Page 108 of Brutal Ice

“No. I understood his expression because I knew that I was looking at you the same way. Didn’t like the prick from that moment onward.”

“I—” She tried to regain control of the conversation. She also glanced to the side, and, dammit, Leo was still close enough that he’d probably overheard. Mostly because Royal had made no attempt to lower his voice. “You’re wrong, I’m sure.”

Royal shrugged. “Don’t think so.”

She shoved the business card into her pocket.

“Don’t like him sniffing around you.”

“He was offering help.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re in a mood, aren’t you?”

“A mood?” Royal seemed to choke on those words.

“Yeah, you’ve been extra growly and dark all day. Ever since I said I needed to come by the theater and pack up. Look, the show isn’t running—everyone agrees it’s basically cursed. I had to pack up so I could leave?—”

His growl broke through her words.

“Leave,” she repeated, deliberately.

He growled again.

Her eyes widened. “Is…is that what this is about? You’re worried about me leaving?”

“You have to leave town, sooner or later. Just didn’t realize you were planning to go so soon.” He took a step away from her. “I think I want to have another word with the good doctor.”

She grabbed his arm. “I’m not planning to leave town yet. The ballet’s board of directors actually indicated they might want me staying on to potentially help direct the next production.” Her heart was suddenly racing. And not just at the idea of getting a chance to organize and direct a show. Again, choosing her words deliberately, she told him, “I’m not planning to leave you.” Did he want her gone? The thought had her stomach knotting.

Royal turned to steel beneath her touch. “Probably not the place to have this discussion.”

He was—probably—right. But she’d started and couldn’t seem to stop. “You saved my life here.”

“And you saved mine in that fucking winery.” Low, just for her.

“Wh-what?” Violet shook her head. He was wrong. “I didn’t. You were the one rescuing me.”

“All depends on how you look at it.” And, suddenly, he was looking straight at her. Seeming to look into her. “I was headed straight to hell, sweetheart, and I knew it.”

No. “Royal…”

“Then I met you. Touched a piece of heaven.” His knuckles skimmed down her cheek. “But the devil isn’t meant to keep heaven with him, is he?”

Her hand grabbed his wrist. Held tightly. “You aren’t the devil.”

“Then who the hell am I?”

This was simple. “You’re mine.”

His long, dark lashes flickered.

“Just like I’m yours.” She edged closer to him. Her head tilted back as she stared up at him. “You were right. This probably isn’t the place for this talk.”

A muscle jerked along his jaw. “You done here?”

“For now.”

His hand twisted, fell, and then he was holding her hand clasped within his much stronger grip as he led her off the stage. Not down the front steps, but through the curtain and through the snaking, twisting halls in the back. They didn’t stop at her dressing room. Though she had a sudden, vivid memory of the two of them in there, together. He kept going, never slowing, and soon they were right in front of the rear theater door.

“Ignore any reporters,” he told her gruffly. “Doesn’t matter what they say. We keep going. Bastards have been digging into my past, and they’re going to throw a ton of BS our way. I can explain everything they say about me. I will explain everything.”

---