Page 35 of Wicked

“Arrivederci,” I say before my uncle and Raven say their goodbyes.

After Raven and I exchange our empty flutes for full ones, we walk on.

“I believe you tricked me, sir.”

“Unless I am wrong, I did not!” I say. “You merely assumed I worked at the castle.”

Raven raises a perfect brow, stops and turns to me.

She is now close, and I can smell her. Really, I want to taste and smell the real her, but her perfume is crisp and unique. I lean in and I speak low. “You and your cute little butt simply assumed I was mere staff.”

Raven shakes her head slowly. “I will accept your apology, sir, but be aware I have my eye on you.”

After she theatrically puts an arm out, I take it, and we walk on. I get to thinking, and her gesture, being here, and home, plus her playful pure energy, reminds me of how my parents had acted together when I was young, when they were going out.

Refined, polite, and elegant.

I file that quickly under WTF, and as we walk on, I side-eye her.

Raven has shot up to a twelve on the attractiveness scale, and I am suddenly anxious about her returning to the world this hot and a virgin.

Her transition from hot mess in a sports car to gorgeous goddess is astounding, and it is hard to process.

As we walk on, she swishes her dress playfully. Even if there are many stunning women here, the combination of her eyes, hair and that spectacular gold gown really are something.

It’s as if she has walked straight off a fragrance commercial shoot or a fashion magazine cover.

“So, in terms of tradition, how do I greet you then? In the morning or during the day, sir?”

I grin. Even if I’m usually serious, it will kill time and color the evening. I am still searching for two faces in over a hundred, so no harm done.

“I have noble blood, for starters.” Which is true, even if around five generations ago, and only a viscount.

“You may consider the following,” I say, trying to be playful. “Greet me with a twist of the head or a sly look. A daringglare may even work. The playful scowl that you seem to have mastered will also suffice, as will one of yourcheeky pouts.”

Raven blushes. I landed my blows. She is spectacularly cute, and I remind myself it’s dangerous to bring her here. Here, where there are other men, and Italians to boot.

No one can get in her pants.

No one!

Including me.

I’m usually cold and reserved, especially in the boardroom, but here and now, for whatever reason, Raven’s playful energy is calming me and making me more… human.

I am unsure how I feel about it but screw it. I can afford to loosen up some for now, and I will never lose my knife edge competitive side or my commanding cold side.

Thinking fast, I compile a rough list of names.

“Call me… Savage, Brute, or Sir.”

As we walk, Raven turns her perfectly made-up eyes on me. Her lower lip drops, and she gives me a filthy disbelieving glare.

As we pass a bored, snooty, overly bred couple, I talk low. “That’s it! That is the look.”

The temptress laughs, and she tosses her head back.

We stop with our champagnes, and we are now near the dance floor. I’m about to ask Raven if she feels like a walk around the property to see a collection of marble statues, but I’m too slow.

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