“So, I already know the answer to my question,” he said. His eyes never left mine as he paused to brush the strands of my hair back. Nor did they lower as his fingers drifted down my chemise, straightening the dainty lace there.
I struggled to gather my scattered thoughts. Without my intuition to guide me, I had no idea why this prince cared about how I was treated. I also didn’t know what he’d do to the Baron, and while Claude sometimes behaved as an overgrown man-child who had made more bad decisions than even me, he was the best many of us had. “The Baron treats me kindly.” I held his gaze, not even allowing myself to consider telling him it had been Hymel. Not because I sought to protect that bastard, but because I knew Claude would react very unwisely to his cousin being harmed. “He treats all of us kindly.”
“All?”
“His paramours. Ask any of them, and they will tell you the same.”
“So, that’s what you are? A paramour?”
I nodded.
“He sends his favorite paramour to the chambers of other men?”
“We are not exclusive.” We weren’t really anything, but that seemed like a moot point at the moment. “None of his paramours are.”
“Interesting.”
I raised my brows at him. “Not really.”
“We will have to disagree on that.” Prince Thorne’s head dipped, and my breath caught at the feel of his mouth beneath my ear, against my thundering pulse. He kissed the space there. “Who bruised you, na’laa?”
Pulling back, I gained some distance between us. “No one,” I said. “I likely caused it while . . . while gardening.”
Slowly churning eyes lifted to meet mine. Several seconds passed with neither of us saying a word, as if we both had fallen prey to a sudden trance. It was he who broke the silence. “Gardening?”
I nodded.
“I didn’t realize that was such a violent activity?”
My lips pressed together. “It’s normally not.”
“And how did you bruise your wrist while gardening?”
“I don’t know. I already told you I wasn’t even aware that it had happened.” Frustration rose, and I scooted back, away from him. Swinging my legs off the bed, I stood. “And why do you even care?”
Prince Thorne angled his body toward me, and the moment he faced me, I realized that standing wasn’t exactly the brightest move. I stood in the filtered beams of sunlight, and I might as well be nude.
His gaze strayed from mine then and drifted lower, over the sleeves and lace he’d straightened. The tips of my breasts tingled, hardening under his stare. A heated shiver followed his gaze over the curve of my waist and the swell of my hip.
I could’ve moved to cover myself, but I didn’t, and it had nothing to do with him already seeing me without a stitch of clothing twice now.
It was the same reason as last night. I . . . I wanted him to look.
And he did as he tipped forward and rose. He looked for so long that muscles all along my body began to tighten in . . . in heady anticipation.
The urge came again, the one that goaded me to turn and take flight, knowing that he would chase. But it was more. I wanted that. Him to chase.
The colors of his eyes were moving again, the stars brightening. Shadows formed in the sudden hollows of his cheeks, and it could have been my imagination, but I thought he wanted to give chase.
All of that sounded . . . insane to me. I didn’t want to be chased or . . . or captured by anyone, especially not a prince.
Trembling, I held myself completely still. When I spoke, I barely recognized my voice. “I asked why you cared?”
Prince Thorne didn’t respond for a long moment, and then he inhaled deeply, the tension leaking from his body and . . . and then mine. “Why would I care about some lowborn girl who pretends at being a courtesan— ”
“I’m not a girl,” I interrupted, irritated by him— by me. “And that is something you should be well aware of.”
“You are correct.” His gaze swept over me in a languid perusal, and the right side of his lips curved up. “My apologies.”
I stiffened at the low, sultry drawl. “That sounded more like innuendo than an apology.”
“Probably because the flush in your cheeks when perturbed reminds me of the same flush of when you come,” he said, and my mouth dropped open. “I would apologize for that also, but I have a feeling that too would sound like an innuendo.”
“Oh my gods,” I hissed. “You are . . .”