Page 82 of American Queen (New Camelot Trilogy 1)
I step out of the bathroom to see Abilene standing in front of Ash, staring at him. She’s breathing hard, frozen in place, and for a moment, I have the strangest feeling that she’s going to take a step forward and touch him. That she’s going to try to kiss him.
But she doesn’t. After a few seconds, she steps back and lets him walk inside. When he sees me, he stops, his mouth parted as if he was about to speak and then forgot the words.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, paranoid that his expression means he has all the same doubts about the dress that I now do.
“What’s wrong is that you’re fucking perfect, and I want to have you all to myself tonight,” he growls, stepping forward and caging me against the wall with his arms. I’m acutely aware of Abilene standing right behind him, watching, and I’m also acutely aware that I almost don’t care. “That color makes your eyes look silver. And your skin looks so fucking edible…” He leans down and bites my exposed collarbone, and agonized pleasure spreads through me like a toxin, hijacking my nerve endings and my capacity for higher thought.
But I still manage to put my hands on his chest and give a meaningful glance in Abilene’s direction. She’s turned away, pretending to go through her clutch, but I know she’s as painfully aware of us as my body is of Ash.
Ash looks very much like he doesn’t give a fuck about Abilene being there, but he still drops his arms and takes a step back. “I suppose we should get going,” he says reluctantly.
“We should,” I say, ducking past him to grab my heels and clutch, and as I do, he turns to Abilene.
“You know Embry doesn’t have anyone to walk in with,” he says kindly. “Would you like to walk in with him?”
“Like his date?” Abilene asks. I think I’m the only one who can hear that note of flat panic in her voice, that tug-of-war between pleasing Ash and having to spend the evening with a different man.
“Embry is an excellent date, I promise. Greer can attest to that.”
I send him a sharp look, and he returns it with a mild look of his own.
“Which definition of jealousy did that come from?” I mutter as he opens the hotel door for me.
“All of them.”
When we arri
ve at the ballroom where the dinner’s being held, we meet Embry at the door looking cold and resigned in his white tuxedo. But when he sees me, he straightens up and presses his lips together, as if to keep from licking them.
Ash surprises me by spinning me into a little twirl in front of Embry, as if to show me off. “Doesn’t she look divine, Mr. Moore?”
I can tell by the way Embry’s eyes follow me that he’s able to see my body through the dress. “Good enough to eat, Mr. Colchester.”
And my answering shiver has nothing to do with the cold.
“And Abilene is doing a year’s worth of charity and consenting to be your date,” Ash adds. “So you see, we’ll each have a granddaughter of Leo Galloway on our arm tonight.”
Embry smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wonderful.” He extends an arm to Abilene, who takes it gracefully, although she looks equally miserable. “Shall we begin?”
Ash and I walk behind them, and Ash leans in to whisper, “You’re cruel to wear this in front of Embry, you know.”
“Abilene thought I should change.”
“You look like a goddess. It’s pure torment to be around you in that thing.”
I stroke my fingers up his bicep. “And what would you do if we didn’t have to be here?”
He flashes a wicked smile. “I’ve always wanted to fuck a goddess in the ass.”
I blush so hard that he laughs. “Stop,” I mumble, embarrassed and hot between the legs. “Someone might hear you.”
“You’re the one who started it. And do you really think I’d be the first world leader to fuck someone’s ass? There’s at least two or three English kings who’ve beat me to it.”
I slap his arm, trying to get him to lower his voice. “Well, they didn’t do it to their wives. And they definitely didn’t talk about it in public.”
Ash’s eyes sparkle but there’s a husky catch in his voice when he says, “We really need to raise your comfort level with sodomy. And I can think of a few ways we could start.”
“Also,” I continue in a low voice, making sure my voice doesn’t carry down the long candelabra-lit hallway, “you’re not allowed to stir me up. Because I’m not wearing anything under my dress.”
