“Handsome?”
She laughed. “Intense. Every time I shifted to get out of your line of sight, two seconds later, there you were, homed in again.”
He grunted an acknowledgment.
Would he fess up to why he’d done that? Or was this going to be another stalemate? He was an expert at those. “Then I saw you plowing through the crowd, coming my way, and I knew it was time to leave.”
“Ah, so you did run away from me.”
“It was more…avoiding an encounter that had no future or good ending.”
“Which turned out to be not entirely true,” he countered. “Because here we are.”
While Apollo already knew her big secret, he was also the one still ignoring her wish not to be rescued. She really had no fight left. This—whatever it was they had between them—was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and she didn’t want to lose it. Or his attention.
But her life had been one braced event after another, and anything with Apollo would not end well. Nothing ended well for her.
Weariness weighted her heart and soul, taunted her. Yet, what if…what if it somehow worked? Could Leighton escape this spine-of-steel life? Was there a chance she and Mr. Blue Eyes…
Oh, he’s a snack, all right. But…hope was dangerous. Treacherous.
Did she realize she was staring at him?
Owen could see the inner workings of her heart darting through those caramel eyes. The desperation to be seen, to be loved. The uncertainty about whether he could be trusted or not. Those questions about Soph and Aliyah tapped at her fear that he’d be into someone else instead of her. But had she seen herself? That face so perfectly set she almost looked like a doll with her satiny-smooth skin, features of both the Latino and Arabic cultures… Thick, dark hair framing pinked cheeks and pink lips were a nice contrast to her olive complexion.
Kiss her.
Afraid he’d do just that and scare her off, he set his heels on the footrail and bent forward, resting his arms on his knees. Why did everything suddenly feel awkward or weird? Sitting here, next to her… On the bed!
Yeah, begging for trouble.
A rap on the door drew his attention.
“Probably Rayan,” she suggested, “ordering me to sit with him at dinner.”
“Noticed that too, huh?”
She sighed. “I don’t want to go…”
“Then don’t.” Owen dug the idea of defying the royals.
Her wary gaze hit his again. “What if it angers him that I do not come?”
“That’s his problem.” He slid off the bed and pointed to it. “Climb in. I’ll answer the door and tell him you’re not feeling up to it.”
Fear and relief warred in her eyes a second before she scrambled beneath the covers.
Owen strode across the room, glanced back toward the curtained bed to be sure she was settled and still, then opened the door.
Prince Rayan stood there, jaw muscle flexing. “It is time for dinner.”
“Oh, uh…” Owen slyly opened the door more so the prince could see for himself that Leighton was abed, he glanced that way, then back to the lanky prince. “She’s not really feeling up to it.”
Rayan’s dark eyes slid past him to the semidarkened room, then to Owen, studying him hard. Jaw clenched as he bit out, “We leave at six in the morning.”
Not gonna lie—Owen liked ticking off this prince and wondered what reaction he’d get. “And”—he pushed concern into his tone and expression as he shot a look at the bed again—“if she’s still not well…?”
Oh, the fury in that smug Arab face. “Maaz is already displeased with her,” the prince snarled quietly, “so I would not push him. He would be most angry if his sister’s excursion is disrupted by poor decisions.”
