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But the more I tell myself to enjoy Will’s company, the less I actually do. He buys me another drink and leans on my chair, letting his thigh push against mine. I want to pull away. There’s none of the electric current flowing through my veins that was there when Silas’s ankle touched my leg. None of the tightening, twisting, knotting of my core.
There’s just…emptiness.
He flirts like a pro, every word just touching the professional boundaries, waiting to see my response. I have no doubt he’s done this many, many times before. Not that I mind—it worked on me a few months ago. I wanted it a few months ago.
But this time, I just can’t bring myself to respond to his advances. I laugh at his jokes and give him a few of my own, but always retreat when he leans into me. I keep space between us, pulling my leg away from his, shrugging his hand off my shoulder.
Even when Will openly asks me to come to his room, I find myself shaking my head. “I’ve got work to do tonight,” I say as a pathetic kind of excuse. “Better not.”
“You work too much, Crawley.” He winks at me, drains his glass, and slips out of his seat. “See you tomorrow.”
Stretching my lips into a smile, I dip my chin and turn back to my drink, only realizing once he’s gone that my shoulders have relaxed and I’m glad to be alone. No part of me wants to sleep with Will Broderick, and that in itself worries me, because every single cell in my body does want to be close to Prince Silas.
And it’s Silas’s voice that sounds in my ear a moment later. “You two are quite comfortable together.”
My heart skips a beat as the Prince of Nord slides into the seat Will Broderick vacated only minutes ago. He waves the bartender down with a graceful flick of the wrist, every movement calm. Like he owns the place.
Me, on the other hand?
Feels like the world has tilted, and I might slide off this high bar chair if I don’t grip it with both hands. And when Prince Silas turns that deep blue gaze to me, it feels like an attack.
“Who, Will?” I squeak. “He’s just a colleague.”
“Hmm.” The Prince’s eyes are clear as he reaches for his drink. I can’t stop watching him. The way his long fingers wrap around the glass. How he brings it to his lips. His throat clenching when he swallows. And his eyes…they stay on me. They sweep over my face, my hair, down to my chest.
It’s… God, it feels like foreplay. My face is so hot it must be bright red.
“I wasn’t aware you were staying at this hotel,” I say, glancing at the Prince.
“I’m not,” he answers. “I came here to find you.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid heart. Why would it flip-flop in my chest at those words? I keep my face as casual as I can manage. “Oh?”
“What did you think of my speech? I haven’t seen your article yet.”
“I haven’t written one.” I manage to lift my eyes to him, catching a flash of surprise on his face.
“Why not? I thought you of all people would relish the chance to mock me.”
“I don’t think personal attacks are the best way to get my point across,” I say. “I don’t dislike you, Silas. Just everything you represent.”
To my surprise, the Prince’s lips curl into a soft, almost childlike smile. “You called me by my name.” The lines on his face relax, and I feel the unknotting of the tension in his shoulders rather than see it.
A lump forms in my throat. I hold his gaze, tension twisting in my core. “Saying Your Highness implies that I’m under you, which I’m not.”
“Shame about that,” Silas answers, an entirely different smile tugging at his lips, heat flaming in his eyes.
Fire roars through my veins. My face is definitely red right now.
Silas puts his hand on the back of my chair, and it’s almost…possessive. His body’s angled toward mine, legs splayed on either side of me. One foot rests on the bottom rung of my chair, the other propped against the bar.
“What’s going on with you and blondie?” There’s an edge to his voice when he mentions Will, even though his words are casual.
I arch a brow, ignoring the heat unfurling in the pit of my stomach when his thumb brushes my back. “Remind me again how that’s any of your business?”
Silas chuckles, his thigh nudging against mine. Why am I so hyper-aware of every part his body? I wish I couldn’t feel the fabric of his shirt brushing against my shoulder, or his knee just barely touching my leg. It’s…distracting.
I turn to the bar, resting my forearms on the polished wood, staring at nothing. “Nothing’s going on between us,” I finally answer.
