Page 35 of Summoned
“No,” he whispers into my ear. “Dancing is poetry. And you, Baroness, are as soulless as a glossy-covered book filled with hundreds of empty pages.”
I grit my teeth, swallowing the urge to retort. I may be many things, but “empty” is not one of them.
Stepping with more confidence, I take the lead. I’m no professional, but in seventh grade, my mother insisted on classical dance lessons to ensure I’d shine at high society events. Turned out dancing wasn’t my thing, but I remember enough.
I spin, forcing him to follow my movement. He does so with eagerness. His hand returns to my waist, tugging me in, his lips finding my ear once more. “Terrible choice of attire. I didn’t believe you’d cave to your mother’s taste.”
The heat from his palm seeps through the fabric, scorching my skin. “Says you?” I reply, nodding at his clothing.
A faint smile curves across his lips once more. “I was born in the fifteenth century. What’syourexcuse?”
Oh, God… I don’t even think he’s joking. Another sign that it’s time for me to act.
I step back to create some space between us, preparing for negotiations. “I’ve been thinking about our contract,” I say.
He spins me. “It would’ve been foolish not to.”
“Exactly. It seems I have to accept it. However…”—I face him—“I don’t believe there’snothingthat can be done.”
“What do you mean?”
“There must be a way to… bend the terms.”
He pushes me away only to pull me right back in—so close our mouths nearly touch. His focus slips to my lips. “And why would I do that?”
I ignore the sting in my chest. “Because I don’t want to lose my soul. And I know there must besomethingI could offer you in exchange for that favor.”
A slight crease forms between his eyebrows. “And what would you offer me?”
He catches me by the waist and dips me with such ease, it’s as if my body is merely an extension of his. My back arches, my hair almost grazing the floor, and only when I feel the solid support of his arms do I dare to complete the movement.
For the first time, I’m grateful to my mother for choosing this dress. Its modest, thick fabric covers my thighs, and saves me from the sensation of having my skin laid bare to his every touch.
As I regain my balance, I say, “You have a castle, you’reobviouslyrich, but—”
Gaetano laughs, his deep, velvet-toned vibrations rising above the music and sending a flutter through my stomach. “My apologies. Do go on.”
I suppress my irritation. “Surely I have something to offer you?”
He pulls me close, so close our faces are mere inches apart, his breath brushing against my lips. My heart pounds to the rhythm of our steps, and the world around us blurs. My control slips, while his presence fills every inch of space. The sensation is disturbingly intimate—less predator and prey, more… partners.
His gaze drops to my lips again. “Unexpected, but intriguing offer, Baroness. Considering I haven’t had a human lover in years.”
A wave of heat rises in my stomach. My fingers grip his shoulder tighter, and my pulse accelerates, as if my body reacts before my mind can catch up. The thought sneaks into my mind. Yes, he’s a witcher. Yes, he’s cruel. But he’s not all dark. And underneath that tough exterior… he’s still a man. Maybe—just maybe—he has typicalmaleweaknesses. If I can figure out how to use them, I might gain an edge in this situation.
He’s a witcher from the fifteenth century, my reason chimes in. He has nothing in common with the horny little rich boys I usually wrap around my finger.
Reality hits me hard. “That’s not what I meant!”
He laughs again and spins me. The next time we’re face to face, I rush to speak. “The contract states that if we fail to complete it, we’ll both burn in Hell. Which means you’re bound by it, too. We could figure out a way to break it. My father has influence—”
“Do you enjoy the role you’re playing?”
I frown, my patience wearing thin. “What?”
He arches his eyebrows in that same sarcastic manner. “For a woman with so many claims in high society, you’re quite deluded.”
My cheeks burn, but I force myself to mask the irritation. He’s trying to provoke me—to make me stop dancing. “Andwhat could a fifteenth-century sorcerer possibly understand about society?” I snap.
