24: Charming Trouble

Quincy St. Martin

He leans in closer until he’s almost on top of me, and my knees grow weak.

~Do~ I want to be devoured by this sexy creature? My traitorous inner voice and hormones are yelling, “Yes, please!”

His handsome arrogant face shows that he’s confident I’m just going to melt into a puddle at his feet like so many other women before me. And, just like that, he’s pissing me off again. How can you be turned on ~and~ pissed off at the same time? That strengthens my resolve.

I am ~not~ going to be one of those women.

“No,” I say as I slap my hands flat on his chest. It’s solid, hard, and I feel his muscles flex under my palm. “You’re like a little kid. You can’t stay serious for five minutes, can you?” I tell him even though my heart feels like it’s about to explode in my chest.

That stupid, sexy, naughty grin on his lips only grows wider.

His hand is braced against the wall behind me. He tilts his head sideways and leans in like he’s going to kiss me.

I slide down in my seat until I’m almost lying on the red leather padded bench. It’s actually hard for me to evade his kiss because I want to feel his lips on mine. I do. Too much.

I have to remind myself that he might be doing this to other girls all the time.

I know if I let him, it’s not going to be just a simple kiss because I want so much more. Nothing is going to be simple between the two of us, at least not to me.

He looks down at me, almost underneath him, and chuckles. He’s toying with me like a big cat playing with their catch before they devour it.

His grin is very mischievous and playful, but there’s fire in his eyes. This man is trouble.

“I like this,” he says, looking at me half lying in between his legs.

“What?”

“You under me, in this position.” He has one knee bent on the seat next to my hip while another foot is firmly on the floor on the other side of me.

I’m in a reclining position with an elbow supporting me. His crotch is directly at my eye level.

“Really?” I lift an eyebrow, staring up at him. “You should be worried,” I tell him. “Because I bite.” I snap my teeth together. “Hard.”

My remark and action are met with silence, and then he throws his head back and laughs. A beautiful, delightful sound that sends tingles down my spine. I watch the column of his throat and his Adam’s apple move as he laughs. I never thought a man’s throat could look so sexy and delicious before.

“Don’t forget. I bite, too, princess,” he reminds me, flashing his straight white teeth and those slightly prominent and sharp canines.

“I thought we were here to talk,” I huff, trying not to remember the way his mouth and teeth felt on my skin.

I squirm to get out from under him but only manage to slide and fall off the side of the seat.

He grabs my arm before I hit the ground and pulls me up, back into a sitting position.

He lowers himself to sit properly beside me just before the host from earlier knocks on the glass partition and slides it open. A waiter comes in to pour some clear liquid into our glasses.

“Your vodka, sir,” he says, and then he pours some water into two other glasses.

After he’s done, a waitress steps in with a big oval platter filled with a variety of mouthwatering food.

“I’ve ordered us a sampler so that you can try a little bit of everything,” he says when they’re gone and the partition is closed again.

We share everything on the tray. It’s delicious. Some food he insists on feeding me. We make small talk as we eat. He tells me that he wants to get to know me, and he asks simple questions about my favorite movies and hobbies.

We tell each other about our embarrassing moments and laugh at each other’s expense. He’s funny and easy to talk to when he’s not being cocky and annoying.

“So, tell me about your family. Are they here?” I ask him.

His hand pauses in mid-air as he’s about to sip his vodka, and something flashes in his eyes. It’s very fleeting. If I wasn’t watching him so closely, I would’ve missed it.

“Yes, my family is here,” he answers carefully.

“Do you live with them?” I probe.

“Yes.”

“That’s great. You must be close to your parents then,” I say.

I think I hear an embarrassingly wistful note in my own voice. Really, I’m an adult now. I shouldn’t be wishing for a father and a mother who love me, but sometimes I can’t help feeling envious of people with doting parents.

“Not really. My father is okay, I guess, but my mother and I… We don’t see eye to eye,” he explains. “And my parents aren’t here.”

“Oh, okay. But when you said your family is here…”

“My parents are in Russia,” he says. “~Moya printsessa~, blood relation doesn’t make a family. People whom I love and trust are my family.” He sits back and watches me. “What about you? Tell me about your family.”

I touch the beads of condensation formed on the surface of my glass of water and frown as I think of my family.

“My Nana died almost five months ago. She raised me.” Sometimes it’s still strange and hard to say my Nana and the word ~died~ in the same sentence.

“I’m sorry, princess,” he says, gently touching my arm. “That’s very recent. The cut must still hurt very deeply.”

Yes, and I’m bleeding all over the place. My eyes sting. I don’t like to cry, and I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. I blink a few times before I look up again and force a cheerful smile. “It’s okay.” I shrug. “I still have my cousins, Jonah and Jorden.”

