Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(59)

I wished my friends were here. I’d video chatted with Ava, Jules, and Stella earlier that day, and I missed them so much it hurt. I would much rather spend my birthday eating ice cream and watching cheesy rom coms than dancing my feet off with people I didn’t even like.

I need a break. Just a small one. Just so I could breathe.

“Apologies,” I said so abruptly a surprised Alfred stumbled and nearly knocked the tray out of a passing server’s hand. “I’m…not feeling well. Would you mind if I cut our dance short? I’m terribly sorry.”

“Oh, not at all, Your Highness,” he said, his words finally audible and filled with relief. “I hope you feel better soon.”

“Thank you.” I snuck a peek at Elin. She had her back turned as she chatted with the society columnist covering the party, and I slipped out of the ballroom before she saw me.

I hurried down the hall until I reached the restroom tucked into a quiet alcove, half-shielded by a giant bronze bust of King Frederick I.

I locked the door, sat on the toilet seat, and kicked off my shoes with a sigh of relief. My dress poufed around me in a cloud of pale blue silk and tulle. It was a gorgeous creation, as were my strappy silver heels and the diamond necklace resting against my collarbone, but all I wanted was to change into my pajamas and crawl into bed.

“Two more hours,” I said. Or maybe it was three. It couldn’t be more than three. I must’ve already danced with every man in the room, and I was no closer to a husband than I’d been at the beginning of the night.

I closed my eyes and rested my head in my hands. Don’t think about it.

If I started thinking—about how the entire nation was watching me and how one of the men in the ballroom was likely my future husband—I would spiral. And if I started thinking about one particular man, gruff and scarred with eyes that could melt steel and hands that could melt me, I would end up on a path that could only lead to ruin.

I’d avoided looking at Rhys all night, but I knew he was there, dressed in a dark suit and earpiece and oozing such raw masculinity several female guests fluttered around him instead of the princes who were usually hot commodities at such parties.

We hadn’t had any time alone since that day outside the drawing room, but that was probably a good thing. I didn’t trust myself around him.

I stayed in the bathroom for another few minutes before I forced myself to leave. Otherwise, Elin would hunt me down and drag me back like I was an errant child.

I slipped my shoes back on with a small wince, opened the door—and walked straight into a wall.

A six-foot-five, unsmiling wall.

“Dear Lord!” My hand flew to my chest, where my heart beat triple time. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” Rhys didn’t sound sorry.

“What are you doing here?”

“You left the party. I’m your bodyguard.” He raised an eyebrow. “Put two and two together.”

Classic Rhys. If there was a rude way to answer a question, he’d find it.

“Fine. Well, I’m ready to return to the party, so if you’ll excuse me…” I sidestepped him, but he grabbed my arm before I could go any further.

Time stopped and narrowed to where his large hand encircled my wrist. His natural tan contrasted with my winter pale skin, and his fingers were rough and callused, unlike the smooth, soft hands of the lords and princes I’d danced with all night. A knee-weakening desire to feel them slide over my skin, branding me as his, overtook me.

Bucket list number four.

My breathing sounded shallow in the tiny, intimate alcove. It wasn’t right, the power this man had over me, but I was helpless in the face of my heart, hormones, and the indomitable force that was Rhys Larsen.

After what felt like an eternity, but in reality was only a few seconds, Rhys spoke. “I didn’t get a chance to say this earlier,” he said. “But happy birthday, princess.”

Thump, thump, thump, went my heart. “Thank you.”

He didn’t let go of my wrist, and I didn’t ask him to.

The air between us thickened with unspoken words.

I wondered if we would’ve worked in a different life, a different world. One in which I was just a woman and he was just a man, unburdened by the rules and expectations of others.

And I hated myself for wondering those things because Rhys had never given me any indication he was interested in me beyond physical attraction and professional obligation.

None, except for the fleeting moments when he looked at me like I was his whole world, and he never wanted to blink.

“How are you enjoying the ball?”

I might’ve imagined it, but I thought I felt his thumb rub the soft skin of my wrist.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“It’s fine.” I was too distracted by what might or might not be happening to my wrist to come up with a better answer.

“Just fine?” There it was. Another thumb rub. I could’ve sworn it. “You spent quite a bit of time with the Earl of Falser.”

“How do you know which one the earl is?”

“Princess, I know every man who even thinks about touching you. Much less one who you danced with. Twice,” Rhys added, the word lethally soft.

It should’ve frightened me, but instead, my skin tingled and my thighs clenched.

What is wrong with me?