Page 83 of Spearcrest Queen

“On Valentine’s Day?”

He shrugs. “It’s just a normal Thursday to me.”

There’s a glimpse of genuine melancholy in his tone; adrenaline spikes through me. I smirk up at him.

“Aw, no date? That’s so sad, Knight. You need to get a life.”

“Lead by example, Sutton. Where’syourdate?”

He pretends to look around and then turns back to me, head tilted ever so slightly back so that he can look down at me from as high up as possible. My fingers tense against the countertop where my hand is still pinned beneath his with effortless strength, and I catch my breath when I realise I’m barely breathing because my heart is beating too fast.

“He never showed,” I bite out.

“Lucky I’m here, then.”

“Lucky forwho?”

Elle loudly puts down a cup of tea between us, making us both jump as we remember we’re not alone. I look at her, eyes wide in alarm and embarrassment, and she turns her head to hide her face from Evan as she mouths to me,Oh, my, fucking,godbefore biting down into her bottom lip and rolling her eyes into the back of her head.

I’d think she was only making fun of us if I couldn’t see that she, too, is flushed all over.

“Well,” she says loudly and with exaggerated emphasis. “Nice to meet you, Evan, but I better go to bed now. I have work in the morning.”

I glare at her. “No, you don’t.”

Elle smiles sweetly. “Exactly.”

And then she saunters away, closing her bedroom door with a loud click and leaving behind nothing but silence, the fragrant steam of green tea, and the unbearable tension of me and Evan with nothing between us except a kitchen counter and ten months’ worth of unmet want.

39

Binding Terms

Sophie

The moment Elle’s gone,Evan releases my hand, and I pull away, putting space between us. We watch one another warily, and I’m thankful for the physical barrier of the counter that stops me from throwing myself into Evan’s arms and begging him to take me into my bedroom.

I asked him to come here, after all. I’ve made the opening move, white pawn up first. Now it’s his turn to retaliate. But he doesn’t. We’re alone now, and he makes no effort to round the corner of the kitchen counter, to trap me against the cupboards and help himself to what I’ve practically begged him to come feast on.

“Still working at your father’s office, then?” I ask, my voice coming out tight.

He laughs. “No. I’ve been demoted. I’m now helping out at a small imprint in the West End.”

“Publishing?” I raise my eyebrows. “Didn’t think that’d be your cup of tea.”

“It’s fine,” he says mildly. “I like it, actually.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I think you’d like it too. It’s full of moody, uptight academics, so, you know.” His eyes trail up and down the length of me, appraising, unhurried. “Guess in that sense, itismy cup of tea.”

He doesn’t look like he’s lying. There’s a weird affection in his tone, and his shoulders are relaxed. He doesn’t look unhappy, which—while I would never actively wish for his misery—is a bitter reminder that I’m probably the first one to have broken the no-contact embargo because in the end, he was happier without me than I was without him.

I swallow thickly, and Evan, who’s still watching me closely, tilts his head ever so slightly.

“How about you? Killing it in Harvard?”

“I’m doing alright.”

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