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“Walking is not the problem,” he said. His mouth would be the problem. He pushed away from the table, and, when he stood up, the room started to spin. He needed to leave before the delayed effects of the liquor kicked in and he said something he regretted.

Kaldoran spirits imbibed in large enough quantities acted like a truth serum. There was no telling what he might reveal. He shouldn’t have drunk so much, but he’d needed to blow off steam. He was fed up with his father controlling his life. Duty, duty, duty. What about his happiness…his heart?

“Stop interfering in my life!” he muttered.

“What?”

Hekkel! He’d said that aloud? That was exactly the sort of thing he was afraid of.

“Not you,” he said. “My father.” He paused.

“Again, I’m sorry for my behavior tonight.

” He listed toward the exit, disgusted with himself.

He’d been angry at his father for attempting to keep him and Kismet apart—and now he’d ruined their dinner by drinking too much.

“Let me help you.” She wrapped an arm around his waist.

He could still move under his own steam—not in a straight line, but he could get to his bedchamber. “You don’t need to do that. But I like—” Having you touch me. He slipped his arm around her waist, and they staggered down the hall.

Lewen appeared. “May I be of assistance?”

“No, thank you, Lewen. I’ve got it covered,” she answered before he could reply.

“I guess she’s got it covered.” He grinned at the butler.

“Very well, Your Highness.”

* * * *

Her mind awhirl, Kismet got Jaryk to his room.

Barely able to walk, he’d leaned on her heavily.

He’d seemed different at dinner—and not just because he’d gotten wasted.

He’d seemed less talkative, although more self-reflective.

He said he was glad he married her! She sensed a deeper message, like he’d wanted to say more.

Or was that her hopeful heart wishing for the moon?

But there’d been no mistaking the appreciative look in his eyes when he entered the dining room.

She guided him to the bed and wrestled his jacket off. “Let me pull back the—”

He collapsed.

“Covers,” she finished.

“The room is moving,” he said.

“I’m not surprised.” Even half of a tiny glass would get her drunk. He’d had a lot more. Luckily, he’d still been able to walk upright.

She slipped off his left shoe. “Put your foot on the floor.” She guided his lower leg off the bed.

“Oh, that’s better!”

“You never learned that little trick?” She removed his other shoe.

“What other tricks can you do?”

“Well, I guess I can charm your mother,” she joked, expecting him to chuckle.

The look in his eyes was dead serious. “And me. You charmed me.”

“Oh, um, thank you. I’ll uh, let you get some sleep.” She turned to leave.

He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t go.” He tugged, and she toppled over onto the bed. He rolled and bracketed his arms on either side of her.

His head dipped, and, for a heart-stopping moment, she thought he would kiss her, but he nuzzled her hair. “You smell good.”

What is he doing? “It’s the bath products…”

He shook his head. “No, it’s you.” His head dipped again, and, this time, he did kiss her, rubbing his lips against hers before lifting again. “I’ve wanted to do that since our wedding.”

Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird, except this bird enjoyed being trapped. But, what did his attention mean?

It means he’s drunk, idiot.

He kissed her again, this time with the gentle probe of his tongue against the seam of her lips. Unable to resist, she opened her mouth, and his tongue slid inside. Senses went wild. He tasted like spicy-sweet Kaldoran spirits and something masculine and heady, and oh, he smelled good , too.

His tongue coaxed hers, and she surrendered with full capitulation, kissing him like she’d been longing to do. She curled her hand around his nape and stroked his silky blue hair.

His sexy growl stirred her arousal.

She hugged his neck as they continued to kiss. When he lifted his head, the arousal in his gaze left no uncertainty as to his intentions. Her mouth dried with anticipation, but also wariness. What if this was the liquor talking? What if in the morning he regretted being with her?

However, sleeping together might draw them closer and cement their relationship. But it would also increase the likelihood she got her heart broken if they split up.

And what if it made day-to-day interactions awkward? She would hate to sacrifice their warmth and friendship for one night in the sack.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she said.

“Why?” He nuzzled her hair. “You do smell good.”

Her stomach clenched with longing and desire. Be strong.

“It’s the liquor talking…”

“Really? I thought I was the one talking.” His lips brushed her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

She bit off a moan. “I don’t want you to have regrets.”

“I’ll regret it if I don’t,” he said and then lifted his head to scan her face.

“Perhaps it is you who will have regrets? Do you wish to stop?” His eyes were a little glassy, but there was no mistaking the desire, and she couldn’t help but respond to it.

Attraction had been simmering since the start.

Knowing he felt the same pull made it hard to resist. They were married .

They were expected to have sex. Maybe he didn’t love her, but wouldn’t a husband with benefits be the next best thing?

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “No, don’t stop.” She was drunk—drunk on him, on desire, on hope. There might be regrets, but she’d worry about them later.

He smiled then, a smile so sexy and engaging, doubt evaporated.

His head descended, and she gave herself up to his kiss, clinging to him and staking her claim.

His mouth was soft, but hot and insistent, eliciting a powerful response from her.

He shifted so he didn’t crush her to the mattress—or maybe so that he could stroke her breast. The sensation of his palm against her hard nipple stirred an ache for more intimate contact.

“We should take off—” She let out a moan and arched her neck as he kissed her throat. “Some clothes.”

“Um…yeah,” he agreed.

Her neck had always been sensitive, and when he buried his face against her throat and nuzzled her skin, the gentle nip of his teeth elicited a surge of wetness between her legs. He kissed away the sting, pressing his lips to her throat as he stroked her breast.

And then he went still, his body limp, lips still pressed to her throat.

What is he doing? “Jaryk?”

No answer.

She twisted and turned her head. Liquor-scented breath wafted across her face. His eyes were closed, not with ecstasy but…sleep.

He fell asleep? She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or pound the bed with frustration.

“Jaryk?” She shook his shoulder and got a snort for her trouble.

If so inebriated that he passed out in the middle of sex, sex probably wasn’t a good idea. In the harsh light of day, he might feel she’d taken advantage of him. Given their relationship dynamic, if they did become intimate, it should be with a clear head. At least there won’t be any regrets.

But he fell asleep in the middle of sex! Well, not quite the middle, more the start. I’m going to try not to feel insulted.

She was more amused than insulted. Sexually frustrated—but still amused.

She tried to wiggle out from under him, but his arm pressed on her chest, and one of his legs trapped hers.

And, maybe she didn’t try too hard to wake him up.

It was pleasant, intimate in its own way, to lie with him, feeling the weight and warmth of his arm and leg, while listening to his gentle breathing.

She closed her eyes. Soon, she joined him in slumber.