Page 51 of Tempt

Because he’s still naked.

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Wonder refuses to glance away, because that’s what he’d want. She keeps her attention level with his, narrowing her eyes while all hell breaks loose inside her. She inhales fresh rain and millennia of pages. The Chamber illuminates the forbidden shape of him—the carnal grid of his torso and the pillars of his limbs.

His wiry mouth morphs into a sneer, but that jeering smile melts once his eyes blaze a trail across Wonder. Her wet attire is plastered to her body, one of the nightgown straps slashes down her shoulder, and her nipples jut through the garment’s satin material. And she doesn’t have to follow his gaze to know that a very discreet patch of hair is visible below.

To say that his expression turns feral is an understatement. Never could Wonder have foreseen the smoldering effect she’s having on him. It might exceed the havoc he’s wreaking on her.

Despite every naughty thing he’s ever said, not once has she surmised his interest to be genuine. Routinely, she has branded his remarks as tricks, a means to undo her, no different from anyone else he’s gotten his claws into.

But this…can it be? Can that look be real?

Is her heart pounding for Malice? Or for the past?

What’s happening to her? What’s happening to them?

“If I forgot my weapons, you’ve forgotten your clothes,” she comments.

“Stuffed the latter in my quiver,” he says. “As to the former? It’s not archery that you forgot.”

“What, then?”

“The eyeful of my cock that you’d been hoping for.”

So he knows. Of course, he does.

“You’re an idiot for being out there. I’m aware this is redundant, particularly in your case, but what’s gotten into you?” she accuses.

“I’m more interested in how to get intoyou. Tell me whatyouwere thinking.”

“I repeat: I was thinking you’re an idiot.”

Malice breaks from his stance while unbuckling her archery. He lowers the bow and quiver, his chest contracting and his tattoo jerking as he lets the weapons fall. She’s about to reprimand him for handling her possessions that way, but then he swaggers across the aisle, those hipbones rotating into her line of vision. It’s fortunate that she’s a multitasker, which enables her to resist peeking below his waist, to retreat from his advance, and to raise her chin.

Her spine hits a dead end. What’s boggling is that he doesn’t make contact, nor cage her in with his arms. He just looms there, within touching distance.

Somehow, this portrays him as unreachable. And somehow, his nudity pits her as the vulnerable one, like it’s silly she’s dressed at all, like she’s a coward. Add this to the list of reasons that she despises him.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Look at me. See what’s behind curtain number one.”

“There’s no curtain in sight,” she scoffs. “Even so, the view doesn’t make you special.”

“Tsk, tsk. Neither does being a prude. But then, I’d say you’re not as puritan as you let on. Otherwise, you’d be wimpy for a goddess. Or prove me wrong. Occasionally, I like being proven wrong.”

That will either deprive Wonder of her remaining power or resurrect some of it. In any case, what’s the use? She wants that eyeful.

Wonder permits herself a glimpse, skimming over his sopping curls and taut mouth. The whole time, he watches her as she travels to his pectorals, the hardened buds, and the grille of his abdomen. Her pulse quickens once her gaze topples down the lane of hair below his navel, between the slopes of his hips—down to the firmness between his pelvic bones.

Dear Fates. Her lips part of their own accord.

It’s sensual, the way it rises, twitching when her attention lands there. Its length solidifies, on the verge of extending more. There’s a straight column and a swelling peak, and it’s all his.

How profound, the pleasure that one anatomical part can elicit.

What does he taste like?

Malice hums. “Did you like what you saw in the rain? Did you want to fuck me?”

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