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“I think we’ve finally proven they do actually prefer my company over yours,” Scarlett replied with a wink.

He huffed a laugh. “It only seems natural, I suppose.” He paused, drumming his fingers on the table before him, seeming to debate saying something.

“Do I need to find a treat for you tonight, Prince, or are you going to say what you’re wanting to?” she asked, running her finger along the rim of an empty glass on the table.

“Love, that dress is all the treat I need tonight,” he purred.

She placed a hand on his upper thigh, and he stilled, watching her closely, studying her as he had all night. “Are you sure? I think I’ve finally thought of a better use for my tongue,” she replied, her fingers inching up his thigh.

Without taking his eyes from hers, he drew a fire message in the air. Then he knocked back his glass of liquor as if trying to clear his head. He brought his hand up, the one with the unfinished tattoo, to her cheek and dragged his fingers slowly along her cheek, her jaw, along her neck to her shoulder. As he lazily pulled them across her collarbone, he leaned forward so she could hear him over the noise of the club. “My dear Scarlett, I have done nothing but think about all the uses I could find for that tongue since the day I watched you spar with Cassius in that training barracks. It has really been quite distracting.”

And it was her turn to still.

“Then,” he continued, his breath hot in her ear, “I thought of all the things I could do withmytongue.”

His fingers had slowly trailed down from her collarbone, stopping right at the top slope of her breast. Her breathing hitched, and her core heated.

She swallowed as she breathed, “Who’s starting rumors now?”

His laugh was deep and carnal. “What kind of rumors would you like to start, Love?”

Sorin’s eyes followed his own fingers as he dragged them down between her breasts. Down slowly to her navel, then curved and slid down to her thigh. He started making idle circles on that thigh, slowly, so slowly, working his way back up.

She was done. She was done flirting. She was done keeping him at arm’s length. She was done. “Sorin,” she ground out, “let’s go.”

A slow smile spread across his face as he leaned in even closer, so that his mouth was right next to her ear. She could feel his lips brush the shell of it as he whispered, “As ravenous as this dress makes me for you, Princess, not tonight.”

She actually groaned. Out loud. “Why?”

He didn’t move, still whispering into her ear, “Because, Scarlett Monrhoe,you are drunk on wine.” She started to protest, but he continued over her. “And the first time I take you, I want you completely aware of every single way I worship you.”

Scarlett felt a pulse of heat behind her, and she turned to find he had opened a portal. Eliza was standing beside it, a look of pure amusement on her face. She scowled at her friend as Sorin said, “Take her home, Eliza dear.”

She turned back to him. “You are not coming?”

“Love, if I came home with you now, I would go back on everything I just said.”

“Then come home,” she purred.

But then Eliza was taking her hand, tugging her to her feet. Scarlett was still staring at Sorin, a look of pure desire on his face, when Eliza pulled her through the portal, holding in her laughter.

CHAPTER 36

SCARLETT

Scarlett felt the bed shift. She opened her eyes a fraction to find the room still dark, with no sign of the sun any time soon. She lifted her head slightly and swore. Gods, her head hurt. Damn wine.

She reached with her hand to find the spot next to her warm but missing the male that was supposed to be lying there.

“Sorin?” she sat up in bed, panic setting in. She was still in their room. She was still in the Fire Court. She was still safe.

“I did not mean to wake you,” he said softly, coming out of the closet. He was fully dressed in elegant charcoal clothing, fine gold and copper threads running throughout it. A crown of flame cast a soft glow above his head as he buttoned the cuff of his shirt. He looked not like a prince, but like a king.

Scarlett slid out of bed and crossed the room to him, shivering slightly. Her nightgown was sleeveless, low cut, and only went to her knees. The fire that had been smoldering embers in the hearth leapt to life with a glance from Sorin.

“You know, Love,” he said in that low voice that skittered along her bones and made her toes curl, “the things you wear to bed are about as wicked as your dress was last night.”

She hadn’t heard Sorin come home. In fact, when she’d felt the bed shifting a few moments ago, she’d thought it was him getting into bed, not getting up.