The roughness of his voice and the on-edge, slightly wild way his eyes bore into mine tell me he doesn’t like the man. I never voted for him. I’m not a Messalinian citizen. I think I’m still technically a US citizen, but they’re way cooler about that stuff here than they are in the United States. All I know about the prime minister is that he’s young, handsome, and refined.
Sort of like our king, but not nearly as broody and godlike. What is it about grumpy, broody, gorgeous men that turns panties into ashes?
“Okay, Sebastian. Got it. Stay away from the prime minister.”
I realize I just called him Sebastian instead of Your Majesty or sir, and it’s not lost on him either. In a flash, he presses his forearms onto either side of the doorway, caging me in my room. Have I mentioned how good he smells? Or how fucking dangerous it feels when he stands like that, looming predatorily over me? My vagina seriously needs to get a clue that he’s a no-go for action and penetration.
Shame, my cherry could use a good popping by this point.But for real, I need to get a grip, and I need to get it fast. He’s not a safe man.
“Sebastian?” He raises his eyebrows. I’ve shocked a king, and now my day is complete. “Is this part of some game you’re playing?”
“No game. It simply slipped out.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
“I liked calling you that. Am I not allowed? It is your name.”
He continues to stare at me without answering.
Exasperated, I throw my hands up and then remember the boobage situation and quickly re-cover them. “Fine. No Sebastian, even if I liked it. Be thankful I didn’t call you Seb.”
He wheezes out what I think might be a laugh. Holy shit. I think that’s what it is until it’s gone just as fast as it came. A mirage in the desert, maybe I imagined it. Maybe he was having an asthma attack instead.
“Seb?!” He’s shocked. “No. No one has ever called me that.”
“Pity. Maybe a nickname would soften you up a bit.” I roll my eyes when he half snarls at me. “Fine. Forget it,Your Majesty. You seem like you’re not a man to be pushed at this particular moment.”
“I am not.”
“Not excited to see the prime minister, then? Does he have bad news for you?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
I’m shocked he’s still standing here speaking to me. I would have thought he’d chastise me for my outfit and go. He’s already made it quite clear I’m not his favorite person.
“Still tired? Not much sleep again?”
No answer, but he’s not moving and damn.
“Not into peopling then? I get it. Well, not really. I like peopling, I just don’t have people to people with, if that makes sense.” I’m babbling. The man makes me as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. “You look handsome though. Beconfident in that if nothing else today.” I straighten his tie only to jerk my hands away.
What in the Sam Jesus am I doing touching him? Again!
He emits an incredulous, slightly bemused grunt. I haven’t heard anything close to it from his lips before. It’s husky and a bit rough and makes my skin tingle.
“Are you always this bold and unrefined?”
“Usually,” I admit. No. Never. I simply like pushing his buttons.
“Americans,” he grumbles.
“Yes, we’re quite the breed.”
“Don’t touch me again.”
“Even if you liked it?”
He does that swearing in Latin thing I’ve noticed he does. Probably because he doesn’t know what to make of me. I’m flirting with him, which is absurd but fun all the same simply to see his reaction to it.
