Page 425 of Bad Prince
“Early enough that you’ll complain.”
“That narrows it down zero.”
His mouth twitches again.
“Bring a weekend bag.”
A pause.
My pulse changes shape.
“A weekend bag?”
“Yeah.”
“And I’m not supposed to ask questions?”
“You can ask.” He shifts closer again, just enough that his presence starts messing with my breathing all over. “I’m just not telling you.”
“That’s obnoxious.”
“Probably.”
I tilt my head.
“You flew back here to be mysterious?”
“I flew back here because if I didn’t see you tonight, I wasn’t going to sleep anyway.”
That should not send heat sliding straight through me the way it does.
I wet my lips.
His gaze drops there instantly.
And stays.
For one sharp second, every atom in the room tightens.
My body leans toward him before I mean it to.
His chest rises.
One of his hands comes halfway out of his pocket, then stops.
That tiny, visible act of self-control makes me feel almost faint.
Because I know what’s sitting underneath it.
The same thing sitting underneath me.
The shared, dangerous knowledge that once we start, really start, we are not going to want to stop.
Tristan drags his eyes back up to mine like it costs him.
“Come with me tomorrow,” he says quietly. “Just trust me.”
There’s no swagger in it.
