Page 93 of Prince of Masks
The breaths grating in and out of me are shuddered.
I play the only hand I have.
A counteroffer. “Two dances. And that’s it.”
I remember reading a book titledCarrie.
That flashes in my mind. Dray has schemes for my ultimate ridicule. But I shut the rising fear down. Another problem for another day.
“Two dances,” I echo, “and you don’t go running to my father like you do.”
His brow knits. “Like I do?”
“You’re a snitch.” The courage of my words is lost in the sound of my whispery voice. “You’re always telling on me to my father.”
“Whoever has been snitching to your daddy dearest is anyone but me.Snitchingisn’t exactly my style. I prefer to get my hands dirty—or have you forgotten that, Olivia?”
I drop my gaze. But with this muscled tower looming over me, my sight lands on the smooth tan caressing down his throat.
“Two dances,” he counters, firm, and it’s clear there is no wiggle room. “And a kiss right here and now, or the deal is off. I am not one for,” his mouth spreads into a soft grin, “negotiating.”
Still, I stare at his throat.
Over his adam’s apple, a scratch of three lines ruins his lovely skin. Fingernails, no doubt.
I wonder if he got that today in rugby, or if he catches up with his Bluestone lovers during the breaks, and they get a little handsy.
Then the scratches are gone.
Dray draws back from me in a breath. “I’ll see you on the terrace.”
I watch, wide-eyed, as he turns his back on me, and walks away.
I am frozen.
Too many heartbeats mark the too many seconds before he’s almost passed the reading desks.
The breath of fright cuts me.
It propels me forward a step. “Wait, Dray!”
He doesn’t.
He isn’t in a hurry, but his casual stroll out of the library doesn’t so much as falter a beat.
Panic is ice cold, it’s a snowflake spreading through my chest, growing and growing and growing—until there is nothing but frost in there.
I shove into a run. “Dray, stop!”
I chase him down to the lounge square, couches and armchairs and coffee tables, a couple of table lamps dotted around.
I scramble around an armchair, then smack into Dray’s back, hard. “Stop!”
He spins around, his eyes alighting with a deadly glare aimed right at me, my flushed, panicked face.
“Ok, fine, fine!” I flurry my hands, face twisting. “Don’t tell, just don’t tell.” The words are rushed out of me, a barely-there breath.
And it’s all I manage before the floor is swiped out from under me.
