With a dubious grunt, he crossed his beefy arms in front of his chest and gave me a look that clearly stated he knew I was full of shit but enjoyed me trying to talk my way out of it.
Damn it. I let out a breath. “All right. I apologize for snooping. It wasn’t my intention. It’s just a very pretty room.” Too pretty for you, I added on silently.
Weirdly, I was fairly certain he heard the unvoiced criticism. His lips twitched, drawing my attention. They were pale against the dark scruff of his unshaven jaw and chin. Pale and wide. A mobile mouth, Tate would have called it. The kind of lips that were expressive, kissable.
Except when they pressed flat. With a jolt I realized I’d been staring.
“You done?”
I flinched at the plainly put question. God, was I? I wanted to look at them again. Which was horrible considering he was annoyed and grumpy and obviously wanted me gone.
Just play it cool. “With what?”
Yes, very smooth, Em. Very smooth.
He sighed, slow and long, as though dealing with a moron. Admittedly, I felt a bit like one at this point.
“Done looking around?” He sounded pleasant, as though he might soon offer tea.
Damn it, I played a badass princess. One who never got flustered. Reach for that remote dignity, Em. “Yes, I am done.”
“No request for a tour?”
Oh, now that was cute.
“No, thank you. I’ve seen enough.”
Oddly, he didn’t move. I’d have to skirt around him to get out. Not that I would subject myself to that humiliation. I lifted my brows, letting the question rise in my eyes. Was he going to get out of my way or what?
He didn’t. He stared, hard, uncompromising. But then his gaze lowered, just a fraction of a second, down my body. I felt it in my toes. As though irritated at the slip, he grunted and went back to glaring at me, but he appeared more annoyed at himself now than at me.
Even so, I wasn’t exactly feeling very charitable at the moment. “Are you done?”
“Done?”
I smiled sweetly. “Staring.”
He paused a beat, those absurdly long lashes sweeping when he blinked. Then it was as if a light went off in his head, and a slow, easy smile spread over his face. It transformed him. From brooding brute to beautiful man.
The ice melted from his gaze, turning those green eyes to translucent sea glass. That gaze drew me in, impossible to look away from, even though a prickle of warning danced up my spine—because there was that evil smile to consider.
Then he spoke in a deep, honey-laden drawl. “What’s the acceptable time limit? How long did you stare last night?”
Oh, no, no, no.
The blood rushed from my face in hot prickles of horror. A strangled sound escaped my lips.
Lucian leaned in, close enough that I caught a whiff of bitter chocolate and sweet oranges. Why did he have to smell like dessert? He sounded even better—hot cream and honey. “Did you like what you saw?” The question rippled over my skin, sank into my bones, a soft caress that dared me to answer yes.
Before I could, he went on, that smooth voice sharpened with cynicism. “Or are you just a perpetual snoop?”
My eyes snapped open. I hadn’t realized I’d closed them. Or that he’d drifted so near. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted. Rub my palms over the firm planes of his chest . . . then I registered what he’d said. The disdain, the snark.
A clean rush of anger surged forward. Because one other thing became perfectly clear. “You knew I was there from the start.”
He didn’t flinch. “Yeah, I knew.”
I didn’t want to find that titillating or hot. But I did. Damn it.
But I was an actress. I could fake it.
“Well, then I guess I have to ask, Did you really expect me to turn away from a show so freely offered?” When he blinked in surprise, I tutted in reproach. “Who would suspect you were an exhibitionist. Tell me—did it get you off knowing I was watching? Or would anyone looking on do the trick?”
Lucian huffed out a laugh, as though he couldn’t believe my audacity but kind of liked it. His lids lowered as his gaze slid back to my mouth. And everything went hazy, the air between us too heavy. The rumble of his voice rippled along my skin, licked up my trembling thighs.
“Do you really want me to answer that, Em? Knowing you might not like my reply?”
Oh, the arrogance. I sucked in a breath, ready to tell him off. His eyes glinted with hot sparks, as though he wanted me to lay into him, like it would be the excuse he needed to do the same.
But it wasn’t violence I pictured. It was sex. Frantic, sweaty, angry . . .