Page 9 of Pregnant After One Forbidden Night

And, captivating though he was, she knew she was not going to find that with an aristocrat she’d only just met—especially one who was famous for his shocking and temporary sexual exploits.

Shoving aside the ring of truth to his words and ignoring the honesty of the attraction she saw burning in his eyes, it occurred to her with disappointment that this entire episode was likely some part of a cruel joke.

Too smart to fall for something like that, and too strong to waste any hurt feelings over it, Jenna was nevertheless frustrated with herself for not recognizing the signs earlier.

She’d witnessed plenty of playing with people’s emotions, a kind of casual cruelty, amongst the glitz and glam of the upper crust.

There were some reasons she was glad she didn’t truly belong in the life she lived.

Infusing stiff formality into her words, she remained seated—she didn’t need to stand to be powerful—and said, “You’re being completely inappropriate and, if you are lying, cruel. I am on duty and as such, you have no right to approach me with this. It is my job to protect the queen, and I am disappointed that you prioritized your pursuit of pleasure over that important task.”

Her words were bold and direct and, even with all of the rule following and deference to rank and authority that she’d been imbued with at birth, still true to her nature. She might not like to rock the boat, but she wasn’t weak. Whether it was her upbringing, her faith, or just because she’d lived twenty-nine years on this planet and seen the proof that lying got you nowhere repeated endlessly, Jenna believed in telling the truth. She put her whole heart into everything she did and followed her inner moral compass, no matter the pressure.

Her mother compared her to their old mule back home.

“Well said, Jenna, and I appreciate it even more as it confirms my evaluation of your character, but we both know that the queen is...otherwise occupied. You have the time, and you are not a coward.”

That he had used the same words she’d thought privately confused her usually clear and direct perception.

He must have seen the king and queen leave the balcony, but the way he spoke hinted at more than mere observation. And what did he mean by evaluation of her character? Before today they had never spoken. While he lived in the capital, haunting the palace when not otherwise occupied himself, he had no connections to any Cyranese government branch that Jenna knew. He had no reason, nor right, to assess her.

Multiple times now, he had spoken as if he knew her, knew her mettle. How would he know if she were a coward or not?

And where did he get off dictating what she did and did not have time for?

Her temper, usually slow to rise, caught fire, as hot as the blush that scorched her skin.

He was right about one thing. She was no coward.

Coming to her feet, she said, “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing right now, Redcliff, but I’m over it.” Anger burned through the respect for tradition that she had, and in its void she’d imitated Helene’s irreverence, dropping his title when she’d spoken to him.

Stepping closer to her, forcing her to tilt her head up to retain eye contact, he smiled before saying quietly, almost reflectively, “If you knew the kind of games I play, you’d know how ludicrous it is to suggest that I am anything but serious right now.”

“I don’t care if you’re serious or not,” she said drolly, “it’s not happening.” Her words were sharp and final, precisely as she’d intended, so she had no idea where the next ones came from, nor why they came out heavy, laden with an unspoken invitation. “I’m not that kind of woman.”

He smiled then.

She shivered, the sensation running down her spine like the ripple of awareness through a herd when a predator neared.

He leaned forward, breaching the barrier of her personal space to bring his wicked lips close to her ear, close enough that the breath of his every word danced across her skin when he said, “I already know what kind of woman you are, Jenna Moustafa.” He paused. “But what I don’t know, what I long to find out, is how you taste. How you feel. How you sound when lost in pleasure.”

What he said should have been outrageous.

Absurd.

But he was telling the truth.

The part of her that always knew, that was so entwined with truth itself that she could not help but know its taste and texture when she encountered it, was as certain as it was foolish to be.

She shook her head, the movement jostling the small gold hoops she wore, a gift from her mother, and marveled that such a slight sensation could rise to the surface amidst all the turbulent sensations warring inside her. “That’s...crazy...” Her words were light, airy, the breathless, flimsy things that a different kind of person might utter.

He nodded, still so close that she could feel the heat of his skin on hers. “Utterly insane and true nonetheless. No woman has ever had this effect on me.”

“You’ve slept with hundreds of women...” The words should have been enough to dampen the heat of the moment. Nobody liked to have their past thrown in their face, but he only smiled, the absolute lack of shame in his gaze an aphrodisiac in itself.

“All the better to please you with, my dear Jenna.”

Breath escaped her, fled her parted lips like a caged bird who’d noticed the door had been left unlatched.

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