Page 14 of Royal Sin

I smoothed my hands over his torso, relishing the feel of his muscles.

Despite my shoes, there was a decided height difference. I couldn’t reach his mouth, not without his help. I remained standing there for a heartbeat, letting the silent invitation hang between us.

Leonard took my wine glass, set it on the statue’s platform—as if the piece was just an everyday knock off from a factory—and tugged me close.

He bent and claimed my mouth.

His lips were firm against mine, insistent but not demanding. My hands instinctively slid up to his shoulders, steadying myself as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. This wasn't part of my plan—I wasn’t supposed to feel this dizzy rush of desire, this immediate connection.

When he deepened the kiss, one hand cradling the back of my neck, I found myself responding with an eagerness that surprised me. I’d been kissed before, but never like this—never with this sense that I was being savored, explored, understood.

Leonard pulled back slightly, his dark eyes searching mine. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the jazz club.”

“Why did you wait?” I whispered, my fingers still clutching the fabric of his shirt.

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Slow, remember?”

I laughed softly, the sound echoing through the ancient, priceless artifacts. “That was before we said slow.”

Leonard’s hand slipped around, his thumb ran over my bottom lip. “I knew that I would take my time with you beforeyou asked. You’re different, Anna. I knew things had to be different with you.”

In this moment, the end goal seemed far away. His words slid under my defenses and shattered my plans. I felt as though if I let go of him, I would fall. And it wasn’t the wine. No, it was something else.

His hand moved to my waist, drawing me closer.

“Different how?” I asked, barely recognizing my own voice—breathy, wanting.

“Most people I meet want something from me. My money, my influence, my connections.” His eyes never left mine. “You’ve never once tried to impress me or extract anything. It’s...refreshing.”

Guilt twisted in my stomach. If he only knew my original intentions.

“You’re quiet,” he observed.

I forced a smile. “Just hungry.”

He studied me for a moment longer, then nodded. “Then let’s eat.”

Chapter 6

“Can he do the risotto without the butter?” Paul Preston the Third demanded, peering over the menu.

I wanted to stab the pretentious ass with my shrimp fork. We were at the most exclusive seafood restaurant in the city. The chef wasn’t just a cook, he was a damn artist.

“That is not possible, sir.” The waitress needed the largest tip ever. Dealing with us was no joking matter. She was handling it beautifully, and I tried to put her at ease with another friendly smile.

Paul sighed dramatically. “I’m lactose sensitive. I will have the greens, but no butter.”

“I’ll make Monsieur Durand aware, and he’ll amend accordingly,” the waitress promised.

Paul rolled his eyes but turned back to me. “As I was saying, the Germans have a decent handle on such precedents, but they are inferior to the Danes on the issues of transportation rights.”

I tuned him out, taking a long sip of my water, wishing it was something stronger. When we’d first sat down, and I ordered a glass of red, Paul immediately pointed out that I was onlynineteen and not allowed to drink. Then the prick ordered a rosé.

Looking over the restaurant, I fumed. This was what I got for missing a social function. Last Saturday, I stayed in bed with pretend cramps, because I couldn’t risk going to the gala with my parents and running into Leonard. That was the trickiest part of my plots and plans. The dodging and hiding would only work every so often.

But soon, I wouldn’t have to hide.

The waitress came by with a carafe of rosé. As she moved to pour into Paul’s glass, the prick put his hand over the cup. It was the universal signal for declining the pour without interrupting the conversation. It was hard to say if the waitress was nervous or simply distracted, but she didn’t see the hand motion.

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