Page 23 of RAKEish

He stepped back, released her, and gave her the most devilish smile a man had ever bestowed upon her. “What a delightful turn of events,” he said as if they’d not just had a public conversation about memes.

“Delightful in what way?” She snuck a peek at the crowd and quickly surmised why he’d flipped switches. Phones were aimed at them. They were being recorded. Which of them worked for Frankie?

“I’m glad we bumped into each other,” Scott said magnanimously. “I have an idea I wanted to run past you.”

A gawker handed him a napkin, and he used it to wipe at his shirt.

“And that is?” she asked him.

“Listen up, everyone.” He paused and winked at her before continuing. “As you are all aware, Doc here has made it a practice to question my viability as a relationship columnist.”

“And with just cause,” Lux said.

“Seeing Doc in the flesh—when she has obviously already taken a piece of my advice and had an extreme makeover—has given me a wonderful idea. Doc, I propose you go on a series of dates with me—dates in which you will choose a piece of advice that I’ve given in my column over the last nine months, and you will practice it on me. At which time, I will evaluate your delivery of the advice and advise you on how to improve.”

At no time had she agreed to have her game critiqued. “I—”

“If—at the end of those dates—you’re not able to go forth and slay the dating game by capturing the attention of a rake of your choice—something, according to you, you have not been able to do on your own—I will cease to write my column. Which, coincidentally, will result in my visa becoming invalid, and my return to my country imminent.”

This set off a cacophony of conversation.

Was that last bit true? Or had he made it up for the sympathy vote? Knowing him, it was false. But the rumor was out there, and truth very seldom caught up to gossip. Now, if she won and proved his advice was shit, the whole of Manhattan would see her as a villain for sending their favorite prince back to Shiretopia.

“And if I set my sights on you?” she heard herself ask, wanting to say something, anything, to throw him off his high horse.

His jaw tightened. “That would be ill-advised considering, according to you, I will soon be tragically deprived of my glorious penis, to the eternal regret of ladies worldwide.”

Her lips twitched. Well played. Someone had taught him to laugh at himself. Perhaps she should fill him in on the analysis she’d done of her nightmare. Then again, where was the fun in that? “What I’m hearing you say is you only enjoy sex if you get to come.”

“Not at all.” He looked her up and down. His expression not quite discernible. “But, in order for my techniques to work, there must be chemistry between two people. Are you implying you feel a spark, Doc?”

Gah. She’d walked right into this mess. Literally. “As long as you don’t suck at kissing—considering other spark-like things that go on between a couple might soon be off the table for you—I don’t see there being a problem on my side. And you?”

“Doc, has anyone ever told you it’s dangerous to…poke a prince?” His voice rumbled out in a sexy European accent that did something to her knees.

“How dangerous?” She’d meant for that to have been an internal question.

He tugged her into his arms, tilted her chin up, and crashed his lips against hers in a bold, unapologetic kiss that sent a shockwave of heat through her entire body.

Once again, the patrons who were crowded around them faded into a hazy backdrop, the cacophony of voices and clinking glasses and recording devices melting into nothingness as his mouth moved over hers with a surprising tenderness that belied the force of his approach.

At first, she was too stunned to react, but then, instinct took over. Well, not instinct. Instinct said to knee him. Lust was what took over.

She kissed him back, her hands finding their way to his hair, tangling in the short strands as the kiss deepened. The world spun ever so slightly, and she became acutely aware of the heat of his body and the strength in the arms that held her close.

And what a kiss it was. A conundrum of sorts. Part challenge. Part surrender. Like their lips were receiving mixed messages from their brains on rather they should fight or dance.

Vaguely she realized her plans to take him down a notch or two had just taken an unexpected tumble as the startling chemistry zipped through her.

As Lux broke apart from Scott, breathless and with a newfound awareness of the Rake of Manhattan, the noise of the bar rushed back in. Searching his face for signs he’d felt it too, Lux saw a flicker of something like victory.

Crud. While she’d like to be upset at his arrogance, he wasn’t wrong to look smug. She’d underestimated the power of physical chemistry on the heart. If she didn’t proceed with extreme caution, it would be her heart at stake. Not his.

She swallowed her nerves, gathered her poise, and spoke. “All I have to do is go on a series of dates, try your asinine flirting tips on a man of my choosing—one who can hopefully kiss better than that”—definitely not on him—“and, if they fail, then you’ll leave the country, and I’ll never have to see you again? And you won’t whine about it on social media when that happens?”

His cocky smile faltered a degree. “I won’t whine about it. But if you find my tips get you the rake of your choosing, you must agree to admit as much on Naked Runway’s podcast, as well as to your own audience, and allow me permission to document our experiment in my upcoming columns.”

She yanked at the hems of her sleeves, still feeling the ghost of his lips on hers, and stood up straight as the boring arrow she remained despite her makeover. “Your Royal Rakeness, there’s just one thing left to say.”

---