Royal Games(16)

He nodded and tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow. It was so romantic it made me weak-kneed. We walked from the fence to the front of the mansion. I stopped, pulling my hand away from his arm. His nearness intimidated me. I folded my arms and stared up at the huge house, telling myself to calm down.

“What are you doing?”

I tried not to jump. “Taking a mental picture. They took our phones, and I want to remember it when I go home.”

“Why would you go home?”

“I’m . . . I’m not like . . . I . . .” There was no way to tell him that I felt out of place and uncomfortable. That like any good redshirt, I expected not to be alive at the end of the episode. There was no way this guy could really be interested in me.

But he came to my rescue again. “This is embarrassing, but I don’t know your name.”

I wasn’t surprised he didn’t remember it. “Genesis. Genesis Kelley.”

He held out his right hand, and I shook it. When we’d first met and shaken hands, there’d been no spark. I had felt a stronger connection to Lemon when we met for the first time.

But suddenly that spark was there. And it had brought its entire extended family along with it. To be more accurate, a volcano roared to life inside me, sending lava flowing through my veins when we touched.

I wondered if he felt the same. I suspected he might, because he was still holding my hand. “Genesis,” he repeated, his voice caressing the syllables in my name the same way his thumb was caressing the back of my hand.

I gulped. He was sending shockwaves of electricity through me. So much so that even my jewelry seemed to have been affected. I heard a clanking sound on the ground and realized that one of my borrowed, heavy, and dangly earrings had leapt to its death. Probably due to the electrical shock.

“My earring,” I said. It was the only thing I was capable of saying. I bent down to get it and he followed. I didn’t realize what an issue this was until I started to straighten up, only to discover that somehow my upswept hairdo was caught on his cufflink.

“Ouch!” I said, staying crouched down, not able to stand up.

“Just a moment,” he said. “Let me . . . if I could just . . . My apologies, but I’m going to ruin your coiffure.”

“Coiffure?” I repeated. Who even said that? The word and this situation made me giggle inappropriately. He was going to think I was the worst kind of airhead. “It’s fine. I had no idea how I was going to undo it anyway. Better you than me.”

He tugged at bobby pins, pulling them from my hair and letting them land on the ground. “You didn’t do this yourself?”

“Um, no. I’m not really that kind of girl. I hardly ever even wear makeup. They had all these people dressing us and taking care of our hair and outfits. They’re only doing it for tonight. So tomorrow I go back to being just plain old me.”

He paused, and I wished that I could see his face when he said, “I would very much like to see plain old you.”

That made my heart flutter like a trapped butterfly. I hoped he couldn’t see my embarrassed blush from his vantage point. Locks of my hair hit my shoulder and neck as he released them. When his fingers brushed against my scalp, it tingled.

So I did what I always do when I got nervous. I babbled. “I can’t believe my hair is caught in your cufflink. This kind of thing never happens in real life. Although, I guess this isn’t real life, is it?”

“Not really, no,” he agreed.

Just as I started imagining his fingers running through my hair while he kissed me, he finally finished. “There,” he said. “All done.”

I stood up, and was glad that he wasn’t going to touch me again. All of my senses felt totally overloaded.

“You know, now that I think about it, it probably would have been easier for you to have just opened your cufflink.” He didn’t seem surprised by my suggestion.

Which made me realize that he had already thought of it.

“Easier,” he said, nodding. “But not nearly as much fun.”

What? What did that even mean?

He took a step toward me, and it required every ounce of willpower I possessed to stand still. “Or . . . maybe I just wanted to see you with that all glorious hair down.”

I opened my mouth to respond but didn’t know what to say. Men did not flirt with me like this. Ever. And this very beautiful man with the face of a fallen angel said my hair was glorious. I hadn’t passed out in a long time, but I realized there was suddenly a very real possibility of it happening. “Dante, I . . .”

He put a hand on my shoulder. “Rafe.”

I was almost a hundred percent sure that he’d said his name was Dante. “But I thought that . . .”