Page 59 of Ruby & Onyx

He takes one step closer to me. And then another. Until the gap between us narrows to only a couple of inches. So close that I have to tilt to look up at him.

His gaze catches on the opened bottle of wine left on the balcony. He bends to pick it up and examines the label. “Do you prefer red or white wine?”

With his body so close to mine, his eyes burning into my soul, and his teeth gently biting his bottom lip, all coherent thoughts slip away into the ether. My focus is entirely dedicated to imagining his hands on my waist, in my hair, on my skin…

I grab the bottle from him and take a swig, hoping it washes through me like a cold bath. “Red, obviously.”

“You know, that bottle is at least fifty years old. It came from my family’s vineyard on the northern coast. I’ll have to take you there one day.” He takes the bottle back and sips from it. “Good, isn’t it?”

“I’ve had better,” I lie. It’s better than anything I’ve ever tasted. Better than any wine in Carcera, better even than the wine from the banquet. It’s lush with flavor, full and decadent.

He leans closer to me. The warmth of his breath heats my neck as he says, “Have you, now?”

“I…” can’t seem to summon any words.

“Will you go to that vineyard with me?” He moves his fingers to lightly graze my arm, running them lazily up and down between my shoulders and elbows. The touch is torturously soft and sends tingles shooting up the back of my neck. That familiar need is back again, rearing its head in full force.

“Yes,” I whisper, barely audible.

“What else can we do at that vineyard?” His sultry voice dances in the air as his fingers skim across my shoulder. Every second that they linger on my skin sends ripples through me.

“Stomp grapes, maybe?” I say, though the litany of activities running through my mind involves no grapes at all.

His hand runs up to the back of my neck, sending those tingles to my head, until he grips a fistful of my hair, and gently pulls until my face is angled to meet his. He lowers his head slowly, forbidding me from escaping by tightening his grip on my hair. The bottle digs into my chest as he presses his body closer. Flames erupt, bursting in sparks of lust and want inside of me. When his lips meet mine, they are light as air, teasing.

He is wrong for me in every way, but gods, I want more.

He pulls back to assess my reaction. We stand there with our eyes locked, and I consider shoving him against the wall and stealing the kiss that I deserve. But I remain still, waiting for him to move, to prove that he wants this, too.

My stomach flips in delight when his lips meet mine. His tongue tickles my lower lip, and it echoes through my blood. All reservations, all fears and doubts seem to vanish as I return his kiss, parting my lips to accept him. My body holds no bars against his until, without warning, he stops and whispers in my ear, “Drink with me.”

I expel a deflating breath like a punch landed in my gut. This feels like the fiasco on the roof all over again. It’s hot and cold, give and pull back. “Drink?”I spit the word back at him, astounded that he could even suggest it.

How could he be thinking about drinking while my blood is boiling?

“Wine.” He wags the bottle at me and slumps down to the balcony floor.

Is this all a game to him? Test how far I’ll allow him to go until he pulls away and drives me mad? “You’re going to kiss me and then pull away again. Is that it?”

“Always so serious,” he drawls. “Just yesterday you said that you wanted to get to know each other. As friends.”

The heat flooding my face surely is marked in red. He may be right, but his words and his actions don’t align. It makes me question everything that I know and feel all at once in the worst possible way, but I can’t turn away. I am putty in his hands, and he knows it. “You’re right,” I try to say, but it comes out so quiet that I’m not sure he hears it over the sounds of the sea.

A moment goes by without either of us saying a word. Our yes lock in a silent plea until he breaks the silence. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to kiss you tonight, but I got caught up in the moment. Why don’t we finish our conversation ?”

I slump down next to him and grab a swig from the bottle, all of the warmth fading from my body in an instant.

“What did the woman in the market say to you?” His question is so formal, so business-like. How can he shift from the moment that just passed between us back into this cold, distant person? It’s like dealing with an angel and a demon all at once, never knowing which will emerge next.

“So, we’re back to that? As I told you before, I don’t remember. After all of the commotion, I fainted, making my memories from that day too hazy to recall.” He eyes me with that same assessing look, like he doesn’t see me, Radya, but instead sees a challenge. A code that he’s eager to crack.

“Fascinating.”

“Why are you so interested in the musings of a crazy woman?”

“I want to know everything about you.” He pauses, transforming into something sinister, to which my body reacts with a cold shiver. “For instance, Viola told me about your nightmares. What do you dream about that causes so much distress?”

A tinge of betrayal rings in my ears at the mention of Viola’s name. What did she tell him? I thought that I could trust her, but now I’m not so sure. Does Gemma also share the intimate details of my life with him?

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