He cocks his chin. “At least you picked the most handsome man in the room to make Storm jealous. Good choice.”
“You—do you even know how conceited you sound?”
“The truth can’t be conceited,” he purrs.
“That’s evenmoreconceited.” I shake my head in frustration. “You know, this is why you’ve never had a serious relationship.”
“Oh, I’ve had a serious relationship.”
And the way he looks at me makes goose bumps jump up on my skin and run away. His eyes are scorching, and suddenly his hand feels sweltering and sweat sprinkles across my back even though it’s cool in the ballroom.
The look in his eyes suggests that Devlin is begging me to ask him about the serious relationship, as if he’s hinting that whatwehad was serious.
No way. I’m not falling for it. Devlin is a player, a conceited, cockyplayer, and I’m too smart to be pulled into his whirlpool of death.
“Whatever,” I say, sounding more like a sulking child than a debutante who doesn’t have time for his games. “The words ‘serious relationship’ and ‘Devlin Ross’ don’t go together.”
“No,” he admits (surprisingly), “they do not.” He glances down at me (not that I’m looking) and frowns. “How am I supposed to lead if you’re barely touching me?”
“With mind control?”
He sighs. “I’m afraid that I don’t have your remarkable gift, and it is remarkable, as I once told you a long time ago.”
My eye twitches. Dancing with Devlin was a terrible idea. Horrible. Worst idea ever.
As if to prove it, he takes hold of my hand and squeezes. All the distance that I’ve put between our white-hot palms vanishes. I want to jump out of my skin, and at the same time I want to soak up his heat.
What is wrong with me?
“How many men have you danced with so far tonight?”
“One thousand,” I say tartly. “How’s your string of a gazillion girlfriends?”
He chuckles and glances down, which makes his thick lashes brush his cheeks. Or, at least that’s what it looks like. Disgusting that he can do that, isn’t it?
“I thought you’d know all about my love life from spying through my windows.”
“I don’t spy,” I nearly shout. Then I realize that folks are looking over, so I drop my voice. “I don’t spy on you,” I whisper hatefully. “I have better things to do.”
“Like?”
“Like, work at the bookshop.”
“No potion making?”
I frown. “No. I haven’t done that since high school.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just forgot about it.”
He spins me and the skirt of my dress swishes around me gracefully. “You forgot about your passion?”
“No,” I reply, annoyed. “I didn’t forget. I’ve just been busy.”
“Finding a husband?”
I huff out a frustrated breath. See what this man does? He annoys the bejesus out of me. “No, I haven’t been busy finding a husband.”
