Page 77 of Queen of Tempests and Sin

The meal was… civil. Somehow.

We picked at a spread of impossibly elegant vegetarian dishes—wild mushroom risotto infused with truffle, roasted aubergine drizzled with pomegranate molasses, delicate parcels of spinach and feta wrapped in crisp filo. She teased the stem of her wine glass with her fingers, fire flashing in her eyes every time she caught me watching her.

‘Is this supposed to make up for everything?’ she asked finally, her tone sharp enough to slice through the quiet.

‘Dinner?’ I arched a brow. ‘Or the fact that I’m not letting you out of my sight?’

Her lips pressed together. ‘Either.’

‘Then no,’ I said simply. ‘But I hoped it might make you stop glaring at me long enough to eat.’

She stabbed a piece of aubergine like it had personally offended her. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Liar.’

Her gaze snapped up to mine, heat and warning tangled in it. ‘You think you know me that well?’

‘I’m trying to,’ I said, and this time I kept my voice soft. Truthful. ‘Even when you’d rather I didn’t.’

Something flickered behind her eyes—uncertainty, maybe—but it vanished as quickly as it came. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs, pretending to relax.

‘You don’t get to want me, Si.’

I smiled faintly. ‘Too late for that.’

She looked away, the movement small but telling. The edge in her posture dulled, shoulders loosening, one hand falling from her glass to the table.

‘Why?’ she asked quietly. ‘You could have anyone.’

‘I don’t want anyone,’ I said. ‘I want you.’

Her laugh was soft and disbelieving, but not cruel this time. ‘’You really need to work on your arrogance.’

‘Maybe.’ I reached for my glass, pretending to study the crimson swirl of the wine instead of her face. ‘But it’s honest.’

When I finally looked back up, her expression had changed—still wary, but warmer.

She didn’t look away. Not this time.

The air between us pulsed again, slower now, deeper, and I felt the tether tighten between us as the space around us throbbed with want. For the first time since she’d sat down across from me, she wasn’t trying to run.

Her gaze lingered on me a second too long before she reached for her wine again. The stem slipped slightly between her fingers; I caught the glass before it tipped.

Her breath hitched. ‘I had it.’

‘Did you?’ I asked, my hand still wrapped around the base of the glass, my thumb brushing against hers. ‘You looked distracted.’

‘Maybe I was thinking about how infuriating you are.’

‘That’s progress,’ I murmured. ‘You weren’t thinking about leaving.’

Her lips parted, a retort hovering on her tongue, but she didn’t speak. Not for a heartbeat. Not while my thumb traced slow, absent circles against her knuckles.

‘Stop doing that,’ she said finally, but her voice had lost its bite.

‘Doing what?’

‘That thing. Where you act like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.’