Page 22 of The Gambler's Prize
My face gets hot. What the fuck? Is he joking? He better be joking. If he’s actually flirting again after I warned him last time, I’ll throw him out the damn window.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” I say.
I fold my arms, a move designed to show off my strength. It used to make him cower in fear. He’s unworried now, looking me up and down, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Shit. The same look he gave me when we first met in the casino, when he thought I was an adventurer who wanted to get into his bed. Are we back to that? I thought I had cured him of trying that kind of nonsense with me. He moves over to the window and bends over the sill, displaying his ass in those damn breeches as he dusts.
“Florian, cut that out right now.” I raise my voice. “What’s wrong with you?”
He straightens up and pouts at me. “I can’t help it. I’m feeling a little… frisky.”
Frisky? What is he, a colt?
“Well, stop it,” I say.
“It’s all your fault. You won’t let me go into town and… you know.”
Shameless. His ridiculous behavior ismyfault because I won’t let him bed a stranger? He comes closer, the duster falling to his side, his eyes becoming wide and imploring.
“Please, Boss,” he says. “Just give me one night. That’s all I’m asking.”
My mouth drops open. Is he asking what I think he’s asking?
“Just let me go into Galbrava for one night,” he says. “I just need to get fucked once, properly, then I’ll be good for a while.”
I let out my breath. He didn’t mean me. He wants some stranger, anyone, to give him a good railing. Good. Excellent. If he’d meant me, if he’d had the nerve to actually proposition me in my own house…Again…
He drops to his knees, hands clasped in front of him, his eyes laughing up at me. “Please, Boss. One night in town. I’ll do anything.”
A shard of fire comes from somewhere and slices me right to my core. He looks so pretty on his knees. Nerves I forgot I had wake up. I swallow some saliva the wrong way and then I’m choking like an idiot as he stares up at me, head on one side in concern.
“Get up right now,” I snarl.
I can barely talk, gasping for breath and voice raspy, but that doesn’t stop me from dragging him roughly to his feet. My body’s reaction shouldn’t have happened. This is Florian we’re talking about. I hate his guts.
He twists out of my grip, looking reproachful. “I was only joking. You don’t have to manhandle me.”
He rubs his arm. Did I hurt him? I don’t know how to ask. I turn away before he notices my expression, pulling my hood low. My body’s response is a shock. I locked away any sensual part of myself while I was inside. Sure, lots of men stole moments of pleasure in each other’s arms, but never me. I’m not capable of that. I’m not like Florian. I can’t separate physical sensationsfrom feelings. If I was forced to leave my lover inside when I walked outside those gates, it would’ve killed me.
I have no intention of becoming like Florian, either, seeking meaningless pleasure in the arms of someone I can’t like or respect. I could never like or respect Florian. So why am I looking at him so much? His pink lips, the cute little sashay of his hips, his broad shoulders dipping to his narrow waist, and that flowing shiny hair for fuck’s sake? Desperation. It’s the only explanation. It’s just because there’s no one else herebutFlorian. I’ve been alone for too long. When did I last take a man to my bed? Maybe I’m the one who needs to go into Galbrava and find someone to fuck. Anyone. The main criterion being that they’re not Lord Florian Southland.
“Boss, are you okay?” His voice is soft. It sounds like real concern. I close my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to center, before I turn to him.
“I hope I didn’t hurt your arm,” I say roughly.
“No harm done.”
His eyes search mine, looking for some explanation for my weird behavior. I have none. None that I’ll share with him, anyway.
“Enough cleaning,” I say. “Time to dig.”
He follows me outside obediently. I feel like a gauche teenager again. Did he notice my desire as he knelt for me? That would be intolerable.
Outside, I attempt to chase my confusing thoughts with exertion, forcing the spade into the earth over and over and over again until my muscles snarl in protest. I get hotter, out of breath, sweat pouring down my forehead from under my hood, but I keep going, forcing away the memory of Florian on his knees before me. Florian asking if I’m okay. Florian seeming to care about the answer.
I drive the spade deeper, barely pausing for breath, throwing the heavy dirt into a pile beside the trench. On and on, breath getting shorter, body hotter. The world swims in front of my eyes. I stumble.
“Whoa, Boss, are you okay?” Florian’s hand appears on my arm, strong and reassuring. “Come and sit down.”
I feel too disoriented to protest. I let him lead me into the meager shade of a few spindly trees. Wiping sweat from my brow, I look at him. His features stay in focus. The moment of faintness has passed.You can take your hand off my arm now, I think but don’t say.
