As they made their way through the crowd, those cat-like eyes widened, and he noticed the pulse in her collarbone pumping double time.
She looked wary, probably because she had realised he was not going to be as easy to play as his brother—who suffered from an honourable streak Theo had never shared.
‘How about a drink?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you.’ She gave a shallow nod, chewing on that bottom lip again—which made him want to soothe it with his tongue.
The feral instincts he’d developed on the backstreets of Athens sent adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream to add to the persistent hum of desire.
Changing course, he headed past the lavish baroque fountain in the centre of the garden, where a lot of the guests had gathered to enjoy the fireworks due to start in twenty minutes, and headed towards a secluded area past the trees.
He paused at a bar set up in an orangery, dimly lit by torches, his own smile becoming smug.
Let the games begin.
CHAPTER THREE
‘What’syourpoison, Your Highness?’ Theo Caras’ deep voice skimmed over Freya’s skin, setting off more disturbing sensations en route.
‘Poison?’ she asked, then felt foolish when he sent her an indulgent smile.
But she was struggling to think, because most of her functioning braincells had been zapped to a crisp as soon as she’d spotted this man in the crowd of elegantly dressed revellers. He had been impossible to miss. His panther-like grace as compelling as the way his broad shoulders and long legs were displayed in the tailored tuxedo. His head had turned when their names were announced, and his gaze had locked on her, then he had walked towards her and her father with the singular purpose of a heat-seeking missile.
He was tall, at least as tall as his older brother, but his features were more classically handsome. His dark brows, high cheekbones and square jaw were as perfect as the cut of his designer suit. But once he’d reached them—and he’d taken his own sweet time boldly assessing her—she’d noticed all the tantalising imperfections. The shadow of stubble already appearing on his jaw, the scar that bisected one eyebrow, the bump on the bridge of his aquiline nose where he must have broken it—all of which suggested his debonair appearance was the sheep’s clothing of a dangerous wolf.
His brother had a similar rough-around-the-edges quality, but while Xander Caras had appeared to her to be keen totranscend his wild origins, this man seemed to flaunt them beneath the veneer of sophistication.
When his gaze had finally met hers, after that thorough assessment, she had been even more aware of how naked the dress she had been forced to wear made her feel.
‘What beverage do you prefer, Your Highness?’ he explained with amused patience, the pure iridescent turquoise of his irises gleaming.
‘A soda water would be good, thank you…’ she said, because she already felt drunk on that focussed attention, which was even more unnerving than her non-existent gown. ‘And, please, call me Freya.’
Funny to think she’d always yearned to have this reaction to a man, but Theo Caras already felt like a lot more than she could handle.
It was like staring into the sun, her skin burning, her heart pumping too fast, her thighs quivering so much she might as well have been standing on an active volcano.
He was utterly overwhelming. This was too much.Hewas too much.
What made it worse, though, was her suspicion he had seen through her provocative outfit to the inexperienced girl beneath and was just playing with her now, like a panther toying with a mouse.
‘Soda? Really?’ His lips quirked. ‘Isn’t that rather tame for a woman wearing such an…’ he hesitated as if searching for the correct adjective ‘…intoxicating dress?’
Had he guessed the gown was a lure? A trap? An attempt to trick him into doing what her father wanted? It was impossible to tell, his expression an inscrutable mix of amused and incentivised… Although incentivised to do what, she had no idea.
Either way, she should have been humiliated at being offered up as a virgin sacrifice. Especially as her seduction skills were so limited. Did he know the gown amounted to false advertising? Showcasing her as a sexually confident virago instead of what she really was, an untried girl playing dress-up?
Oddly, it didn’t feel like humiliation making her pulse accelerate.
‘Aren’t you concerned you’ll spill out of it?’ he asked, the gruff tone as inappropriate as the question.
‘Unlikely, as it’s stuck to my nipples,’ she replied, all the etiquette training she’d had over the years unable to withstand his heated gaze.
Triumph rushed through her when his brows rose. Had she surprised him with her forthright answer? She certainly hoped so. Because it made her feel in control of her own destiny for the first time in years.
But then he laughed. And she realised she had overestimated her power to shock him.
‘You’re not serious?’ he asked, but before she could think of another pithy come-back he added, ‘Doesn’t that hurt?’
