Page 46 of Spearcrest Prince

“I don’t need lines to get all the girls into my bed,” I assure her. “I have my face for that.”

“I’m not sure your face is that reliable,” she points out. Her tone is quite serious, but there’s a glint in her eyes that isn’t just starlight.

I raise my eyebrows and give her a look. “Oh, it’s reliable.”

She gives me a grin. It’s a little crooked, a little fey.

“If it was,” she says, “you wouldn’t have to steal kisses, would you?”

Is she being serious or not? She’s looking straight into my eyes, and her face is inches from mine, but it’s too dark to read her properly. Not that I’ve ever been able to read her in broad daylight, anyway.

If she hated being kissed so much, she wouldn’t get so close now, would she? Someone that’s been burned isn’t likely to put their hand anywhere near a flame.

“I would hardly call that a kiss,” I say with a shrug, looking her right in the eyes to gauge her reaction. “More of a peck, really.”

“A peck is something you’d give to a sister or cousin, not a fiancée.”

I grin. “Exactly.”

Her eyes narrow. “I suppose this doesn’t surprise me. Inbreeding is a defining feature of French aristocracy.”

“Oh, ouch,” I say blankly. “Toutouis scratching at me with her little claws.”

“You bite, I scratch. Fair, no?”

“Maybe.” Grabbing her chin, I push her face to the side. Two red half-moons are still imprinted on her cheek. “Looks like I left a mark.”

She pulls away and points at the three slight finger-shaped bruises on my cheek and temple. “So did I.”

“Does that mean we’ve evened the scores?” I ask.

I don’t resent her for slapping me any more than I regret kissing and biting her. In Spearcrest, there’s nobody to challenge me, deny me. I thought I loved that, but this is far more interesting and fun. I don’t want Anaïs to stop fighting me any more than I want to stop fighting her.

She shakes her head. “Not quite. I still owe you one for that stolen kiss.”

“Fine, you can steal it back.” I give a dramatic sigh and tilt my face towards hers. “Go on, then. I’ll pretend I don’t even know you’re here. I’ll act ever so shocked and scandalised.”

“Alright,” she says.

I close my eyes and purse my lips, amused by the idea of Anaïs stealing a kiss from me. It’s cute that she thinks of it as stealing kisses. It’s cute that she thinks she could ever steal a kiss from me. Does she not realise that if she asked, I’d go down on her right here on this balcony?

Something cold and wet swipes across my lips. My eyes fly open. For a moment, I wonder if she’s just licked me. She’s staring at me with wide eyes, biting her lip as she holds back a laugh. In her hand is her largest paintbrush, shaking from the force of her suppressed laughter.

I touch my lips and look down at my fingers. They’re covered in paint.

“You sneaky little shit!”

I swipe my fingers at her face, but she scoots back. She catches my wrist in her free hand.

“Nowwe’re even,” she says, her voice squeaky with amusement, trembling with laughter. She extends her hand out to me. “Deal?”

“Sure.” I take her proffered hand and yank, pulling her to me as I tilt my head. I press my lips to hers, smearing paint all over her mouth. I move back with a grin. “Nowwe are.”

She doesn’t bother to wipe the paint from her mouth. She swipes her fingers across her palette. I try to jerk back, but not in time. She runs her wet fingers over my face, forehead to chin. She glances down at my torso—my black designer jumper.

“Don’t youfuckingdare,” I snarl.

With a high, wild laugh, she presses her palm into my chest. I look down at the three lines of paint she’s left behind. Then I look back up, fixing her with a deadly glare.

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