‘You don’t want my pity.’
That beautiful smile faded. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘What do you want?’
There was a long silence. She hadn’t meant it provocatively. Not consciously at least. But she had provoked. She had pulled back the veil to reveal—
‘Elsie...’
His huskiness emboldened her, charging that inner rebel. ‘Yes, Your Majesty?’
He stepped closer. ‘Since when do you bother with my title?’
Since he stood this close. Since he made her blood sing with simply a smile. Since she’d learned he belonged to someone else and suddenly she was so angry—because this lust was nothing more than a fever dream. It wasn’t real.
Only he leaned in. ‘Are you putting me in my place?’
His place? His place here, close to her, felt so right. Yet it was wrong. Because he did belong to someone else, even though Elsie knew to her bones that was wrong too. But even if his betrothal princess didn’t exist this thing between them would still be wrong. Because if he knew about her family? He obviously didn’t because he wouldn’t be anywhere near her if he did. But his nearness now unlocked the yearning that had been building all of the damned day.
‘As if you’d stay there,’ she breathed. ‘You’re used to doing whatever you want.’
He cocked his head. ‘What I want?’
The echo. The emphasis. The ache.
She couldn’t turn away from him. The storm in his eyes and tension in his body mirrored her own. It wasn’t a dream. Fever, yes. But real and inescapable. It was that match—fire with fire. His breath was ragged and her heart burst. This need within her was more than skin-deep, it burned through to bone. She needed him so much closer. And there was only this—one moment where anything—the ultimate—was possible. All could be hers—
‘Felipe?’
His gaze drilled into her and she was pinned in place. There was no wall at her back, no arms holding her, but it was as if she were chained. She clutched her battered mandolin case tightly. It was the last barrier between them but she couldn’t drop it. For a long moment he branded her with the heat in his gaze, the steel in his stance. And then—
‘You have to go,’ he snapped harshly. His words scored into her skin—raking her raw like hot claws. ‘You have to leave.’
The rejection was sudden and absolute and vicious. Elsie was so stunned she couldn’t answer, let alone move. Her heart stopped—swollen and vulnerable and almost bursting. He swore and when he stepped closer again that tortured expression in his eyes flared.
What she saw—what she felt—terrified her.
And he told her again. ‘Leave. Now!’