Page 437 of Bad Prince
“Remember that game?” I ask.
He studies me for a second.
“Which one?”
“The one where the court was the battlefield and the volleyball was my sword.”
Recognition flashes over his face.
A slow grin follows.
“Yeah.” His thumb drags once along my side. “My teammates were scared of you.”
“Good.”
His eyes darken.
I lean closer, close enough that my mouth brushes the corner of his when I speak.
“Imagine that level of intensity on you in a bedroom.”
He goes perfectly still.
Not a full stop.
Something sharper.
Like I just struck a match in a room full of gas.
His hand leaves my waist and comes up under my chin, tipping my face up.
“Careful.”
The warning is quiet.
Not empty.
I hold his gaze anyway.
“Why?”
“Because if you keep talking like that,” he says, voice gone low and rough all over again, “this surprise is going to end with us never making it past altitude.”
The image hits me so hard I almost lose the thread entirely.
I glance at his mouth.
Then back to his eyes.
“You find this funny.”
“A little.”
I smack him again, lighter this time.
He catches my wrist before I can pull back and turns his head to press one kiss to the inside of it.
Soft.
