Page 54 of How to Bang a Billionaire

“You were worried about that?”

“Well, yeah, just a bit.”

He gave me an odd, soft smile and this whimsical “abracadabra” gesture. “It’s forgotten.”

I found myself smiling. The most painful thing about Caspian Hart wasn’t desiring him; it was liking him.

“And while,” he went on, “I would prefer you didn’t make a habit of inebriation, I found far more to dislike in the way that boy was touching you.”

“I wasn’t too keen on it myself.” Trying my best to make light.

“I hated it.”

The fervor in his voice surprised me. I glanced up and discovered him looking particularly wolfish, eyes burning with this possessive, predatory light I—honestly—found wildly exciting. And felt bad about finding wildly exciting. “Um, sorry.”

“I hated his hands on you. I hated seeing you on your knees for him.”

God. Moral quandary. On the one hand, this was way better than negotiation. On the other, it seemed mean-spirited to feel good about someone else feeling bad. Although maybe if he’d sounded less irritated about being into me, I wouldn’t have been stuck hoarding scraps of jealousy. “I wasn’t really on my knees. I was more sort of too drunk to stand.”

“I’ve never struck anyone before.” Some of the wildness faded from Caspian’s expression, leaving him the closest to flustered I’d ever seen him, a flush caressing the arch of his cheekbones. “It was inappropriate.”

Surely he wasn’t embarrassed?

“Oh no.” I slipped from the edge of the chair where I’d been perched and knelt down next to him. Not in a subby way, just in a needing to be close way. I wanted to touch him, but I didn’t quite dare. If he’d been a different man, if we hadn’t been negotiating, I’d have propped my chin playfully on his thigh like a puppy. As it was, I just smiled up at him. “It was heroic. The most heroic thing anyone has ever done for me. It made me feel like a princess.”

He laughed, the flush deepening and spreading beautifully. I wondered if he would blush like that when I touched him. Life breathed into marble. “I’m afraid I’m a poor choice of knight. I don’t think punching people lies within my skill set.”

That was when I noticed the mess of his knuckles. “Oh, Caspian.”

He covered one hand with the other. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” I reached out and he drew away. “You’re hurt.”

“Faces seem to be harder than hands. Teeth especially.”

“Can I see?”

“It’s hardly—”

“Please.”

He wouldn’t look at me but he let me uncurl his fingers. Rest his palm lightly on mine as I contemplated the damage. Truthfully, it wasn’t so bad, except for the fact that he’d earned those wounds for me. He’d cleaned himself up, but there was still some swelling amid the scraped skin and the shadows of burgeoning bruises.

He had such gorgeous hands: elegant and strong and lived in, with pronounced bones and ropey veins, long knotty fingers and well-kept nails. Acquisitive, powerful hands, for taking and claiming. I wanted them on me. In me. I wanted to make them tremble.

But right now, I didn’t want him to hurt because of me.

“I’ve got an idea.” I reached behind me to where I’d left my water glass. There were still some pieces of ice in the bottom. I chased them with my fingers until I managed to snag one. Sucked it until it was completely smooth. And then brought it very gently to his knuckles.

He gave a soft hiss.

“Too cold?”

“It’s ice, Arden. Ice is cold.”

“Maybe if I had something to wrap it in. I think I saw a washcloth in the bathroom.”

I was about to stand when his other hand caught me by the wrist. “Don’t go.”

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