That was another thing that was too late, but if Claude knew something, like if he had met another like me in the past, why would he keep that from me? Claude sometimes went to extremes to make sure I was happy. Would he really run the risk of me finding out he knew something and kept it from me? Eyes drifting shut, I rolled onto my side.
My thoughts finally floated their way back to last night as I lay there— to Prince Thorne and the time with him. Not the pleasure he gave me or the release I provided him, but those brief moments where he’d . . . he’d simply held me.
I tucked my legs close to my stomach in a sad attempt to re-create that feeling of being held, of . . . of belonging.
Of rightness.
It was a silly feeling, but I dozed off to it, and when I opened my eyes again, the dappled sunlight had shifted from one side of the wall to the other, signaling that it was the afternoon. I lay there for several moments, my eyes heavy, and I was close to falling back to sleep when I realized that the change in sunlight wasn’t the only thing that had shifted into the chamber.
The air was different.
Thicker.
Charged.
A shivery wave of awareness danced down the curve of my spine. The cobwebs of sleep cleared from my mind as my heart stuttered.
I wasn’t alone.
Slowly, I straightened my legs and rose onto my elbow as I looked over my shoulder to see what I already sensed— already knew on some sort of primal level— and saw Prince Thorne.
CHAPTER 19
All I could do for several moments was stare at Prince Thorne, thinking I must be hallucinating that he sat on the settee by the terrace doors, the ankle of one long leg resting on top of another. A beam of sunlight cut across the dark tunic stretched across his chest, but from the shoulders up he was cast in shadow.
“Good afternoon.” Prince Thorne lifted a glass of amber-hued liquid. “Did you have a restful nap?”
As I blinked rapidly, a rush of disbelief snapped me out of my stupor. “You seem not to be aware of this, but you appear to have lost your way to your own chambers.”
“I’m exactly where I intend to be.”
I could practically hear the smile in his voice, and it made me bristle. “Then what are you doing here?” And how long had he been sitting there? My gaze swung back to the glass he’d taken a drink from, then lowered to the arm of the settee, then narrowed. “Did you help yourself to my whiskey?”
“I’m sightseeing,” he answered. “And I needed refreshment while doing so.”
The pounding of my heart slowed. “There is nothing of interest to see in my private quarters, Your Grace.”
“Thorne,” he corrected, and though his eyes were hidden to me, I felt his heated stare move over the curve of my hip . . . to the length of my leg, and a whole lot of my legs was exposed to him. “And I disagree. There is an . . . abundance of interest to look upon.”
Whatever modesty I previously lacked decided to rear its head. I sat up, pressing my legs together. My wrist ached as I tugged on the chemise, which did very little to cover me. Even in the low light of my bedchamber, the material was basically transparent. Something I had a feeling he was well aware of as I glared at him.
A deep chuckle radiated from the sun-streaked shadows, sending an odd mixture of sensations rippling throughout me. Wariness. An acidic burn of unease. Worse yet, a sweet trill of anticipation, which I would blame on being half asleep. There was a hefty dose of curiosity, though. I couldn’t fathom why Prince Thorne would attempt to seek me out in private like this unless . . . unless he was in need of being serviced?
Logically, that made no sense. He didn’t believe that I was a courtesan. Still, my body had no plans to listen to common sense. A pulse of desire lit up my veins, causing several parts of my body to throb to life—
Good gods, what in the whole realm was wrong with me? Actually, I knew the answer. It was what he was that was wrong with me. A Hyhborn’s presence and their sensual effect on lowborn. It made sense that a prince’s presence would be even more . . . hard to ignore and stronger.
In reality, if he had sought me out to service him, it was likely only because, as he had said, he was always hungry. So, there was no reason to allow myself to be controlled by my apparently easily influenced hormones. I lifted my chin. “I’m not . . . working right now.”
His head tilted to one side. “It pleases me greatly to hear that.”
My mouth puckered. “And why would it please you?”
“Because I’d rather our interactions going forward be between you and me,” he said. “And not dictated by a third party.”