Twisted-Games

diamond necklace resting against my collarbone, but all I wanted was to
change into my pajamas and crawl into bed.
“Two more hours,” I said. Or maybe it was three. It couldn’t be more than
three. I must’ve already danced with every man in the room, and I was no
closer to a husband than I’d been at the beginning of the night.
I closed my eyes and rested my head in my hands. Don’t think about it.
If I started thinking—about how the entire nation was watching me and
how one of the men in the ballroom was likely my future husband—I would
spiral. And if I started thinking about one particular man, gruff and scarred
with eyes that could melt steel and hands that could melt me, I would end up
on a path that could only lead to ruin.
I’d avoided looking at Rhys all night, but I knew he was there, dressed in
a dark suit and earpiece and oozing such raw masculinity several female
guests fluttered around him instead of the princes who were usually hot
commodities at such parties.
We hadn’t had any time alone since that day outside the drawing room,
but that was probably a good thing. I didn’t trust myself around him.
I stayed in the bathroom for another few minutes before I forced myself
to leave. Otherwise, Elin would hunt me down and drag me back like I was
an errant child.
I slipped my shoes back on with a small wince, opened the door—and
walked straight into a wall.
A six-foot-five, unsmiling wall.
“Dear Lord!” My hand flew to my chest, where my heart beat triple time.
“You scared me.”
“Sorry.” Rhys didn’t sound sorry.
“What are you doing here?”
“You left the party. I’m your bodyguard.” He raised an eyebrow. “Put
two and two together.”
Classic Rhys. If there was a rude way to answer a question, he’d find it.
“Fine. Well, I’m ready to return to the party, so if you’ll excuse me…” I
sidestepped him, but he grabbed my arm before I could go any further.
Time stopped and narrowed to where his large hand encircled my wrist.
His natural tan contrasted with my winter pale skin, and his fingers were
rough and callused, unlike the smooth, soft hands of the lords and princes I’d
danced with all night. A knee-weakening desire to feel them slide over my
skin, branding me as his, overtook me.