His eyebrows go up. “Am I?”
My heart is stuttering again, my eyes lingering on the way the light dances across his features. But now my fingers are sticky from the honey and cheese, combining with the dirt that still clings to my arms. Grateful for an excuse to leave the table, I thrust myself out of the chair and move to the washbasin again.
I plunge my hands under the water when it runs, then splash some over my face. It’s ice cold against the warmth on my cheeks, but I don’t care.
When I straighten, he’s right there, holding out a towel.
Lord.He’s so infuriating. So kind. Both! I snatch the fabric right out of his hands and drag it across my face.
Then I snap it at him.
He catches it and holds fast, which takes me by surprise. This time, we do tussle, just for a second, and the blanket falls off my shoulders. I try to jerk the towel free, but Quint must not be prepared for the sharp motion. He stumbles right into me.
When his hands land on my bare chest, it’s more than a jolt. It’s a lit match. A bonfire. An inferno. His eyes are full of stars, and his hands are so warm, and even though there are a million feelings I should keep buried, a million things I should bedoing, I’ve simply run out of strength to care.
I seize the lapels of his jacket, and I press my mouth to his.
If he’s surprised, it doesn’t show.I’mthe one who’s surprised, because I was ready for there to be an edge to his response, a belligerence, but instead there’s a . . . ?a gentleness. A contentment, like this moment was a foregone conclusion.
His hands slide along the bare skin of my chest, one finding its way behind my neck, the other shifting to take hold of my waist. No one has everheldme, and my entire body is responding in a manner I’m not ready for, easing against him, my breath deepening. His lips part just as his fingers slip along the bare skin of my lower back, and when I feel the brush of his tongue against my own, my whole body jumps. I give a little gasp and draw back.
He lets me go at once.
My pulse is racing. I need to slow my breathing or I’m going to start coughing. I run a hand over the back of my neck and shudder. His hair is turning gold and his eyes won’t stop sparkling, and every part of my body wants to feel him against me again.
“Sovexing,” I whisper. I feel like I can’t gain control of my thoughts. “Quint, I . . .” I have no idea what to say. I have to press my hands together in front of my face. “I don’t . . . I just . . . It’s . . . ? it’s been years since I’ve done that.”
He looks at me like I’ve said the sky is blue. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he says quietly. “Obviously.”
I suck in a sharp breath, and I suddenly want to pull back farther. “Obviously?” I demand.
He startles. “What? Oh! No. Not obvious in that way. But if I may say, it’s rather charming that you would think I couldtell—”
“Quint.” I run a hand down my face. He’s truly going to be the death of me. “Whatwas obvious?”
“That it simplymusthave been years, because if you were slipping paramours into your chambers, you never would have been able to keep it a secret in the palace.”
He’s right about that. “I’ve never snuck anyoneintothe palace.”
“I must say, half the staff would likely be surprised to discover that you’ve ever fancied romance at all, because—Wait, did you say ‘neverintothe palace’?” His eyebrows go up. “Well, now my curiosity is piqued.”
I blush against my will. “It was a long time ago.”
He studies me for a moment. “How long?” he says. “Or is that question too bold?”
I cut him a narrow glance. “Oh, sonowyou’re worried about boldness.”
“Just now?” he says. “Perhaps a bit.”
There’s no real teasing in his voice, no flirtation, but this reminds me of when we were sitting on the porch last night. Debating semantics. The way I snatched his book, how Iwasdisappointed when he didn’t grab it back. We’re standing very close, and I can feel his warmth. My eyes flick to his mouth, the curve of his lip. There’s a part of me that longs to touch him again, and I don’t think it would be unwelcome—but I’m not entirely certain. It’s rare that I ever touch anyone at all, and certainly not like . . . ?this.
So I keep my hands to myself, my heart tripping again. “I used to sneak out,” I say. “Years ago. Before I was king.”
Quint must sense my reticence, because he draws back a little, giving me space. Firelight finds his eyes again.
“It really wasn’t obvious?” I say, and immediately regret it. I have to glance away.
“No, Your Majesty.” He doesn’t laugh, which is a mercy. “Not obvious at all.”
