Page 51 of The Prom King & The Ice Queen

Leo

It’sthe lightest of kisses. So sweet and chaste, it’s almost platonic.

Almost.

Except that the second my lips touch hers, there’s a buzz of electricity between us. A hum of energy that snaps around us and shuts out the rest of the world.

I feel it. And when I pull back, her dazed gaze tells me she does too.

We stare at each other for a long moment. Personally, I’m dying to kiss her again, to taste those sweet, warm lips and to memorize the feel of her waist beneath my hands…

But despite this swell of tension between us and the way heat is surging through my veins, I’m still well aware of where we are.

It’s one thing to give my date a quick peck during a party. But if I kiss her again, I’m not going to be able to stop myself from lingering, deepening the kiss until she moans.

“I have to go.” Her eyes snap with alertness, like she’s just woken up from a dream. But what makes my stomach sink is the panic there.

The fear.

Crap. Did I do that?

“Savannah…”

But she’s already walking away, a bright smile in place for my parents’ sake as she strides toward the hallway leading toward our private quarters.

And the basement.

I have no doubt where she’s heading, and I’m just as certain that if she goes downstairs and finds her princess troupe friends, I won’t be seeing her again for the rest of the night.

“Savannah, wait,” I say when I catch up to her in the darkened hallway.

Her steps falter but she keeps going like she didn’t hear me.

“Please,” I say.

The magic word works. She stops and turns. “What do you want?”

My heart sinks. She sounds so wary. So vulnerable.

I hold my hands up. “I just want to talk.”

That is not the whole truth. I want to kiss her again. And I don’t want to talk the way we’ve been talking for years. I don’t want banter or arguments. I want to know her. I want her to trust me. But since that’s a lot to ask for right off the bat, I repeat what I’d already said. “I just want to talk.”

She stares at me with wide eyes, and I wonder how I ever fell for her act before.

Was I an idiot or is she just that good of an actress? Because right now I can’t imagine how I ever thought she was a diva, or worldly and experienced, or just another entitled brat.

Her eyes are so wide it looks painful, and the open expression there makes my heart feel like it’s swollen too big for my rib cage. It’s a struggle to swallow.

“Talk about what?” she asks.

I reach for her hand and pull her into the den. I flip on a light but somehow the dim, orange glow makes it feel even more intimate in here with the sounds of voices and music so muted it could be a world away.

It’s quiet in here thanks to the thick carpet and the wall full of books. A billiards table is in the center of the room.

Savannah turns slowly. “Is this…” Her brows crease in disbelief. “Is this a study?”

I snort with amusement. “We call it the den.” I look around too, taking it in from her point of view. “It’s incredibly pretentious.”

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