I close the book, memorizing the page number first because only a monster would dog-ear the corner. “What are you trying to prepare me for?”
He smirks. “You know me too well.”
“I spend all my time with you. I’ve figured out your tells,” I tease. “For a king, you’re pretty easy to read.”
“Don’t reveal that to my enemies,” he jokes.
For all his talk of bristly lords, I’ve gathered from Ophelia that pretty much everyone loves Feylin, even if he is broody and arrogant.
Even I like him.
More than I care to admit.
“So what’s your great plan?” I ask, steering us back to the conversation.
“You need to be angry.”
“Angry? Like someone-puked-on-my-feet angry?”
His jaw flexes as he glances over his shoulder at me. “I had every reason to be mad that night. I thought you weren’t cleaning it up on purpose.”
“Now you know.”
“Oh, I know,” he volleys.
I toss a flimsy blade of grass in his direction. “And what do you know now that you didn’t know then?”
He cocks his head to one side and folds his arms as if he’s thinking. “I know that you’re a kind person who would rather die than puke on anyone, even your worst enemy. I know that you love your family deeply, that you think you’ll never be able to wield magic, and for some reason you believe that makes you flawed. Which it does not,” he says pointedly. “I also know that you like everything in terms of food on the side, that most of your clothes are itchy in some way and that you put others first.”
My mouth dries. How does he know so much about me?
“I pay attention,” he says, “which is why it’s surprising that it’s taken me so long to figure this out.”
It’s my turn to fold my arms. “And how do you plan to make me angry?”
Here his expression falters, his gaze dropping to the ground. In a wink he’s standing in front of me, holding out his hand.
“No touching,” I remind him.
“Trust me. You have to trust me.” I quirk my brow, and he nods to his hand. I take it and he pulls me until I’m standing in front of him. “Close your eyes.”
I do as he says, a smug smirk on my face. There’s no way that Feylin can make me angry.Good luck, buddy.
He releases my hand and runs his fingers up my arm, sending sparks of desire licking along my skin.
The next thing I know, his breath’s tickling the fine hairs on my ear.
“You will never have this,” he whispers.
What doesthatmean?
“You willneverhave me the way that you want me,” he bites out.
Oh,that’swhat he means.
“No matter how much you think that I’ll succumb to this desire, I won’t. I never will. This is as far as it will ever go.”
The full pulse of desire that’s flaring from my core and pooling between my legs screws with my head while lust twists my mind into a pretzel. I want to crash my mouth against Feylin’s, twist his hair around my fingers, make him moan while I graze my teeth down his throat. Even now my fingers flex, wanting to dig into his flesh.
