Lone Prince (Royally Unexpected #7) - Lilian Monroe Page 0,33

a sort of sick fascination. He unbuttons his next layer, folding the sweater neatly and laying it on a bench by the door.

What if he…didn’t stop? Just kept undressing until we were alone here, naked, cut off from the world?

Blinking, I turn away.

What. Is. Wrong. With. Me.

I need to get a grip. Walking to the opposite end of the cottage, I start studying the walls. The artwork. The rugs. The intricate tile work on the dais, and the way the floor is brighter in a patch in the center where a throne once sat.

I look anywhere but at the Prince.

When I finally gather my courage and look back, he’s sitting in front of the fire, watching the flames. Lost in his own thoughts.

Definitely not lusting after me, so I can get that little fantasy right out of my head.

Taking a deep breath, I walk back to him and take a seat on the opposite armchair. He lifts his gaze to me, darkness dancing in his eyes. My chest constricts.

“Storm sounds bad,” I say. Good choice, Rowan. The weather. Stick to that topic. Definitely don’t mention how much you want to lick his chest.

The Prince grunts. He leans back, his long limbs stretching toward the fireplace as he lounges in his chair. My eyes snag on every inch of exposed skin. A little strip at his ankle. A tiny triangle at his waist. His rolled-up sleeves revealing muscular forearms.

I turn to stare at the fire. It’s safer.

“You can look, you know. I don’t mind.” The Prince flashes a grin at me, and my whole head bursts into flame.

I gulp. “Are you always this insufferable?”

“Now, now, Rowan, play nice. We’re stuck in here together.” The Prince’s eyes glimmer. My core ignites. Damn him and his stupid, sexy eyes, reminding me of how isolated we are in this little cottage.

“Your Highness—”

“Call me Wolfe,” he says, holding my gaze. “Please. At least for tonight.”

My breath catches. What else will we do, just for tonight?

I turn back to the fire, sucking in a deep breath. It does nothing to calm me. “Wolfe,” I start, liking the way his name sounds. The Prince lets out a low breath. I don’t have the courage to look at him. Instead, I stare at the fire. “You were right about my design. It wasn’t right for this place. It didn’t reflect the history or the people who have come before.”

When I find the nerve to glance at the Prince, a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. For once, it’s not mocking. He dips his chin. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“I wanted to say thank you.” I pause. “For letting me know I was on the wrong track.”

“Anytime, darling.” His grin turns wolfish, and I grimace.

“Do you always have to be such an arrogant asshole?”

“Tends to spice things up a bit, no?”

“Tends to make you look like a jerk,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “There are better ways to spice things up.”

“Enlighten me.” His voice drops, sending a thrill coursing through my veins. A flush creeps up my neck, but I refuse to meet his gaze. I stare at the dancing flames, ignoring the innuendo.

The Prince gets up, and I steal a glance his way. He moves to a small bar by the wall, fixing two glasses of dark alcohol. He stalks toward me, handing me one of the crystal tumblers.

“Scotch,” he explains.

I wrap my fingers around the cool glass and nod in thanks, then return to stare at the fire.

The Prince takes his seat, then shifts in his chair. “Rowan,” he says in a low growl. “Look at me.”

Damn him and his irresistible commands. I drag my eyes to meet his, ready for the assault of his gaze—but instead of hard, mocking eyes, I see softness.

“October has been the hardest month of each of the past four years. I know I’m not always a nice person,” he starts, his mouth staying open for a moment as if he’s going to speak. I stare at him, seeing a crack in his hard exterior. His shoulders round and for a moment, his face is open. He’s thinking about his fiancée. I know it, and damn it, I’m jealous of a dead woman.

I’m a freaking mess.

Letting out a sigh, I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Hardness returns to his gaze, but I try to ignore it. He lifts the glass to his lips, taking a sip.

I shake my head. “About your fiancée. For everything you lost. I’m sorry you