Page 50 of Shadows of Stardust

“I think it’s obsession. Frustration. Anger that you couldn’t figure out my play before we got caught.”

A spark of irritation blazes bright in my chest, and when I pull back far enough to meet her gaze, I find that spark echoed in her unsettlingly green eyes.

An inferno, her anger. Whatever’s burning in her, whatever secret she’s holding so closely, it’s incandescent behind those eyes.

And perhaps that’s what bothers me most.

Not knowing her reason, but knowing enough to respect it.

How could I not?

They’re a mirror, these candles we’re burning, and I’m not an arrogant enough creature not to assume whatever she’s after has just as strong a hold on her as my desire to regain my rank.

Whatever it is, whatever her motivation, I see that spark and know it. I feel it in my own chest, scorching all the way through me and bringing an ember of temper to the surface. The need to push, to provoke, to make sure she’s just as irritated with me as I am with her.

“Careful, Roslyn. We’re still being watched.”

She presses herself closer to me, and even with the clothes I’m wearing—some absolutely heinous combination of tan trousers cut to the knee and a lightweight white tunic shirt that production provided—I can feel every curve of her body against mine.

And her warmth. Fates, her warmth.

It bleeds into me like a living thing, heating my skin and making me far too aware of all the contours of her. The swell of her breasts, the press of her belly just against my—

I bite back a curse and rest a hand on her hip with half a mind to push her away, but Roslyn is quicker.

Her teeth catch the bottom of my earlobe in a sharp bite before she whispers her next retort.

“Then send the goddamn cameras away.”

“Can’t do that,” I say, and hate myself to the very soles of my feet for the breathless edge that’s somehow found its way into my voice.

Perhaps it would be wise to fight fire with fire.

I mimic her provocation and run my teeth over her right earlobe, taking more care than she did with me. As much as I’d like to rile her, I have no intention of drawing blood.

“The more I divert them, the more I open us up to discovery. If the producers notice they’re missing footage of their favorite couple, they’re likely to ask questions and connect dots. So chin up, Roslyn, unless you don’t think you can heed Sella’s advice and put on a convincing show.”

She lets out something I can only describe as a frustratedsnarl, and yanks me to her with a surprisingly iron-clad grip around the back of my neck. Her mouth closes over mine in a brutal, unforgiving kiss that’s all teeth and silent hatred.

Well, I suppose this qualifies as a show.

One hand buried in her hair, the other settling low enough on her lower back to feel the swell of her ass beneath my fingers, I give just as good as she does. Mindful of my teeth against the tender skin of her lips, aware of the fact that I entirely fucked this up last time, and not about to provide any more humiliating fodder for the cameras, I follow her lead.

Stroke for stroke, mirroring the way she moves her lips, her tongue, I find it’s not a difficult dance to learn.

Especially when she’s kissing me like this.

Teeth dragged over my lip, mouth hot and wet and open on mine, she devours me. She digs her fingertips into my shoulders, and though her blunted nails are nowhere near able to piece my natural protective plating, they provide a pleasurable sting, nonetheless.

It’s that last thought that draws me up short.

A dangerous game, finding any pleasure in this.

When I pull back, Roslyn is breathing hard. Lips pink and swollen, hair tousled, eyes glowing with what’s likely ire, but what I could easily mistake for arousal if I were in the habit of lying to myself.

It sends a hard jolt through the bottom of my stomach, seeing her like that.

Even with her anger.

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