Page 113

Rowan.

The long, tragic sound of the Noctis plays through my head, but my eyes see a younger version of myself.

Wake up.

But I can’t. I’m running through crowded market streets while rain slicks the stone beneath my shoes. Footsteps somewhere behind me. Someone grabs my wrist too hard.

Rowan!

I know that man. I know him.

“Rowan?” A hand clamps around my shoulder and I jump before slumping. “Whoa, I know you’re happy to see me, but you don’t have to faint.”

Ciaran’s hand slides against the small of my back while the music swells softly through the hall behind us.

“H-hi,” I manage.

“What’s up, little mouse? Why are you breathing fast like that?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. Though you definitely look fine in those clothes.”

“Shut up.” I press a hand against my forehead and take in a few deep breaths. “Just…I’m all right.”

His eyes hold mine. “You always lie so confidently.”

“I’m not lying.”

“No?” His thumb presses lightly against my back. “Then why are you leaning into my hand like you forgot you’re supposed to hate me, but you left my bed this morning before I could get my hands on you again?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I manage, but when his grip on my shoulder intensifies, I need to swallow a groan. Because he’s hurting me, is all.

But I can’t fool my body, apparently, because my cock stirs in my pants.

“No, I’d rather flatter you. And don’t you just look perfect wearing my clothes? Fucking delicious.”

His eyes roam slowly over my body, and I squeeze my eyes shut as heat curls low in my stomach, remembering exactly what that mouth can do.

Why do I crave his touch so much? I don’t get it. The guy’s a bully and a dangerous mafia prince. I should know better than this.

A server passes between us carrying champagne and Ciaran reaches out, plucks a glass from the tray, and puts it to my lips. “Drink.”

I jerk my head away and glare at him. “You are unbelievably controlling.”

“And you still came back to my room.” His grin widens when I don’t say something back. “You see? Come on. Don’t tell me you didn’t like my mouth on your cock.”

“Quiet,” I hiss, face burning hot.

“On the contrary. I could shout it off the rooftops. Would that make you sleep in my bed again tonight?”

“No. And you know it.”

“Was it that bad?” He pouts.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I try to think of something to say. “I’m not your type,” I finally come up with.

“Not my type?” He snorts. “And you’re saying that after you snuck out of my bed?”