“You ate your salad fast enough.”
“I am not to be trifled with.”
“And you think I am?” he asked, leaning in, his breath hot on her neck. “I am a monster,” he said, keeping his words so soft no one else could hear them. It would look to anyone else like lovers lost in conversation. “I drove my own mother out of the palace with my behavior. Do you truly want to test me? You have nowhere to run.”
He moved away from her, straightening in his chair and flashing a charming smile. “Clearly you were very hungry, agape,” he said, drawing attention to her empty plate.
Everyone looked at her and she looked down at her plate. “I ate it so quickly you’d think I’d just...dumped it into a potted plant,” she said.
“We can pass on your compliments to the chef,” Tabitha said, clearly trying to smooth things over and make it so everyone wasn’t staring at her.
Tabitha was blessed with social graces that Zara would never have. Even if she tried. And right now she was very determined not to try.
A war was declared between herself and Andres. A quiet, determined war. One she had a feeling could get quite messy.
“Thank you,” Zara said.
“You will enjoy dessert, I think,” Kairos said. “We’ll serve it after my speech.”
“Excellent,” Zara said, smiling widely while mentally calculating her next move.
The plates were cleared and Zara’s stomach growled. Andres would pay for that.
Kairos stood, and so did Tabitha. They both made their way to the front of the room, and as they did, the rest of the room stood too. Some sort of sign of respect, she imagined. She followed suit, but as she did, Andres took hold of her arm and started to lead her away from the table.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He didn’t respond; he only led her through the crowd, using them as a shield to make their exodus less conspicuous.
They slipped through a side door in the ballroom and out into the corridor, and he pushed her back into the alcove they’d been in before, pressing her back against the wall.
“Do not test me,” he said, his voice low, hard.
“Why not?” she asked. “You are intent on testing me.”
“But I am the one with the power, little one, and you are not.”
Zara didn’t think about her next move until it was too late. Fueled by anger, by frustration, she allowed herself to be led by instinct. She reached down, cupping the most vulnerable part of Andres’s body. “Is that so? Then perhaps I should find ways to seize some of my own control.”
Her pulse thundered in her ears, blood roaring through her veins like a beast. Rage, and something else on the heels of it that she couldn’t readily name. Something that made her shake. Made her ache.
“Is that a threat or a promise?” he asked, his voice deeper suddenly, huskier.
She leaned in, her teeth scraping his neck. “Both.”
He held her tightly, keeping her close, his dark gaze intense on hers, his grip like iron. “You bit me, you little monster.”
“Your concerns were not unfounded. I may bite you again, and rest assured, unlike yours, my threats are not empty.”
“I do hope that your current threat isn’t empty.” He rolled his hips forward slightly, emphasizing just what threat he meant.
Heat flooded her face, but she didn’t release her hold on him. She would not allow him to see that she was affected. She was issuing a threat to his person; she was not touching him for the sake of a thrill.
Still, she became incredibly conscious of the heat of his body. Of the fact that he was growing hard beneath her touch.
How was that possible? How could he possibly be aroused by this?
She realized her breaths had grown shorter, faster, that she ached in places that had never been touched by another person. That she was aroused, as well. And that, more than anything, made her want to squeeze down on him. To hurt him. To make him sorry for putting either of them in this position. She didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to be stuck in the palace, engaged to a man she didn’t know. Trapped in another life that wasn’t of her choosing.
She found herself tightening her fingers around his arousal. She looked down, caught the glitter of her engagement ring on the hand that was squeezing him. Then she looked back up at his face. A mistake.