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I stop her, sliding my fingers over her arm. She’s soft, and a jolt of heat pierces my gut again. Her eyes meet mine, and I know she feels it, too. The electricity buzzing in our veins. The intensity of the touch.
In the cool autumn air, I feel hot all over. All I want to do is wrap my arms around her and inhale her.
“I’ll get it,” I say. “You’ll freeze in that water.”
Before she can protest, I splash into the creek and scoop up the ring, rinsing it in the water to clean the mud off it. Water flows slowly around my legs, so cold it stings. I barely feel it. Instead, I turn around, grinning, holding it up like a trophy. “Got it.”
For a moment, her face loses its angularity. It softens as her brows draw together, hands clasped at her breast. “Thank you,” she says softly, meaning soaked into every syllable. “Thank you so much. How can I ever thank you enough?”
I splash through the water toward her, still holding the ring between my fingers. Grinning, I shrug. “I seem to remember you promised me a kiss.” Cheeky, I know. But if I don’t kiss this woman tonight, I think I might die. With cold seeping through my pant legs and mud caked between my toes, the only thing on my mind is getting closer to her. She arches a brow and I throw up my hands in surrender. “Your name, then? I don’t kiss strangers.”
Standing on the bank of a creek with mud up to my ankles, I feel like my whole world shifts. I came here to forget, to run away—but it feels like I’ve run toward her. My world has crashed into hers, and something big has shifted deep within me.
I know this woman, and I need her name.
As if she can hear my thoughts, my mystery woman gives me a soft smile, relenting. “I’m Jacinthe, but my friends call me Jazz,” she finally says. I meet her gaze long enough to see her smile. “For walking through the muck and into the creek tonight, I think you’ve earned the right to call me Jazz.”
The heat that had been winding its way through my core turns to a block of ice, dropping down to the pit of my stomach like a sack of rocks. I place the ring in her hand and watch her slide it over her finger before letting my eyes climb to her face once more.
Yes, I know her. I’ve seen her on television almost every day for the past few years.
This woman—the first woman to make me feel anything other than empty lust—is Jacinthe Crawley. Her entire career has been dedicated to seeing the monarchy torn apart. The monarchy which happens to be my family—which happens to be me.
3
Jazz
My fingers itch to reach up and take his mask off. Standing in the rushes beside that shallow creek, everything around me fades away. The sound of the music from the party, the lights’ shifting colors through the windows, the screams and shouts of party-goers inside the building.
None of it sounds as loud as the thumping of my heart.
I haven’t had sex with a man in months. Last time I took someone home, it was at a press event at one of the swanky hotels in town. Will Broderick, one of the most well-known reporters in Nord who’s broken some of the biggest stories of the past few decades, sauntered over to me and whispered dark, hot words in my ear. I’d had a few glasses of wine, was feeling sorry for myself, and I liked the attention, so I followed him to his room. It was fast, dirty, and unfulfilling.
I’m not doing that again.
Not to mention every time I see Broderick now, he never fails to wink and ask me for a repeat. Um—no thanks.
Since then, I’ve mostly kept to myself. I’ve locked up the part of me that feels any kind of desire and focused on my work. I’m the loudest, staunchest supporter of the dissolution of the monarchy in Nord—I’ve created a life and career for myself without the help of a man.
Why would I want a man, when they can turn around and throw your affection right back in your face? When they can make you feel small? Insignificant?
I learned that lesson young. Made all my mistakes when I was barely old enough to drive. I’ve never needed someone else to feel whole.
But right now, those parts of my identity seem to fade away. Standing before me is a perfect male specimen. All broad shoulders and sharp jawline, piercing eyes and irresistible charm. He makes me want to melt, giggle, twirl a piece of hair around my finger.
If I’m completely honest, I’d give him that kiss. When he asked me for it, my whole body tensed. My nipples puckered beneath the black fabric of my dress, and it took all my self-control not to lean toward him and give him everything.
I feel…electric. Like there’s pure energy flowing through my veins in place of blood. As I stand here, a foot away from him, my body begs me to act. To drag him to that post holding up the deck and let him sweep his hands over my thighs. Flip my dress up to my waist. Feel him.
Taking a step toward him, I tilt my head. “I told you my name. Won’t you tell me yours?”
Darkness crosses his eyes, but it passes in an instant. His full, kissable lips tug at the corners into a thin smile. “I already did.”
I frown.
He touches the edge of his mask. “Kermit.”
“You’re no fun,” I pout.
