Page 69 of Spearcrest Prince

“I bet I could. We just need to practise.”

He lets out a cackle—a genuine noise of amusement. “Practise how?”

“However you want, Séverin.Sevvie?Shall I give you a nickname?Mon choux?Nounours?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, what do your girlfriends call you?”

He smirks and tilts his head. “I don’t do girlfriends, trésor.”

“Ah, of course. You’re a real Lothario, a Casanova of the modern age.”

“Well”—he suddenly leans across the table, resting his face in his cupped palms and smiling—“what doyourboyfriends call you?”

“You don’t need a nickname for me,” I say airily. “You already have one, remember?”

“You know I say trésor in the most sarcastic and insincere way possible, right?”

“Then say it like you mean it.”

He raises his eyebrows and is silent for one minute. Then he gets up, startling me. He walks around the table to stand behind my chair. His hands rest gently on my shoulders, slide up to my neck. I suppress a shudder, but my nipples stiffen at his touch.

He rests his thumbs delicately along my jaw, tilting my head back so I’m looking up at him. Then he leans down until his lips are so close to mine I can feel his breath on my mouth. I close my eyes.

He doesn’t have to steal this kiss.

This kiss, I’ll give him for free.

“Trésor…” he murmurs against my mouth.

“Oui…?” I murmur in reply.

He releases me suddenly. My eyes fly open. I sit up, watching him as he returns to his seat and picks up his glass of wine. My breath is still trapped in my throat.

“How was that, then?” he asks. “Convincing enough for you?”

I clear my throat and force myself to breathe. “Yes. Very convincing.”

He smirks. “I thought so.”

Itwasconvincing.

Too convincing.

Chapter 25

La Limousine

Séverin

We’rebothalittlegiggly and tipsy when we leave the restaurant, but I’ve successfully avoided getting drunk. I’m in full possession of my functions. And I’ve decided I’m going to kiss Anaïs.

And I don’t mean a peck on the lips.

I’m going to kiss the breath from her lungs. I’m going to kiss her until she can taste my fuckingsoul. I have a feeling she won’t fight me on that. Her desire is palpable, brushing against me in invisible tendrils.

Anaïs’s face, as always, is an emotionless mask. Even when she’s a little tipsy, her cheeks are bright pink and her eyes glassy. But for all the emotions she keeps hidden, her desire glows like a light from within, tantalising, irresistible.

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