Page 89 of The Unlikely Spare
Nicholas turns slowly to face me. He’s loosened his bow tie, the black silk hanging undone around his collar. The top button of his shirt is open, revealing a sliver of skin. It draws my gaze like a magnet.
When I raise my gaze to his, his eyes are cool and assessing.
“I know there are professional boundaries. Ethical considerations. Rules.” The last word drips with contempt. “But that doesn’t seem to change the fact that you keep looking at me like you’re starving and I’m a feast you can’t touch.”
My pulse hammers in my throat. “Prince?—”
“And I’m sick of pretending I don’t want you.”
The bald admission hits me like a punch to my gut. “Nicholas?—”
“I think we need to do this once, get it out of our systems because it’s unbearable for us to keep circling each other like this.” His voice drops lower. “I can’t take it anymore, Eoin. Can you?”
Hearing my name on his lips has my skin pricking with sudden heat. I stand there like a man carved from stone, though inside, I’m pure fire.
My breath catches painfully in my throat. Each inhale brings more of his cologne. More of him.
“I’m not asking anything,” he says as he moves toward me. “I’m offering. Just tonight. Just this once. No expectations beyond that.”
He’s standing so close now that his breath ghosts across my skin. His eyes are darker than usual, almost navy, pupils dilated with want.
He’s taking rapid, shallow breaths, his fingers curling at his sides, knuckles white with restraint.
This man is on the verge of shattering. I understand because I am too. I’m vibrating with a need I can’t control, a desperate hunger that burns through my veins like whiskey and gunpowder combined.
So I do the only thing that will save us both from shattering.
I lower my lips to his.
This kiss is different from our first. It’s no less desperate and fierce, but it’s deliberate rather than impulsive, charged with conscious choice rather than pure adrenaline.
A soft sound escapes Nicholas’s throat as his hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer. Then his fingers are tangling in my hair as he deepens the kiss.
His mouth opens beneath mine and the taste of him from the other day—now tinged with champagne—floods my senses until my mind goes blank.
There’s no room for anything else. No room for any thoughts other than this man.
This man.
My hands move to his waist, fingers digging into the muscle beneath his shirt as I back him toward the nearest wall.
When his shoulders hit the surface, he groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me. I break the kiss to trail my lips along his jaw, down his throat, feeling his pulse race beneath my lips.
I’m finally getting to touch him like I’ve been craving for far too long.
Even better, he’s touching me back.
His hands slide beneath my suit jacket, pushing it off my shoulders. I shrug out of my shoulder holster and his fingers pull at my shirt, tugging it free.
Those cool blue eyes meet mine in a challenge.
“You assured me I’d be thinking of you anyway, so now that we’re here, I guess you better ensure my mind isn’t wandering off to other places.”
Fuck. I had no idea witty barbs were what did it for me. But the sight of Nicholas disheveled and breathless from my kisses, still managing to challenge me with that sharp tongue, causes desire to course through me.
I capture his mouth again, harder this time, my hand sliding into his perfect hair to tilt his head how I want it. He yields with a shiver, his body arching against mine.
We kiss like it’s the only purpose we were made for, like each kiss is a battle for survival. It’s messy and desperate, the kind of kissing that doesn’t give a damn about tomorrow’s regrets.
