Page 49 of Prince of Masks
I watch Dray swim, back and forth, back and forth, lap after lap—until he finally springs up from the depths. His hands rise with him and run over his sawdust-hued hair, until it’s slicked back.
Water runs down him like a stream runs over boulders. But his boulders are muscles chiselled from solid sandy marble.
If I scooted a bit closer, I could smack the heel of my foot square on his mouth.
Instead, I dip my toes in the ripples and let my glower simmer from beneath my lashes.
With no shades to hide my glower, he sees it.
His response is an arched brow before he runs his hand down his face. When his hand slaps back to the water, his eyes are still sharp cuts of glass aimed at me.
A droplet dangles from his long lashes for a beat before it falls onto his high cheekbone.
I watch it run down his cheek like a tear never shed, then curve along the cut of his jaw.
Then it’s submerged in the water as he pushes into a brushstroke towards me.
My mouth pouts with a puckered snarl.
I splash my foot, a warning not to get too close.
It’s a warning he doesn’t heed, because why would he? Dray never cared much about my boundaries, he’s sure as hell not going to start respecting them now.
He closes the distance until his hand smacks down on the ledge and, looking up at me, jerks his chin. “Come on.”
A scowl carves into my face.
I pluck my sunglasses from the edge of the towel. “I don’t want to go in.”
He sighs and folds his arms on the ledge. “Yes, you do.”
I shove the shades onto my scowl. “No, I don’t.”
He rests his chin on his forearm, face angled towards me. “Are we to squabble like we are five years old?”
“That’s your favourite past-time,” I say with a false smile.
Dray shakes his head in exasperation before he calls out, “Burns. Bring the inflatable.”
I look over my shoulder as Mr Burns grabs the floating lounge from under the table, where my father is sat with Amelia and Mother. They play Gin Rummy.
Oliver, I find after a moment: In the jacuzzi with Harold, perched on opposite sides, but each with beer bottles in their hands, and moody looks etched onto their faces as they murmur about something, and I don’t need to wonder more than a moment to draw the suspicion that Oliver is harping on about Serena.
At the table, Father turns his cheek to the card game. He finds us, his gaze locked onto me for a beat. Then a slight nod of the head.
I loosen a sigh and watch as Mr Burns slides the inflatable onto the water—and the swaying ripples steal it away, just out of reach.
I have a heartbeat, and only a heartbeat, before Dray pushes up from the water and slips his arm around my middle.
A sharp breath spears through me—then he draws me into the water with him.
It’s an instant clash of relaxation (the cool relief of the water) and violence (the urge to bite his fucking face off).
I’m rigid in his hold.
Eye-level, my shades shield the ferocity of my stare against the daring glint of his.
Dray keeps his arm hooked around me. He leans back, a gradual swim towards the inflatable lounge.
