Page 68 of Spearcrest Prince

He pulls away with a grimace. “It’s not complex, but it feels weird as hell.”

This time, it’s my turn to cock an eyebrow. “Oh. Weirder than chasing me through the woods and kissing me and getting slapped?”

“Definitely. But for what it’s worth, trésor…” He tips his glass of wine towards me. “I actually think you might be onto something.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hm. I like your idea, and I’m willing to give it a try. We’re already here anyway. Might as well make the most of it.”

I take my glass and lift it to his. “Let’s.À ta santé.”

He smirks, and there’s a dangerous edge to his smirk. A sort of dark delight, almost predatory. He touches the rim of his glass to mine. “À la tienne.”

Keepingtruetohispromise, Séverin orders the most expensive bottles on the menu. True to mine, I order one of every dessert. The combination of wine and sugar is a heady elixir. My cheeks feel warm, and my skin buzzes. I wiggle my feet under the table and stretch back against my chair, wishing I could curl up and go to sleep.

“How are the profiteroles?” Séverin asks.

His cheeks look as warm as mine feel. He’s taken his jumper off, revealing a loose black T-shirt in a fabric that looks impossibly soft.

I don’t even hide it when I shamelessly look at his chest, his neck, his collarbones, with the fine golden chains pooling in the dips. His arms are quite nice for someone who looks like he spends all his spare time writing bad poetry in moonlight.

“They are to die for,” I say.

Stabbing one through with a fork, I stretch my arm across the table. Séverin leans forward, taking the proffered dessert in his mouth. His lips wrap around my fork, leaving it clean when he pulls away. I feel a flutter where I definitely shouldn’t.

I watch the shudder of his throat as he swallows. His tongue slips between his lips, licking them clean. I take a quick sip of wine.

“Better than I expected,” he says with an appreciative nod. “Do you miss France?”

I answer without hesitation. “Yes. You?”

“Sometimes. What do you miss the most?”

“The sea. The smell of the sea, the parties on the beach, skinny-dipping, the shock of the water, then the pull of it. And I miss the flowers. Our house was near fields of lilacs and mustard flowers, and we had herb gardens and oleander trees all over the property. I miss those. What do you miss?”

He thinks for a moment, sipping his drink. Alcohol suits him. It makes his eyes hooded and sensual, his handsome features relaxed.

Sober, he is the taught string of a bow, full of unreleased tension and powerful emotions.

Tipsy, he is a ribbon of silk, malleable and soft.

“Don’t make fun of me,” he warns in a low voice.

“I would never,” I lie.

“I miss my parents, honestly. Ever since I started at Spearcrest, I barely see them. They might be stuck-up, uptight assholes who only care about status and money, but honestly, none of that matters to me. They’ve always given me everything I wanted. I miss them.”

“Was it nice seeing them during the holidays?”

“Yes, although they kept asking me about you. They want you to come stay with us sometime.”

I’ve spent enough time around the rich French elite to know that staying with the Montcroixes would probably not be my idea of fun, but I don’t want to offend Séverin. And I certainly don’t intend to tell him about my plan to run away to Japan.

Not now, not when things between us are this strange and soft.

“Well, how bad could that be?” I say finally. “I’m sure we could put on a show.”

He shakes his head. “You could never fool my parents into thinking you love me. Not in person. They’ll see right through you.”

---