Page 189 of The Billionaires

I lean in another inch, but just as I’m about to kiss Lilly, a hand taps my shoulder.

Turning, I prepare to slice the interrupter with one of my swords, but it turns out to be my mom, so I have to settle for a glare. “What?”

“The two of you should have the first dance,” Mom declares.

I look from her to Lilly. “Do birthdays have first dances?” I always thought it was a wedding thing.

“It’s because of your outfits,” Mom says lamely. “The Witcher must dance with his sorceress.”

Lilly points at Gertrude, who’s wearing a red wig. “That’s Triss Marigold. In the game, romancing her leads to a simpler and more stable life.”

“No spoilers.” I pop my earbuds back in. “Not that I would have chosen anyone but Yennefer regardless of what you said.”

Slow music plays in my ears, and I extend my hand to Lilly. She also inserts her buds, then takes my hand, and I lead her into the middle of the dance floor as everyone looks on.

“I’m glad your swords are behind your back,” Lilly whispers loudly enough for me to hear through the earbuds. “If you were wearing them on your belt, I’d be at risk of getting stabbed.”

“You’re still at risk.” Feeling like a kid at prom, I dart a glance at my tightening pants.

Blushing in a very un-Yennefer fashion, Lilly takes my proffered hands and I pull her close, moving to the music in a ballroom-dance style since I have no clue how dancing is supposed to look in the Witcher world.

Having Lilly near me is intoxicating. She looks up at me demurely, is soft in all the right places, and her delicate scent of cherries, incense, and roses makes my head spin.

Fuck. My sword situation becomes more obvious—and given how her eyes widen, she notices.

The music stops.

I bow. “You’re a great dancer.”

“Why, thank you.” She curtsies. “How about you eat and drink, and then we do it again?”

“It’s a date,” I say and head over to the station she set up for me. Though, truth be told, I’m not hungry or thirsty anymore…

Or at least, not for food.

CHAPTER 30

LILLY

That dance was hot, and not just because it tapped into my fantasies involving the Witcher. It was much more due to Bruce, who, as of recently, has become a source of so many more fantasies than a video game character could ever elicit.

I fan myself with my palm, wishing my outfit included a fan or a fly swatter. Nope. Still hot and bothered. Muting the music, I even out my breath, then walk over to the bar and get myself a glass of water with plenty of ice.

Even the cold drink doesn’t help. Maybe sneaking an ice cube into my panties would work better, but it doesn’t seem like the best idea when surrounded by so many people.

“Your Majesty,” I suddenly overhear Theodora whisper theatrically. “Any chance we can sneak out and visit our quarters while no one is looking?”

I assume she’s speaking to Ambrose, and that I’m not the only one finding these outfits to be an aphrodisiac. Also, I’d better be careful with what I say tonight. When the music is muted, the earbuds don’t block much sound.

“Yes, wench,” Ambrose replies before I can resume the music and thus muffle the unwelcome TMI. “You may receive the honor of servicing your king very soon.”

I don’t hear what Bruce’s mom replies with because the music in my headphones blissfully drowns it out, but I still need bleach for my brain.

Putting some distance between myself and Bruce’s parental units, I step out of the bar area and run smack into Champ.

Yuck. I feel parts of him brush my body and am assaulted by his breath—a horrible mixture of cigarettes, garlic, vodka, and coffee.

I swiftly back away. On the bright side, I don’t need that cold shower anymore.

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