surely the corset is the reason I can no longer catch my breath.
“I used to spend my days preparing to lead the Scotan province.” He tugs on the end of the bow and begins maddeningly slowly releasing the laces, never removing his eyes from mine. “Meetings with members of the community, the occasional diplomatic trip to visit other provinces, learning everything I could about my landand my people so I could hopefully be an effective and compassionate leader.”
His answer surprises me. Not because the information itself is unexpected, but because Callum Reid seems to genuinely care about what was to be his future leadership role. And the air around us is a clear blue. He is once again being truthful, open, and honest.
But if he did spend so much time studying the state of the Scotan province, then surely he knows about the atrocities some of his citizens face. Sure, Scota may not have people starving in the streets, but just because they are provided with a place to live doesn’t make it a good or safe place to live. The Gifted in Scota may not be hunted and killed like they have been in some of the other provinces, but that certainly doesn’t mean they are treated fairly. And if he knows about the places like the orphanage Andra and I were forced to flee, where we were overworked and underfed, why doesn’t he do anything about it? Unless he’s not the compassionate man he’s pretending to be.
Somehow, I find that thought difficult to accept.
I focus my attention on the deft way his fingers pull at the strings of the lacy fabric, using my doubts about his character as a shield. Neither of us breathes until the ribbon finally springs free and the corset parts. I catch it before it falls, tossing it to the side.
Callum’s eyes are no longer on mine. No, they trace over every inch of exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire burning in their wake. Over my collarbone and down the dip of my waist and the curve of my hips and the softness of my stomach. Along the edge of the one tiny piece of fabric still left on my body. Back up to my voluptuous breasts, heavy and aching, my nipples peaked.
His hand rises, like he might reach out to cup one of my breasts, stroke his thumb over my nipple. And fuck if I don’t want him to. If I don’tneedhim to.
Instead I arch a brow in a silent challenge and his hands drift lower, his thumbs hooking in the edge of the lace, dragging my panties down my legs until I am fully bared before him.
He takes a step back, seemingly forgetting the chaise is behind him. The move knocks him into a seated position, bringing him eye level with the patch of golden curls at the apex of my thighs.
My eyes flutter as I think about his mouth finding me there.
I force myself to take in the person in front of me, remembering who he is and why he’s here.
I put some much-needed space between us, crossing to the bed and perching on the edge, ignoring the urge to slide onto his lap. The urge to cover his mouth with mine. I ache for his touch in a way I’ve never experienced before, but I cannot let my body take control of my brain. Crossing my legs, I level Callum with a stare. “Ready for part two?”
“No,” he chokes out.
I laugh, and it’s genuine. “Stand up, Your Highness.”
He obeys and my eyes fall directly to his pants and the very clear evidence of how much tonight’s lesson is affecting him.
“Woo me. And if you do a good job, I’ll take care of that for you.” I let my eyes linger on the massive erection straining the bonds of his pants. I need him vulnerable again if I’m to find out the kind of information Lady M is expecting from me, and taking care of the impressive-looking bulge should give me the chance I need. The sooner I can be done with Callum Reid, the better.
His hand flies to his cock, as if to hide it. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I’m sorry?” There is no way this man is rejecting my advances for the second time.
