The man paused, and for a moment Quentin worried he wouldn’t leave. Would it be a pass or a fail to Varyn if he started a brawl at his stupid little sex party?
Probably a pass. These pirates seemed to crave violence.
He didn’t get the chance to test his theory. The man huffed a cold chuckle and backed away from their alcove, disappearing into the haze of smoke and candlelight and writhing, glistening bodies.
Quentin expelled a breath of relief, relaxing against the bench.
Then went completely still as reality settled in.
His right hand was wrapped around Delaynie’s lower back, holding her to him with a firm but gentle grip. His left rested high on her bare thigh; the material of her gown slipped when she’d moved, exposing even more of that incredible skin.
What made his breath stall in his chest was the fact that she wasn’t pulling away.
Her fingers tightened around his shoulder, brushing over his collarbone. He tilted his chin up with a swallow, finding her blue eyes wide and on him.
“Do you… Do you want me to put you down?” Gods, he didn’t want to. But he hated the idea of making her uncomfortable more.
She was still for a long moment. He could practically see the wheels turning in her brilliant mind, could see her processing and weighing every outcome that could come from this.
He was bracing himself for her to say yes.
So, when she slowly, quietly, shook her head no, he thought for a moment he was hallucinating.
“I think,” Delaynie said, a little breathlessly, “that there’s only one way we make it out of this. And I really,reallywant to prove that pompous lord wrong.”
Quentin’s head spun. He forced himself to keep his breaths steady, to control the heat raging through his blood.
“Prove him wronghow, little wolf?” His voice was low and rough. Coconut and vanilla were burrowing into his bones, seeping into all his cracks and edges.
Her nails grazed his skin. That blush again stained the apples of her cheeks. She shifted in his lap, andgodsif that didn’t do something to him.
“Maybe it’s theeshwa,” she whispered. “Maybe it’s the insanity of this place and everything we’ve been through that led us here. But I am onfire, Quentin. And I want you to help me put it out.”
He could relate to that feeling. He, too, felt like he was burning alive, but the scorching was intoxicating. Addictive. It was driving him mad.
Quentin slowly swept his thumb across the expanse of her thigh, her breath hitching again. He nodded. “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he murmured.
She nodded, too. Her hand around the back of his neck slid up, grazing the base of his hairline. He couldn’t contain his shiver, the way goosebumps pebbled his flesh.
“Do you remember that game we played in the jungle?” she asked.
“Of course, I do.”
Delaynie bit her lip, and it took all of Quentin’s self-control to stay still. “When you asked me if I had—if I had ever been with a man.” Her blush crawled down her chest.
Oh.Oh.
“I don’t care about any of that,” he said. He was serious; it mattered little to him if she was experienced or not. She’d been raised in a political circus, closely guarded and protected since birth.
“I know.” She tilted her gaze down, almost shyly. “I guess what I’m saying is…I want to know more. I want to know what it’s like.” She paused, glancing at him through her thick lashes. “But I have just one rule.”
“What’s that?” Quentin honestly didn’t care what it was. His mind was so frazzled, he would bow at her feet and kiss the ground she walked on if she wanted.
Her small palm landed on his chest. He realized how much he’d leaned forward, like his body was being drawn to hersbeyond his control. “No feelings,” she murmured huskily. “We stay friends. And no kissing.”
Quentin blinked. Well, that wasn’t ideal. But he understood why she asked.
He knew—as well as she did—all the reasons why they could never work as anything other than friends. And he was certainly not ready to risk that friendship over something like this insane party hosted by a half-mad pirate.
