She moved to her toes. He reached out to stop her, to push her back down on her heels, to move her out of his way so he could walk around her.
Instead, his hands found purchase on her hips and stayed there, the soft fabric a whispered promise against his palms.Her skin would feel even better.
Perhaps that thought, and the attempt to fight it, distracted him, because it gave her the chance to brush her lips across his. The low beat of need held him in his grip. It was shame that he had not had the fortitude to stop this before he had been given a chance to linger.
But linger he did, in this half-kiss. Gentle, almost nothing pressure, even as his grip on her hips tightened, bringing her up closer, plastered against him. He could feel the weight of her breasts, the shuddery intake of breath. The way his own body turned to painful, hardenedneed.
She smelled like something fresh and new. Spring and promise. It would haunt him the rest of his life, he had no doubt. And if he got a taste of her…
No, it would be a step too far. A step he could not take back.
So he had to put a stop to it. Now. He set her back on her heels, ignored the ringing in his ears, that pulling, incessant need that he knew too well led him to dangerous places.
He focused all his energy on making sure his voice sounded like a scolding schoolteacher, though his breath felt ragged in his lungs. “That was uncalled for, Evelyne.”
“Uncalled for,” she echoed. Her color was high, her golden eyes dreamy, her hands on his shoulders. The scent of her, the faint taste of her lingered, fogging up his brain for a moment before he had the good sense to step back, away from her grip on him.
She touched her fingers to her lips, still looking at him. He had a very disconcertingupendedfeeling. For most of his life—even when he’d been traveling down the wrong path—he had always felt in control. It wasn’t loss ofcontrol. It was letting base urges win. He would have succeeded in murdering that man, if Alexandre had not waded in and pulled him off. If Alex had not said the words that got through the haze of violence and revenge.
You are not like my father, Gabriel. I will not let you fall down that path.
So he had never once let himself follow the path of obsession again. These days, he remained one step ahead of anyone who might lure him below that surface. He was intelligent, privileged and quick.
But he was not one step ahead of her. Not even close. If he’d listened to his instincts instead of believing he had a handle on the situation, he would have been gone long before now.
So he had to use whatever tools he had to stop this. Now. Cruelty seemed the only way, much as he loathed to treat her badly. It was for the best. “A little hero worship is natural.”
She held his gaze, not getting haughty or even narrowing her eyes at him as he’d expected. As he’dhoped. Instead, shesmiled. “Then why won’t you let me worship?”
Thathad more than just his throat tightening. He could not find his voice for a throbbing, portentous moment. When he did find it, the sound was rough, pained. “Evelyne, I do not know what you think is happening…”
“Well, apparently nothing is happening. Though I don’t see why.” She gestured at him. “You aren’t…uninterested.”
Uninterested. If only he could even conjure the meaning of the word in this moment.
“Do you remember what you told me that night I broke you out of the palace?” he demanded.
Her eyebrows drew together, as if thinking back and coming up empty.
“You told me, in that haughty princess way of yours, that your brother would kill me if I took advantage of you.” And he did not believe this exactly—because Alexandre was good and right and had once stoppedhimfrom killing a man—but there were dungeons in Alis, among other punishments.
She reached out, slid her palms up his chest before he stepped away. “You wouldn’t be taking advantage. Have I not made that clear?”
He caught her hands by her wrists. Slim, her pulse skittering under the weight of his fingers.
For a moment, he forgot himself. He thought only of the feel of her hands against his skin. And he held them in his own. He could put her hands exactly where he pleased. He could…
“You’re bored,” he said, forcing his voice to be commanding and cold. Forcing himself to believe the words he said. “You’re lonely. I’m not your plaything.”
She looked up at him, head cocked, the gold of her eyes glowing like a hypnotist’s pendant. “Why not?”
He thought he should be outraged by how flippant she was being. Instead, he was aroused. Tempted. If she wanted to play…
“I’m not a virgin, you know,” she continued, turning her hands in his grip so that her fingers trailed along the underside of his jaw. “I can be your plaything right back. Perhaps I am lonely and bored. What would be so wrong with…entertaining each other?”
Entertaining each other. It brought to mind a million scenarios, but he did not let his mind settle on one. He thought of another time, when the obsessive want for a woman had obliterated all else. And his only savior had been…
“Your brother.”
