Page 215 of Morally Black Betrothal

“When you take those back to the kitchen, can you just bring us a bottle? Thanks, babe.”

The waitress giggled and stuck out her considerable chest before turning away.

And just like that, his spell over me, at least, was broken.

Babe? Really? Sure, he had always used that term the way Americans say “man” and “dude.” And once upon a time, I had liked it when he called me that too, among many other things. It was the familiar. Open.

Right now though? It made me sick listening to him flirt so openly with another woman, even if with the warmth of a brick wall.

Frankie, stop. You have no claim over this man. You don’t want this man. You do not.

By the time I was done with my internal pep talk, I turned to find Xavier staring intently at my mouth. His smile had vanished, replaced now by a small indentation between his brows.

“What in God’s name are you looking at?” I snapped a little too harshly.

Again, one side of his mouth twitched. “You still chew on your lower lip when you’re thinking.” He leaned down as he traded my empty champagne glass with a fourth serving—or was it my fifth? His scent, that intoxicatingly spicy blend, wrapped around me like a mist. “And it still makes your lips look like strawberries.”

Another full-body shiver coursed through me. “I—you—what?”

His cheek brushed mine, and his voice dropped to a rumble only I could hear. “What do you say when that bottle returns, we find someplace a bit quieter? Somewhere we can catch up. Get…reacquainted.”

He stood up straight, expression as stoic as ever. At first, I wondered if I’d imagined it. There was no emotion in his face. No sign he had actually proposed what I thought he had.

But he had. His blue eyes dilated with clear, hypnotic desire as he waited out my response. And I knew the same expression was echoed in mine but couldn’t quite hate myself for it. Whatever pull he once had on me, it was still here. I was once again a moth drawn to a bright blue flame.

Slowly, as if to touch a wild animal, Xavier reached out a finger and hovered it over my jaw, above my chin, down my neck. I could feel goose bumps rising, despite the fact that he didn’t touch me. Not yet. It was a tease, a preview of what he might do. A reminder of what he had once done.

But as soon as his finger made soft contact, just in the hollow above my clavicle, I remembered.

This wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

Xavier was here and clearly as icy and dangerous as ever.

Touching me.

Wanting me.

And through this growing haze of champagne, there was absolutely no way I would be able to keep the secret I’d been holding for years if he did more than that.

I couldn’t just think of myself here, I had someone else far more important to protect. I had to think of Sofia.

“No,” I said clearly, jerking out of reach. “Oh,no. I?—”

I cut myself off, looking around. Lord, where was my overprotective brother when I needed him? But all I saw were nameless faces, people awash in alcohol and laughter, riches andwealth and confidence that had absolutely nothing to do with me.

I turned back to find Xavier still watching me with a different kind of expression. Not one of patient waiting. But instead, like a victor. Like he had walked out of one of my beloved Austen novels. But he wasn’t the hero. He was the villain who had just captured his prize.

“Shall we?” he asked as the waitress returned, giggling with the requested bottle.

I blinked between him and the girl, who looked like she would be more than happy to share the drink with him in my place. And he wasn’t exactly correcting her either.

“No, I don’t think so,” I said.

And then I turned on my heel and left.

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