Page 11 of Every Eligible Man

That last one makes me grin. I don't even know who said it, but I appreciate her honesty.

"Is that a goose?"

Bastard honks at the crowd, asserting dominance. Several people flinch.

And then I see her.

Lady Cinder.

She's at the head of the room, seated on a throne that looks more like a judgment seat. Black silk dress, neckline plunging to her navel, a slit up the side that reveals miles of leg. Dark hair tumbling over bare shoulders. The kind of beauty that doesn't ask for attention, it demands it.

She's in the middle of dismissing some poor bastard in a wrinkled doublet. He's clutching a piece of parchment, a poem, probably, and looks like he's about to cry.

I watch her lips move. Can't hear the words from here, but the man's face crumples. He stumbles away, dabbing at his eyes with a lace handkerchief.

Brutal. Efficient. Magnificent.

She reaches for her wine glass, clearly done with the interaction, and that's when the shift in the room hits her.

I see the exact moment she notices us.

Her hand pauses, glass halfway to her lips. Her spine straightens. Her eyes, dark, sharp, predatory, lock onto our little group and stay there.

She's not looking at just one of us. She's looking at all three.

I watch her gaze travel from Ash, lingering on his shoulders, his chest, the sheer mass of him, to me, my face, my smile, the way I hold myself, to Wreck, who's somehow already making a nearby duchess nervous just by existing.

And then something fascinating happens.

Her thighs press together.

It's subtle. Most people wouldn't notice. But I notice everything. It's my gift. It's my curse. It's the reason I know exactly how to take a woman apart piece by piece until she's begging for more.

Lady Cinder just got wet looking at us from across a crowded ballroom.

This is going to be fun.

She sets her glass down with a soft clink. Her lady-in-waiting leans in, murmuring something. Cinder doesn't even glance at her. Her attention hasn't left us.

"She's staring," Ash says.

"She's interested," I correct. "There's a difference. Look at her posture. She's leaning forward. Look at her hands. She just gripped the arm of her throne. And unless I'm mistaken..." I let myself smile, slow and knowing. “Her pupils just dilated from across a crowded room."

"How can you possibly see her pupils from here?"

"I can't. But I know what a woman looks like when she's imagining what I can do to her." I straighten my cuffs. "We have her attention. Now we just need to keep it."

Wreck bounces on his heels. "Should we go over there? I feel like we should go over there. Gerald wants to meet her. Gerald's a great icebreaker."

"Gerald bites people," Ash says.

"Exactly. Icebreaker."

Before we can debate strategy, she moves.

Lady Cinder rises from her throne with the fluid grace of a predator who's spotted prey. The crowd parts for her automatically. Her hips sway with the confidence of a woman who knows exactly what she wants.

And apparently, what she wants is walking directly toward us.