Page 105 of The Forgotten Queen
She shook the thoughts away and stepped onto her balcony.
Marx
When a man tells a womanhe’ll meet her in five minutes, a gentleman gives her ten.
Marx sat on the sofa in his room. His knee bobbed up and down as he checked the clock one more time.
It had been eight minutes.
Only two more to go.
Nerves piled up in his stomach—notnervousness—but a tangle of energy.
He pulled at the fabric of his linen shirt, trying to alleviate some of the heat coating his body. He’d purposely left the top three buttons of his shirt undone. Sydria had said that was illegal. So this was a strategic move. He couldn’t go into the heart of the battle zone with a woman like Sydria and not have a few tricks up his sleeve. He would’ve gone to battle shirtless if he thought he could’ve gotten away with it.
We’re just going to talk,Marx reassured himself.I love talking.
He had to keep his wants and expectations in line.
He raked a hand through his hair, releasing a drawn-out breath.
I. Love. Talking.
He glanced at the clock. Nine minutes. Good enough. He stood, practically running to his balcony. Sydria stood by the edge with both hands resting on the railing in front of her. Her dark hair mixed with the night sky, blowing aimlessly in the hot summer breeze.
Marx laughed to himself.
She’d worn his shirt.
She’d come with her own weapons of war.
Keep it casual, he reminded himself.We’re just talking.
“Hey,” he said.
Casual was his middle name.
She turned to him with a half-smile. She looked like some kind of goddess, illuminated by the full moon.
“Hey,” she said back. The undercurrent in her voice made his throat go dry.
Marx’s heart skidded in his chest, his body reacting to her without his permission. He walked to the edge. “I’m going to jump.”
She turned her head away. “And I’m not going to watch.”
He balanced on top of his own ledge then leaped across to hers. The landing was rough, dropping him right in front of her. Or maybe the landing wasn’t rough, and he did it on purpose. Either way, he was right where he wanted to be. He slowly stood, his body inches from hers.
Marx took her shirt between his fingers. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t wear this?”
Her dark eyes gazed up at him, and she shrugged. “We did.” Her hands went to his collar, tugging on the open part of his shirt. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t leave your buttons undone.”
“We did.” His hands rested on her hips.
She smiled, drawing his gaze to her lips.
Talking!
Marx let go of her and took a step back. He was never going to survive this night if he didn’t put some space between them. He walked over to the wall where a stone planter bench was mounted between the sliding balcony doors and hopped up, taking a seat.