See? I’m not alone.

“Grieving is never easy. It’s a very lonely journey even when you have people in your corner,” Caspian says.

The tone of his voice sounds sincere like he really understands.

“I’m glad you have your cousins,” he continues. “What about your parents?”

“Like you said, sometimes blood relation doesn’t make a family. I never knew my father. He’s a human. My mother is a werewolf.”

I feel his intense heated gaze focused on my face, but I keep my eyes down. My fingertip draws circles with the condensation on the glass.

“My mom has a mate. She has her own family,” I add quietly.

I notice that I drew the word mom on the glass, so I quickly rub it out.

He nods his head. “You’re a half werewolf.”

“I’m a human,” I insist.

“So, tell me, apart from werewolves, what other creatures do you know exist in this realm?”

The tone of his voice sounds casual and light like we’re talking about the weather, but the way he angles his body toward me tells me that he’s paying very close attention to every word, every tell of my body.

“Hmmm, let’s see. There are the Fae, sprites, demons—”

“I said, in this realm, princess,” he says patiently.

“Well, sometimes they escape into this realm,” I argue.

“The ones that live permanently in this realm.” Something tells me that my answer is important to him.

“Oh, I don’t know. Shape shifters, incubi?”

I really ~don’t~ know. I rarely paid attention when my Nana or somebody in my old pack talked about them, mainly because I wanted nothing to do with them. They bring nothing but trouble, and I had my mind set to immerse myself in the human world as soon as I could get away from there.

I peer up at him from underneath my eyelashes. “So, what are you?”

He watches me with a contemplative look, as if measuring something in his mind.

When he keeps staring at me, I continue, “I don’t know, okay? Why don’t you tell me? And another thing, I know most of you have mates. So, where’s yours?”

The thought of him with another girl, a mate, pisses me off.

“What are you doing with me? Do you want me to be your plaything before you meet your mate? Have your fun with a stupid human girl before you can be with the one?” I ask him heatedly.

“Whoa, sweetheart,” he says soothingly. He covers my hand, which is currently gripping a fork in a death grip, with his.

The touch of his warm skin on mine sends a zap of electricity through my veins, and I jump and try to pull my hand away. He tightens his hold then slowly pries the fork out of my hand.

I’ve lost my weapon.

“Are you worried I was going to stab you in the eye?” It’s not like I’m not tempted to do that.

He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he rubs his thumb on the back of my hand in a slow circle.

He leans in and whispers, “Do you feel that?” His warm breath teases my skin. The tip of his nose and his lips graze the shell of my ear.

Another pleasurable jolt travels down my body. Setting my blood on fire.

“Does it feel like we’re just having ~fun~ to you? What if ~you’re~ the one for me?”

I swear my heart just jumps out of my chest and goes flying through the roof. If I wasn’t already sitting down, my knees would buckle and I would be sprawled on the floor.

“Am I?”

His thumb continues stroking the back of my hand again. “Tell me what this feels like to you, ~moya printsessa~.”

His every little touch is charging me, turning me into a live wire. Firing every neuron in my body with pleasure. Engulfing me with heat. He should feel like a stranger to me, but he doesn’t.

“There’s this pull,” I try to explain.

“My soul is calling for your soul,” he says.

“What am I?”

“The one for me. Only for me. You’re mine.”

Oh, God! My breath catches in my throat.

His green, smoldering eyes are staring deeply into mine, and right now, I’m powerless to fight this pull. We’re leaning toward each other. Always gravitating toward each other.

His hand reaches out to push the stray hair on my cheek back as if he can’t stop himself. His fingertips skim the skin of my cheek and trace my jawline, and I stop breathing.

My heartbeat skyrockets.

“What does that mean? Is that like a mate? Am I your mate?” There’s a tremor in my voice.

“Yes,” Caspian says.

Before I can utter another word, he slides his hand into my hair, cupping the back of my neck, and his lips capture mine. Time stops. His lips are soft, but firm, gentle, yet insistent, demanding, and possessive. He’s claiming me with his mouth. Branding me his.

He’s taking, not asking. His tongue pushes through my lips to explore my mouth. I let my tongue touch his, and he lets out the sexiest moan in the back of his throat. His mouth grows more insistent and hungrier.

He slants my head to deepen the kiss and slides his arm around my waist to pull me up onto his lap. Our tongues slide together, dueling and tasting. Oh, God. He tastes so good. Nothing tastes better.

I run my hands over his chest and around the back of his neck before I bury my fingers in his soft golden hair. Bursts of flame travel through my veins till I’m nothing but fire.

I fear I’m going to burn to nothing but ashes in his arms.