Page 36 of Violet

I rise slowly as he stops in front of me.

He smiles, that million-dollar smile, but it’s what’s beneath the surface that interests me. It whispers sensual thoughts in my head, like what it would be like if he did more than hold my hand.

If he traced a path along my spine, my throat, over my lips…

Now my chest tightens for an entirely different reason as every pulse point throbs out a rapid beat.

“You know my name?” It comes out breathless, and I cringe, stepping back, bumping into the bench.

Of course he knows my name. I’m the supposed Luxeafter all, the object of much derision from the other girls, so he must have heard someone?—

Maybe those catty girls at the ball?—

“Your brother,” he answers.

For a moment excitement fills me. This is solid ground, something that could connect us. If Heath approves… If Heath sent him my way… “You know Heath?”

“Just like a princess,” he mutters. “Pretending not to know.”

I frown. There are lots of rich, pampered girls here, girls who could fit that label. But me? “I’m not spoiled.”

He comes closer, takes my mask and runs a finger along its cheeks. “Not that kind of princess. You’re the untouched type, the high tower sort. You’re…the good princess who would never allow butter to melt near her mouth.” He pauses. Turning the mask over to trace the underside, where it sat against my face, and I shiver. “But if you really don’t know, I went to college with Heath.”

“He never brought his college friends home. I think we went to visit him once. Maybe you were there?” I’m babbling. “What’s your name? So that it’s fair.”

He studies me for a long moment, head tilted to the side like he can’t believe I don’t know him. But I don’t. Should I?

“Are you sure you don’t know who I am?” he asks.

“How can I when you haven’t told me?”

“Hmm.”

I swallow. “Somone said Ashford?”

His mouth turns up. “Feeling coy?”

“No, I…”

“Have you looked at your mini tablet lately?”

I pause. “No. Why?”

Slowly, he takes off his mask.

Like before at the boathouse, the vague familiarity is there, but I don’t know anyone with a scruffy beard, especially here on Sabine. No one would dare sport one when taking part in the Season.

He raises a brow, and his dark eyes, a dark gold-brown in the lamp light, almost twinkle.

Oh god, he’s good-looking. It takes my breath away.

He frowns. “Stop pretending. You recognize me. Your sisters did.”

“Dahlia, too?”

“Who?”

“My sister, Dahlia. She’s too focused on her studies to be interested in gossip or anything to do with the Season. So if she knew you...”

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