I laugh despite myself, despite the mild panic I feel when he guides me expertly to the edge of the ballroom floor, his palm warm against mine. I may not be a damsel, but my distress is gratingly real.
His other hand settles on my back, and warmth feathers over my skin as we maneuver into position and the music starts. My heart feels like it’s going to pound its way out of my rib cage, just from the press of his fingers... and the sensation of them gently guiding my body into movement. “Relax, Suraya. Let me lead,” he whispers.
Heat winds through me at his soft rasp, making my limbs go liquid as if all he has to do is speak for me to comply. Sands, this is going to be a starsdamned disaster if I can’t control myself.
Barely inches apart, I’m acutely aware of everything about him—his elegant grace, the coiled strength in his lean frame, and his crisp scent—as we twirl with the other dancers. I try to ignore the fact that my hand is clasped securely in his and the other is resting on the curve of his hard biceps. But the more I trynotto think about the feel of the sleek bulge of muscles beneath his silk shirt, the more I have to force myself not to squeeze and sigh and run my greedy hands all over the front of him to search for more. Would the rest of his body be as firm? As sculpted?
Who knew I was the type to swoon over any man’s muscles? Men were always tearing their shirts off in the tavern, and I’d never had the desire to look twice or to be so handsy.
I glance up to find his amused gaze on mine as he expertly moves us in tune with the beat, and I scowl. “What?”
“You feel good, too.”
“You’re full of it,” I sputter, face burning with the force of a thousand suns. “You have no idea what I was thinking.”
A slow curl of his bottom lip does unspeakable things to me. “I can hazard a guess. You looked exactly as you did when you were eating dinner the other night, relishing each morsel and sucking the spices off your fingers with moans of delight.”
I didn’t think I could flush any further, but my entire face feels like it’s aflame at the knowledge that he’d seen me eating with such abandon. Or that I’d been ogling him the same way... with undisguised relish. “Well, you would be wrong, Your Highness. If you must know, I was thinking of wood-burrowing beetles and their impact on local vegetation.”
The prince barks out a loud laugh that draws the attention of the nearest couples. “I’ll have to get your expert opinion on that sometime.”
“I shall be happy to give it to you,” I reply with a sniff.
Note to self: research beetles indigenous to the capital city.
Despite my outrageous fibs, it takes every ounce of concentration to keep my spine locked and not flop into his arms like an overcooked noodle. I could blame the liqueur, but deep down I know it’s not the drink... it’shim.
I manage to hold my own, until the prince’s long fingers skim the bare flesh of my torso after a neat half-turn, and the touch of skin on skin drives away any sham of composure. Spidery ribbons of delicious heat unravel through me, making my vision swim and my lungs tighten, and I have to remind myself how my legs are supposed to work in tandem with the rest of me.
“You dance well, Your Highness,” I say in a desperate bid to distract myself.
“Will it kill you to say my name?”
“It might. Queen Morvarid won’t approve of such impertinence, and I’d like to keep my head.”
“I have a feeling you enjoy breaking the rules, Suraya Saab.”
He guides me into another turn, lifting a challenging brow, and I meet it without hesitating. “Only if the payoff is worth the risk.”
A blush warms my cheeks at my boldness, but his eyes light with pleasure as he pulls me into a skilled spin. Clearly, Prince Roshan is enjoying our verbal sparring—and our physical compatibility—as much as I am. As we twirl together for the final part of the dance, his warm breath grazing my ear, my body feels like it’s on the brink of a towering precipice. One more touch, one more heated graze, and I’ll tumble over the edge and shiver apart into a million unrecognizable pieces. Something of my precarious state must be visible in my gaze, because when Roshan meets my eyes, his breath catches and his pupils blow out, a slight tremor running through him as well.
Stars above, is it a thousand degrees in here?
When the dance comes to a close—finally—Roshan doesn’t immediately release me. Instead, he pulls me closer, fingers tightening... as if he can’t bear to let go. Mesmerized, I’m drowning in the turbulence of his eyes, in that sea of unguarded desire and something all too real, until his arms reluctantly loosen. “You are a dangerous woman.”
I stare at him with a racing heart, knowing the danger is very mutual. I take several breathless steps back, putting a healthy amount of space between us, and sink into a curtsy. “Thank you for the dance, Your Highness.”
“Roshan,” he insists.
I balk at the soft, deliberate command, suddenly conscious of our avid audience and the fact that we are the only ones left on the ballroom floor, locked in an apparent standoff. Not thatthatisn’t drawingmore attention. And I can’t very well leave him there: it would cause even more of a scandal.
I give in and whisper with an ungracious huff, “Oh, very well, you overgrown toddler.Roshan.If anyone overhears and I get executed, that’s on you.”
“Not on my watch.”
“Why is it that on your watch I feel like I’m about to dive headfirst off a cliff?” I don’t hide my eye roll. “A very tall cliff with ugly, sharp rocks and a mountain of carnivorous beetles congregating at the bottom, waiting to consume my poor, dead carcass?”
He laughs but offers his elbow to me as we leave the floor. “I have to admit, I’m deeply fascinated by that imaginative brain of yours.”
