Page 91 of Spearcrest Prince

“Why are you leaving so early?” he asks. His tone is light, but the fire inside his eyes belies that lightness. It tells me Sev isn’t as calm and casual as he’s trying to sound.

That makes two of us, I suppose.

“Because I’m not having fun,” I say, sticking safely close to the truth.

He steps towards me, so close the heat emanating from his body brushes against mine. So close I can make out his face in the shadows. His eyes, with their thick eyelashes, his dark hair.

How wet and soft his lips are—wet and soft from kissing the girl from my art class.

Something he has every right to do. So why should I be so upset? I have no reason to be upset.

“Come on,” he says, reaching for my hand almost impulsively, as if he hadn’t realised he was going to. “Stay. Please.”

I pull my wrist free from his grip and step back.

“I don’t want to,” I say, low but firm.

He steps forward once more, closing the distance I’ve just created.

The night darkens his eyes; the shadows carve his features. He’s only a head taller than me, but he feels disproportionately powerful right now. He feels inescapable and unavoidable.

Like the cruel fairy princes he reminds me so much of, he feels wild and fey. I sense the danger of his caprice like dark threads unfurling from him.

“Why not?” he asks, his voice as low as mine, trembling with quiet intensity.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” I say coldly, stepping back.

He steps forward. “No, you don’t, trésor. But I would like you to. I’m ready to ask you nicely.”

I step back. He follows.

“You can be as nice as you like,” I tell him, “or you can be a complete and utter bastard—I don’t care. It makes no difference to me.”

“You’re all thorny and wild tonight,” he drawls. “How come?”

With each step I take back, he pursues me. He steps forward, refusing to allow space between us, refusing to give me room to breathe, to think, to evade him.

“Maybe I’m just in a bad mood because someone beat my date up?” I say finally, giving him a mirthless smile.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says. His smile is genuine, a caress of a smile, tender and sensual. “Tell me the truth. Why are you really leaving?”

“You’re hunting for an answer you’re just not going to get,” I snap.

I take a step back, but this time, my back bumps into the rough trunk of a tree. The icy bark digs into my exposed skin, scraping against my shoulder blades. Relentless and without mercy, Sev steps forward, right against me, so close his breath is warm against my face.

“I want to hear you say it,” he says, his eyes boring into mine. “Come on, trésor,dis-moi.Dis-moi la vérité.La jolie vérité, la sale vérité—j’m’en fous.Mais dis-moi.Murmure, si tu veux.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

He leans forward to hiss against my ear. “Menteuse.”

I lay my hand on his chest to push him away. “Salaud.”

Instead of moving away from me, he sinks his weight against me, making it impossible for me to push him away. Overwhelming my senses with his presence, his heat, the rich smoky fragrance of his expensive perfume.

“We both know you don’t think that.” His voice is a caress. “You don’t think I’m asalaudat all.”

“You behave like one,” I say, squeezing the words out of my tightened throat.

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