Page 90 of A Game of Love and Betrayal

If Ryker knew the truth of who she was and what she was doing there, this would all be for naught. He would either throw her in prison or finish the job he started six years ago. She imagined he’d be pissed if he learned about her true intentions.

Remaining silent didn’t seem like it would work, though, so she looked out to the crowd. Several people were still watching her fae. Their gazes followed him, the lust evident as they blatantly checked him out. It was as good of an excuse as any. “People are looking at you.”

Ryker’s brown eyes twinkled at the tone of Brynleigh’s voice. His lips twisted up into a devilish smirk, revealing…

Fucking great. Of course, the incredibly handsome water fae she was supposed to kill had dimples.

Why not?

He sported a pair of them, one on each cheek, and they only added to his attractiveness. It wasn’t fair for one person to be blessed with such good looks. Couldn’t the gods have thrown a wart on his face, or perhaps given him a crooked nose? Something to make him be not so… so… beautiful.

And fuck, he was perfect. Brynleigh felt like she had done a pretty good job of ignoring that fact until now, but it was becoming impossible.

“Why, sweetheart, are you jealous?” Ryker’s deep, smoky voice was low as he spun her across the dance floor in a move she could never have done on her own.

Her cheeks heated. “No, I’m not.”

Ryker whirled her through the air, the crimson fabric swirling around her. He settled her back on her feet, his gaze darkening as he looked her over.

“You lie so beautifully, little vampire.” He held her so close that she could feel his heart beating in his chest.

Brynleigh had no words. She was lying… just not about what he thought. Her entire persona was nothing more than a facade. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. The problem was that the longer she remained in close contact with Ryker, the more difficult it was to remember what, exactly, she was lying about.

Thank Isvana, Ryker didn’t seem to mind her silence. A baritone chuckle rumbled through him, and they continued dancing as the music picked up.

Several songs later, Brynleigh’s throat was dry. She slowed, lifting her hand off Ryker’s arm and rubbing the base of her throat absentmindedly.

Instantly, Ryker’s gaze darkened and locked on her hand. “Thirsty?”

Was she? Many desires pulsed through her, most of them illicit. There was only one she could give into right now.

She nodded, and he led her towards the bar.

A masked Death Elf with red markings crawling up his right hand put down the glass he was polishing as they approached. “Good evening, and congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thank you.” Brynleigh smiled at the bartender.

Ryker’s hand never left Brynleigh’s as he ordered a glass of blood wine for her and a beer for himself. Brynleigh usually took offense to men ordering for her. It was demeaning since she was more than capable of placing her own requests. But something was endearing about the way Ryker seamlessly took charge. To her eternal chagrin, Brynleigh liked it.

The bartender returned with their drinks in short order. Ryker thanked the man and took the glasses before tilting his head towards a shadowy alcove near the back of the ballroom.

“Come with me?” he asked in that rough voice of his.

A shiver ran down Brynleigh’s spine, and her breath caught in her throat. She shouldn’t be alone with Ryker. That could only lead to bad things. She knew that, and yet, she didn’t say no. Not yet.

The prudent choice—the right choice, the rule-following choice—would be to stay with the crowd. She shouldn’t be alone with him, couldn’t afford for more emotions to try and get the better of her.

Rules six and eight popped into Brynleigh’s head, reminding her of all the reasons this was a terrible idea. But just one time, she didn’t want to follow the rules. She wanted to go with Ryker. Besides, they weren’t truly alone. Others were here. They would be secluded but not isolated.

What harm could come from bending the rules this one time? Probably nothing.

“I’d love to,” she said before she could stop herself.

Those damned dimples decorated Ryker’s cheeks once again. Handing her the goblet of wine, he laced their fingers together and led her away from the crowd. They garnered a few curious glances, but no one stopped them.

The alcove was dark, hidden behind some large speakers, and it was quieter. Tension left Brynleigh’s shoulders, and she exhaled. This was nice. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

For a single moment, she relaxed.

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