Forbidden Fate (Crowne Point 3)
My heart felt like a violin bow used too much. Over and over again it played the same hideous melody. I wondered if the song hurt Grayson as much as it did me.
“What a perfect pair of pairs,” Mrs. du Lac murmured.
Thirty-Six
STORY
* * *
Crowne Hall during the holidays was a haunted, beautiful thing. With Swarovski icicles dangling from the balconies that glittered in the winter sun. A stark white twelve-foot Christmas tree jutting up two floors and icy garland along the bannisters.
It was a winter fairy tale, but it was more akin to being invited to the ice queen’s castle.
I remembered setting this up as a servant. The painstaking hours we spent hand-cutting lace snowflakes, polishing the icicles, being reprimanded when the air didn’t smell of fresh gingerbread in one hallway and peppermint in the other.
“What the hell was that kiss?”
“You’re supposed to be talking to your cousins from Luxembourg,” I mumbled.
“What was he talking about, another kiss?” He grabbed my bicep. “Did you kiss West?”
I rolled my shoulders back. “Yes.”
His eyes were locked on my lips. “Don’t kiss him again, Snitch.”
My chest pounded. “Or what?”
He stepped to me, clasping my lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. “You’ve forgotten so much, little nun. These are my lips.”
My gaze darted around the twinkling foyer. Anyone could see us.
I was about to move, step away, but then his next words froze me.
“It’s been too long since I’ve kissed my little nun.” The possessive, dark look in his eyes turned tender. Longing.
I swallowed a sigh that scraped down my chest.
I missed his kiss.
I ached for it.
I tried to step away, but his touch turned bruising, holding me in place by my lips. So I violently yanked back, gasping at the sharp pain.
“You don’t get to tell me who to kiss anymore, Grayson,” I said, holding my bottom lip. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”
“If you didn’t want me to own them, then you never should have fucking kissed me,” he growled.
A ripple slid up my spine and twisted my gut. Sparks and tingles and something wrong. I breathed like I’d run a marathon, locked on his lips. Looking for any distraction, I took off my coat. Gray’s jaw clenched, taking in the outfit West had picked out.
“What the hell is that?”
“A dress.”
He dragged his hands through his hair. “This isn’t you, Snitch.”
“You’re one to talk. You’ve changed, Grayson, or should I say, Mr. Crowne.”
His jaw twerked.