Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(28)

She stumbled away, gaping at him as he lifted a hand to his cheek, fingering the afflicted flesh.

“What was that for?” he demanded.

“You—you—” Her hand waved between the two of them, words of outrage strangling in her throat.

“Kissed you back?” he finished.

“No!” she denied. “You touched my—” She swallowed, unable to say, unable to utter how close she had come to surrendering herself to the wretch. “You touched me. Intimately.”

“The way you attacked me with your lips, is it any surprise? I thought that’s where we were headed.”

“So this is my fault?” she charged, even as a small voice inside her head whispered, Yes. This is your fault. You attacked him with your lips like a man-starved harlot. Just as he said.

Heat swept over her face. “You were hardly a victim of my attentions.”

He shrugged in the shadowy room. “I reacted as any red-blooded man. I did not expect my touch would be unwelcome to someone so eager to kiss me in the first place.”

Mortified, she closed her eyes in a slow blink. She could deny nothing he said. She’d behaved the wanton and then slapped him when he reciprocated.

She opened her mouth to apologize. For everything. The kiss. The slap. She loathed nothing as much as admitting she was wrong. A weakness, to be sure, for she knew she was far from perfect. Papa had accused her of being too headstrong on more than one occasion, and rightly so.

Only she didn’t get the chance to utter those difficult words.

He stepped back from her, putting space between them as though she were something foul. And he likely thought she was. A tart or worse. The terrible notion seized her. What if he thought she was a desperate debutante hoping to get herself compromised so she could land herself a prince?

Hot gall rose up in her chest that he should think such a thing of her. The bitter taste coated her mouth at the thought of his suspecting she had set her cap for him. Holy hellfire! She fumbled with her hands, unsure where to put them and desperate to appear dignified now—to bury the wild, tempestuous female of moments ago and convince him she was a staid, respectable female with no designs on his person.

She watched him as he wiped a broad palm against his jacket, as if the feel of her was a regrettable sensation.

“Perhaps we should avoid each other during our stay here,” he announced.

His words stung. Absurd, of course. She completely agreed with him. Nothing good ever came from their encounters. He didn’t like her and she didn’t like him—contrary to that brief lapse in judgment moments ago when she had thrown herself into his arms. He was an escape. A break from the numbness. That’s all the kiss had been. She had seized a chance to feel again, to let sensation flood her as she lost herself in the arms of an attractive man.

She nodded roughly. They simply couldn’t get along. Every time they shared the same space sparks flew, and not sparks of the good variety. Well, any variety was really not to be desired with him.

She stopped nodding and finally found her voice. “I couldn’t agree more. You’re obviously here to pay court—”

“Not to you,” he cut in, his voice angry.

“I know that,” she gritted past clenched teeth. “And I wouldn’t want you to court me, make no mistake of that.”

He gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her. And she admitted to herself that she probably wouldn’t believe her, either. What girl wouldn’t want to be a princess? Even tomboy that she was, she’d often fantasized about living in a castle with a hundred-horse stable. It had been her favorite fantasy as she fell asleep every night.

She perched a hand on her hip. “Just because I kissed you doesn’t mean I like you. You were a welcome diversion from what’s been a less than pleasant few days.”

“Diversion?” He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly not liking the sound of that. Satisfaction curled through her. It was nice to offend him for a change.

Her lips twitched as her gaze swept over him—every glorious masculine inch. She knew it was improbable that anyone had ever called him a diversion before. Women probably thought the sun rose and set upon his manly visage. She was glad to make a dent in his overinflated ego.

She lifted her chin. “Yes. It won’t happen again, rest assured. The experience wasn’t quite what I hoped for,” she lied.

His cat-gold eyes swept over her as if he didn’t quite know what to think. A smile threatened her lips again. She doubted she was like any female of his acquaintance.

He straightened. “Happy to hear that, then. I’d hate for you to think that our interlude meant anything.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t think that,” she assured in her most offhand tone.

He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze penetrating through the shadows, searching her face. She held herself poised, as still as an arrow that moment before it flies from its bow. Finally he broke his gaze, turned from her, and strode out the door without a backward glance.

Grier waited several moments, gathering her breath and her composure before making her way from the room. Her steps fell silently as she moved down the corridor, her shadow stretching long into the night.

“Where’ve you been, ol’ boy?” Malcolm asked.

Sev downed his brandy in one smooth move before motioning for the waiting footman to refill his glass. He cursed under his breath at the sight of his shaking hand.