on grammar right now?”
“‘Twasn’t a lecture,” he said, amused by her disgruntled tone. “Merely a correction.”
“Jeez, I’m being corrected by a thug.”
“A… What did you call me?”
“A thug.” She spat out the word. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? Oh, you might call yourself an enforcer, or a bill collector, but we both know the truth, don’t we, Mr. Nutcracker?”
Nutcracker? What an unusual name.
Though Philip was very confused now, he had to admit the sparkle in the woman’s eyes and the flush of color on her cheeks were most becoming. If anything, she was even prettier now that she was indignant. Though what had caused the indignation, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was the aforementioned Mr. Nutcracker.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” she said, moving closer as she scolded. Close enough for him to see her eyes and note they were neither blue nor green, but rather a combination of the two. They brought to mind the color of the Great Elatyrian Sea under a sunny, clear sky. Beautiful.
“Why should I be ashamed, exactly?”
“Because you take advantage of people.”
“I most certainly do not,” he said, his shoulders stiffening in rising annoyance. “I would never dream of forcing someone to do anything he or she hadn’t agreed to.”
“Agreed to. Right. Like anybody agrees to get wiped out.”
Wiped out? He wasn’t familiar with that expression. But before he could ask her about it, she jabbed an index finger in his direction. “How do you people live with yourselves?”
“We people?” He was about to explain that royals rarely lived by themselves, that there were lots of people in the palaces and castles. His was a large family; though Philip was an only child, he had many cousins and other relations.
But he remembered at the last moment that he was supposed to be a poor student from another land—he’d even picked one out of an atlas—and shook his head sadly. “Only with great difficulty.”
“No kidding. I don’t know how you can sleep at night.”
“I sleep very well,” he told her, wondering how she slept. And where she slept. And who she slept with.
Oh yes, he wanted very much to know that. Especially because, despite the fact that she was scolding him for some reason, and that her accusations had begun to annoy him, he couldn’t deny that he quite adored the passion in her eyes and the way her glorious lips pursed when she was angry.
“I don’t see how, considering the way you people prey on naive, brainless twenty-one-year-olds.”
“Brainless?” he asked, unaccustomed to the slang here. He didn’t imagine she meant that literally, but one never knew. There had been, of course, that straw man in his world.
“Yeah. He’s not smart enough to deal with the likes of you and your boss.”
“I don’t have a boss.”
“Strictly contract work, huh?”
More confusing by the moment. But it seemed safe to simply agree. “I suppose you could say that.”
“That’s disgusting.”
Well, that had been the wrong answer. But Philip didn’t persist, nor did he question her. In honesty, he was barely paying attention anymore to the strange things she said. He was focused only on the strength in her voice, the stiffness in her posture, the belligerence of her words. And the way all those things combined to make her one dazzlingly exciting female.
He stepped closer, drawn to the fire in her, the fervency in her tone—the disrespect, the near dislike—shocking and attracting him all at once. Very rarely had a woman spoken to him in such a manner. In fact, he could recall only one, a feisty historian he’d met a few months before. This woman reminded him of her in some ways. She had… spirit.
His tread quiet on the floor, courtesy of his new, rubber-soled shoes—supposedly a staple of college students—Philip continued to move toward her. He heard her tiny gasp and knew she was alarmed. But he also saw the way her lips parted, her small tongue slipping out to moisten them. Her pulse fluttered in her throat as her breathing quickened, and the warm pink color in her cheeks deepened to crimson the closer he came.
So, the fiery stranger was not immune to him, as much as she might wish otherwise.
“Don’t come any closer,” she ordered, though her voice quavered. She reached down and picked up the spoon she’d dropped, leaving a thin trail of gooey, liquid chocolate on the countertop. Ignoring that, she waved the spoon at him threateningly, sending a few tiny droplets his way. One landed on his shirt, another on his lower lip.
Philip had always had a weakness for chocolate. As a child, he’d often sneaked into the kitchens and filched desserts, which his father had said was unbecoming of a prince. There was just something decadent about chocolate, something forbidden, dark, slick and luscious. It appealed to all his senses.
He licked his mouth, tasting this concoction, which was like nothing he’d ever experienced. It wasn’t as sweet or milky as he was used to. It was dark and strong, with enough sweetness to soothe the palate, and the tiniest bite of peppery spice to arouse the senses. He groaned with pleasure as he swallowed.
“By the gods, that’s incredible.”
“Huh?” She sounded thoroughly confused.
Philip didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out and clasped her wrist. As if stunned, she didn’t protest. He drew the hand—and the spoon she held—closer, until he could flick out his tongue and taste the dark, gooey substance that drenched it.
The woman—this strange, beautiful, fiery woman—watched him raptly. As if she’d never seen a man take such pleasure in eating.
Philip enjoyed indulging his senses, and he wasn’t sure which delighted him more right now—tasting the decadence gliding down his throat or watching the woman stare in fascination as he did so. “This is remarkable,” he said as he delicately licked off every drop. “Did you make it?”
“I’m melting it for a recipe. You… like to eat chocolate?”
“I like to eat your chocolate.”
She coughed into her fist, then yanked her hand away. Seeing the way her eyes had dropped to his mouth, and she’d pressed her other hand into her middle, as if she needed to grab on to something, he suspected he knew why.
“That was suggestive, wasn’t it?” he asked, hearing the unintentional purr in his tone. Something about the eroticism of licking his favorite delicacy off a spoon held in the hand of a strange and seductive woman had sent warm waves of sexual pleasure through him. They’d obviously translated to her.
“Very.”
“Should I apologize?”
“Only if you’re sincere.”
