Brax drags the backs of his knuckles along my shoulder with unhurried strokes, spreading tingling sparks through every nerve in my body.
I shift slightly.
He pulls me fully against him as if the two inches between us areunacceptable. His low voice comes out playful but feels like a warning. "No escaping me now, Valentina."
I swallow, but my throat tightens too much to respond.
The conversation shifts. Sean and Zara talk quietly about the arena, the Omni, and more possible traitors. The words drift around me in a faint blur. Every inch of my awareness narrows to Brax's hands, his heat, and his earthy, masculine scent, edged with smoke from the fires we just left behind.
It all makes me ache with something so needy I feel like I might explode.
He brings his arm back to my thigh. His thumb makes a slow arc on my skin.
My entire body coils tighter with every pass.
He leans back casually, as if all he's doing is lounging through the eight-hour flight instead of systematically dismantling my self-control. Whenever I shift, he pulls me closer with firm and intimate pressure.
Zara observes us between sips. Her mouth curves every time Brax asserts another inch of possession, as if she's watching a show she wasn't expecting but refuses to look away from.
By the third hour, there are two empty champagne bottles and a torturous hum in my veins. Heat builds inside me, pouring through my limbs with a pulse that steals the air from my lungs.
Brax never takes his hands off me. His thumb strokes upward in a slow, coaxing motion, getting closer and closer to the danger zone.
Five hours in, he drops a kiss just below my ear. It's a quick graze, done while Sean and Zara discuss security protocols, but my entire body tightens in response. He pretends nothing happened, his eyes fixed innocently ahead, but the faint curve of his mouth betrays him.
By the seventh hour, I'm so wound up that the fabric of my dress clings to the heat rising off me. The air moves too slowly. My pulse flutters too fast. The press of Brax's palm against my thigh becomes its own gravity, dragging every thought toward the promise simmering beneath his calm exterior.
Whenever turbulence hits, he uses it as an excuse to anchor me harder against him, his fingertips tracing the same small, confident patterns.
I'll lean an inch away, and his lips brush my temple. Then he'll reposition his hand on me, controlling every sensation I have.
By the time the wheels touch down, my chest rises and falls too quickly, and every muscle in my body is strung tight with hypersensitive awareness.
The moment the door opens, a rush of cold Chicago air fills my lungs. I step into it gratefully, trying to recenter my mind.
Sean's driver waits beside the SUV, holding the door open. Sean and Zara slide in first, muttering about immediate calls they need to make.
When the car stops at my building minutes later, I reach for the door handle. "I'll see you tomorrow," I announce, needing distance from Brax's relentless heat.
I step out.
Brax steps out right behind me.
I turn sharply. "What are you doing?"
He shuts the door with his forearm, gives me a look dripping with sarcasm. "Funny, Minx." Before I can argue, he takes my hand and leads me through the glass doors of my building as if I'm not perfectly capable of entering without assistance.
The elevator opens with a soft ding, and he pulls me inside. We ascend in charged silence, the tension thick enough to compress the small space.
The second my door clicks shut behind us, Brax's hands grasp my hips. My back hits the wall, and he cages his body against mine, crowding every inch of air between us. His face hovers so close his breath taunts my lips. "I don't think you realized what you've gotten yourself into, Minx."
I press my palm against his chest, the steady rise and fall under my hand warning that he's seconds from losing whatever restraint he boarded the plane with. "Don't be mad."
The sound he releases is a low, dangerous grumble. "Don't be mad?" His palm slides higher on my hip, and his chest expands beneath my touch. "You decide to get engaged to me in front of the king and queen, lock us into a full-moon wedding, and you tell me not to be mad?"
I draw in a careful breath. "We're getting seats on the Royal Council."
His nostrils flare. He asks a sharp, dynamite-laced question. "This is what you want?" His eyes search mine with an urgency that steals the next breath straight out of my lungs.
