The Summer King Bundle 3 Stories - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,32

human alike. Still holding my hand, he cupped my cheek with his other, splaying his fingers as he tilted my head back and lowered his.

Was he going… was he going to kiss me? That seemed like a bizarre response, but he lined his mouth right up with mine, and there were only inches between our lips. My heart rate shot into cardiac territory. “What are you doing?”

His warm breath danced over my lips as he spoke. “You should have left when you had a chance. Now, you and I are going to have a discussion that is way past due, and you’re going to say yes and you’re going to behave.”

“Behave?” I sputtered.

He nodded as those thick lashes came down, shielding his eyes. “Don’t test me.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s an advisory,” he corrected.

“Same thing. Like totally the same thing.”

His lips twitched as if he wanted to smile. “If you want a scene, I’ll give you one. I’ll throw you right over my shoulder, and with that dress?” Leaning back, I felt his gaze like a hot caress. “I don’t think you’ll want that.”

I didn’t.

I so didn’t.

Seeming to sense that, he pulled me against the side of his body. The contact was jarring. Not because he did it roughly, because he didn’t, but because feeling his body against mine stunned me.

Letting go of my hand, he then draped an arm over my shoulders like we were friends or even lovers as he steered me away from the bar. People were staring, human and fae alike, but the fae had more than just a reaction born of curiosity. As we walked near them, they backed away, giving us—giving the Prince—a wide berth. There was no mistaking the distrust and fear that pinched their striking features. They knew who the Prince was.

So, what was he doing here?

I held onto my clutch as we walked down the narrow hall, passing the restrooms and then the elevator. He walked me to a swinging door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. With his free hand, he pushed open the door and we entered a small kitchen, staffed by cooks—human cooks. They only lifted their brows as he led me past them, narrowly dodging a waiter carrying a tray stacked with chicken wings.

So, they did have wings… and they looked yummy too.

My stomach grumbled, loud enough for the Prince to dip his head and look at me questioningly.

“Hungry?”

“No,” I lied.

One side of his lips kicked up as we reached another door. That one opened to reveal another hallway and a narrow set of stairs.

“Should I be worried about where you’re leading me?”

“You should always be worried.” He dropped his arm. “Up the stairs.”

“That’s not reassuring,” I told him, eyeing the dark staircase. “I’m getting stranger danger vibes right now.”

“Is that all the vibes you’re getting?” he asked.

I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know what you mean and I don’t want to.”

He smirked. “Up the stairs, Brighton.”

The use of my real name startled me, even though we were alone. My gaze traveled from him to the staircase as I exhaled slowly. As crazy as it was, instinct told me that I was safe with the Prince. My instinct could be completely off base, but I also knew that if I made a run for it, I wasn’t going to make it.

So I started up the stairs.

He said nothing as he walked behind me. We reached the next floor and entered a dark hallway where I could hear the steady thump of music coming from what sounded like the other side of the staircase. The hall also smelled like… fresh beignets. Part of me wanted to question that, but then the Prince brushed past me, the warmth of his body causing me to bite down on my lip. As he opened a door, I peeked around him. The room was circular, featuring a long, cushioned bench against the wall and a set dining table in the middle. There was a short rack glass on the table. Bright purple liquid filled half the glass. Nightshade.

“What kind of room is this?” I asked, folding my arms across my midsection.

“A private dining or party area. There are five of them on this floor. Nice hair, by the way.” He stalked past me.

“Shut up,” I muttered.

Smirking, he picked up his glass of Nightshade. “Still prefer the blond.”

“I still don’t care.” I watched him walk to the wide cushioned bench against the wall and sit. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask