‘But it’s not romantic,’ she murmured, mesmerised by the challenging light in his eyes as the hot sweet spot between her thighs burned.
‘True,’ he said, and her chest deflated. ‘But that doesn’t mean we can’t create an impressive show.’
As if to prove his point, he caught her fingers, lifted her hand, opened her closed fist and bit into the swell of flesh under her thumb.
Arrows of sensation darted down, turning the sweet spot into a molten bundle of unrequited yearning. She groaned and he laughed. She tugged her hand free, brutally aware of their audience, but even more brutally aware of the insistent ache between her thighs.
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she murmured, the challenge issued before she could stop it.
‘Watch me,’ he said, then clasped her hand and began to lead her through the crowd.
The music had stopped, the eyes of everyone upon them as the guests parted to let them through.
This was madness, but it was an intoxicating madness. The reckless child inside her, who had once sneaked into another ball to kiss him, wanted to see what he would do.
As he headed towards the back of the ballroom, she spotted doors leading onto a balcony that overlooked the gorge, closed now as the snow fell in scatters of white.
It was the same balcony where she had propositioned him all those years ago, at another ball. And been discarded far too easily.
‘Wait.’ She tugged him to a stop, a laugh trapped in her throat when he shot an impatient look over his shoulder.
‘We’ve waited long enough,’ he said. And she had the terrifying thought he knew who she was. That he recognised the rejected girl she’d been. But then he added, ‘I thought that waltz would never end.’
‘Could we go that way?’ she managed, pointing towards the secluded balcony. If he was going to kiss her, she wanted it to be there. Where he’d refused to kiss her all those years ago.
It was nuts, but somehow she felt she owed it to that reckless child. Apparently she still had something to prove to that love-struck girl.
He frowned, his gaze drifting over her ball gown. ‘Are you mad?’ he said. ‘You’ll freeze.’
‘Perhaps you can find a way to keep me warm,’ she said, a little stunned by her own boldness. Her pulse leapt as arousal flared in his eyes.
‘Excellent point,’ he said, but as his grip tightened and he changed direction towards the balcony doors her sister’s chief of staff—Major Something or Other—stepped into their path.
‘Your Majesties...’ The man introduced himself and bowed low, effectively blocking their escape route.
Juno scrambled to recall his name. Jade had told her who he was in the list of details they’d exchanged that afternoon, about their respective lives, but...
‘Garland? What is it?’ Leo said, his impatience obvious.
Garland. Hallelujah.
‘Perhaps you would both like to repair to King Andreas’s former study, so we can discuss...’ Garland leaned forward, lowering his voice so their crowd of inquisitive onlookers couldn’t overhear ‘...the latest trade agreement.’
Say, what now? Panic ricocheted through Juno. A trade agreement? Jade hadn’t mentioned anything about having to negotiate a trade agreement tonight?
‘Queen Jade and I wish to speak alone about our trade agreement,’ Leo said.
Relief rushed through Juno as she figured out what trade agreement they were discussing. Otherwise known as the political union with heirs attached. Leo’s large hand landed on Juno’s hip, his palm skimming over the satin, possessive and provocative. Sensation rioted over her skin.
‘But, Your Majesties...’ Garland began. ‘The advisors are ready to discuss—’
‘We can have this discussion without our advisors, Garland,’ Leo’s commanding voice interrupted.
Dismissed, Garland bowed and turned to leave.
‘Wait, Garland, take this with you and give it to my valet,’ Leo said.
He let go of Juno’s hip, and lifted the ceremonial sword and scabbard he had been wearing all evening over his head. Then handed it to the astonished advisor.