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When the server reaches Oliver, he traces the condensation on his full glass. “I’m good, thank you.”

I take in the dynamics, the subtle tension undercutting smiles and sips of wine—power and performance, masked by charm.

By the time the first course arrives, conversation is in swing again, but the energy has shifted. Partway through the meal, Gage leans close to Kayla and whispers something in her ear that makes her cheeks flush as scarlet as my nails. Whatever he said, it wasn’t praise for her territorial display.

Kayla swallows hard, but her composure recovers as she turns back to me. “I hear you’re a designer.”

She catches me mid-bite, so all I can do is nod.

“Talented and royal,” Mr. Davenport says, his interested gaze following the movement of my fork. “What a fascinating combination.”

Oliver finds my knee under the table, and his possessive gesture sends a delicious shiver up my spine. His thumb traces a slow circle, dragging silk and lustful memories along with it. Desperate for a distraction, I change my mind about the wine and reach for my glass, hoping to douse the fire he so easily stirs.

Halfway through, I regret taking the first sip.

A flush spreads over my cheeks, the air suddenly too warm. When I glance his way, I find his knowing eyes already on me.

Oliver stands, and the scrape of his chair draws more than a few glances. Napkins fall. Conversations pause.

“If you’ll excuse us,” he says to our dinner companions. “I believe my date would like a dance.”

I set my glass down and rise, legs tingling from wine, want, and anticipation. He offers me a hand, his expression magnetic, desire the gravity that pulls me to his side.

Soft classical music lures us to the center of the floor, where couples glide in a sensual cadence. Drawing me flush against him, he slides a palm up my back and guides us into an easy, swaying flow.

At first, neither of us speak.

Our bodies do.

His heat tantalizes me, urging me closer, barely a breath between us. “Oliver?”

“Hm?” His chin rests on my head.

“Will Kayla and her husband be present tonight?”

“Yes.” A beat passes, followed by another whirl, and then he says, “Are you nervous?”

“Should I be?”

His rhythm falters, as if he’s considering the answer. “As long as you trust me, no.”

“Do I need to call you sir?”

“Only if you want to.” There’s a smile in his tone. “But you don’t have to say anything at all. The men don’t want to hear you speak, Novalee. Your job is to obey and look pretty, both of which you’re an expert.”

I veer back and scowl at him.

He laughs. “You’re excellent at scathing looks, too.” He dips until his mouth hovers near my ear, his breath igniting gooseflesh along my nape.

“I can’t wait to hear you beg again.”

He inches back, lips tilting into a smirk.

My mouth parts.

We’re much too close right now…which is ridiculous, considering the experience we shared a few nights ago.

But this is different.