The challenging tone, and the arrogant way he had played with her hair, made it clear he wasn’t impressed by her class or her breeding—which only made his focussed attention more dangerous, and more breathtaking.
Theo Caras was a man who had earned everything he possessed, including his arrogance, unlike her father, and unlike her. Her title, her position, meant nothing to him. She wasa woman to him, not a princess and the thought made this moment even more exhilarating.
He knocked back the last of his champagne, the strong column of his throat contracting as he swallowed. He placed the glass on the marble terrace wall, with careful deliberation and a sense of purpose that mesmerised her. Then he skimmed his thumb down her cheek—touching her again without asking her permission. She gasped, his forwardness almost as shocking as her body’s elemental response.
She leant into his touch, unable to look away as fire blazed across her skin.
‘Although, I’ve never enjoyed a honey trap as much as this one,’ he continued, watching her reaction.
When his hand dropped away, she let out a sob of protest.
‘Please…’ she murmured, giving in to the urge to trigger more of these delicious sensations.
She’d never been touched like that before, as if he had a right to her body, her reactions. It was electrifying.
His lips quirked, but his gaze blazed with the same intoxicating awareness when he spoke. ‘Pleasewhat, Your Highness?’ The dark intensity in his eyes belied the mocking tone.
‘Please touch me, again,’ she whispered.
She was shocked by her own boldness, but she refused to be ashamed. It had been so long since she had been touched with any affection. Not since the last time her mother had hugged her, because her brothers thought it was too girly, her father despised her, and no one else would ever dare to lay a finger on a member of the royal household.
She knew Caras’ touch wasn’t affectionate, that it wouldn’t fill the hole inside her that had been there ever since her mother had left.
He knew nothing of her dreams, and she knew even less about his. But something about the fierce purpose in his expression made her feel seen, feel important, as if the only person he could see right now was her.
Not her title—like the people she met as part of her royal duties. Not her worth as a producer of royal heirs to continue the Galecois line—the way her father did. Not even as someone to protect them—the way her brothers did. To Theo Caras she was just a woman he desired. And there was something wonderfully liberating about that. So liberating, in fact, she didn’t care that was all he saw.
‘Where exactly do you wish to be touched, Freya?’ he said, dropping the mocking title.
Her heart leapt into her throat, the sound of her given name on his lips shockingly intimate.
The adrenaline surged.
‘Anywhere you want,’ she said, not caring how needy that sounded, just desperate to have him take the lead. To make her feel alive, to make her feel desired and beautiful, to make her feel like a woman.
‘Are you sure you want to give a man like me that much power, Freya?’ he asked, but the warning sounded more like a promise.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
His fierce grin was as feral as the desire flaring in his eyes. He nodded.
She couldn’t control the sharp breath when he skimmed his thumb over her collarbone, then traced the fabric’s edge that barely concealed her nipple, stroking the swell of her breast. The caress was light but so sure and unhurried, and the purpose in his gaze so fierce, the ball of excitement in her throat swelled to impossible proportions.
‘Do you wish me to go further, Freya?’ he asked—teasing, tempting, tormenting.
She sucked in an uneven breath and bobbed her head.Yes.
He slid his fingertips under the fabric panel to curl his hand around her waist.
Her glass wobbled, his hold making the dress strain against the tape the stylist had applied to her breast to keep the bodice in place. The drawing sensation only increased the need pulsing at her core—while the fear the tape would come unstuck and expose her breast only added to the ferocious wave of excitement.
She’d wandered into a minefield of sensations she couldn’t control. But what was more disturbing was that she didn’t want to control them.
‘Let me take that.’ He lifted the glass she had forgotten from her trembling fingers and placed it beside his on the wall. The soft click against the marble sounded like a gunshot in the quiet night.
But then he tugged her flush against him with the hand on her waist.
Her breath guttered out as she struggled to regulate her breathing. He wasn’t asking for permission any more, but all she could do was moan her encouragement when she inhaled the beguiling scent of aniseed and champagne on his breath, beneath the subtle notes of bergamot and orange from his cologne.
