Tristan's face shadows over, and he sneers, turning toward Windsor like maybe he'll start a fight that won't end without bloodshed. I could see the two of them going to the death with blows. I put a hand on his chest and step between them, turning a look on the prince.
"What is your problem, Wind?" I snap, feeling my anger and frustration bubble to the surface. He really is a bully of bullies. Like, that's his thing, and I can't decide if he's hanging out with me because that's what he likes to do or what. Everything he says and does is a big production, a joke. "Why are you making this harder than it has to be?"
He's still smiling as he steps toward me, putting us toe to toe.
"It was a valid question: Tristan loves Lizzie, Lizzie loves Tristan. So what happens to you, Marnye? I don't want to see you get hurt."
"I believe that," I say, feeling this tightness in my chest. "But I also know that you're socially aware enough to not bring something like that up in a moment like this. You keep joking about how we could date and have some fun together, but I can't tell if you're joking or if you're serious or—"
Windsor York, the prince of fucking England, sweeps his arm around me and pulls me close so fast that I don't have time to finish my sentence. Instead, I find his fingers on my chin and his mouth pressing up against mine.
His tongue traces my lower lip before diving into my mouth, lust and passion swirling through his touch and into me. There's suddenly so much tension between us that I can barely breathe. No, not barely, I can't. I don't breathe. How could I when he's kissing me like he's been waiting his entire life to find me?
There's no teasing in this kiss, there's no joke.
There's nothing but intent, clear and sharp. It's in the way he holds me, touches me, kisses me. Ardent fire swirls through my blood, poisoning me against the world. There's nothing I want more in that moment than him, than my very own fucking prince.
He pulls back suddenly, with a flourish, like always, sliding his fingers from my chin and up my jawline, touching my hair.
"Milady, I'm very much interested." He grins, but there's a heat to it now that either I just missed before, or he did a damn good job hiding. "You're so … very much everything I never knew I wanted. You hate money. You hate assholes. You don't take shit. Darling, let me make you a princess."
"Stop that," I choke out, because now I'm certain he's joking again. I push away from him, and he lets me go, watching with glimmering hazel eyes as I press my back to the wall between him and Tristan.
The king of Burberry Prep is not a happy little ruler in that moment.
"You son of a bitch," Tristan snarls, and Windsor grins.
"Son of a princess, actually. Great-grandson to a queen. Let's get that part right at least. You might be ‘American royalty’"—Wind makes derisive little quotes with his fingers—"but I actually am royalty." He smirks. "Tenth in line to the throne, prestigious enough to be important, but not close enough to it that anyone cares what I do. I have my own money, my own life. If I want to date a poor, American girl, I can. What about you? Are you even allowed to like Marnye?"
Tristan steps forward, and then he turns to look at me. To his credit, he controls the angry sneer on his face, and cools his expression, flicking his tongue out to lick the edge of his lip as he looks me over.
His eyes come to rest on my face, and then he's turning to me, grabbing me by the hips and setting me on the edge of the sofa table. He brings both hands up and tangles his fingers in my hair, pulling me in for another kiss.
Seriously, at this point, my mind is gone, spinning away into oblivion. I'm just a ball of emotion with no logicality left.
That harsh yearning inside of me spirals into a crescendo as Tristan sweeps my mouth with his tongue. His kiss is as sharp and cold as he is, but it's threaded through with white-hot molten fire. If I can melt that outer steel of his, and dig down to what lies beneath … he'd be a fucking firestorm. His fingers grip my hips on either side, digging in just enough that it both hurts and feels good at the same time.
I'm reminded of winter formal, and that night on the boat. "Just remember that Creed isn’t the only one that’s interested." The way he kissed me then, and the way he's kissing me now … are the same.
