Closing her eyes, she whispered, “Jesus, Kris.”
And there, she’d gone and said his name.
There was the rustle of the bag shaking again and when she looked at him, his lips were twisted sadly. He said, “Sit with me.”
She absolutely would not sit with her prince.
Sighing again, his gaze shifted to her pile of belongings on the table. Keys, swipe cards, phone, wallet. He frowned and leaned forward, picking up the final item and holding it up. “Still carry this around?”
Her oldest possession, those brass knuckles.
“Some people feel naked without their phones.” Yet Frankie felt starkly vulnerable without the weight of those metal rings in her pocket. “I don’t carry them to be used. I just . . .”
Needed the reminder. Of where she’d come from; how determined she’d been to fight her way out.
Putting the bag down, he tried sliding his fingers through the four loops. It jammed before it reached his middle knuckles.
“Man hands,” she muttered.
He slanted a look at her that in a different time and place would have held a grin. “Looks like they’ve seen better days.”
“They’ve seen plenty of days,” she said about the scratched and nicked metal. “Not sure I’d call them better.”
His attention fixed on her. “These even legal here?”
Eyes on the weapon, she gave a small shake of her head. Brass knuckles had been illegal in Kiraly her entire life—but the law couldn’t keep a young woman safe in the fierce reality of a violent moment. That, she’d had to do herself.
Kris’s frown was loaded with questions.
“Laws are cultural myths.” She raised a shoulder. “To work, they require enough people around you to believe in them.”
Concern bloomed in his blue gaze. He drew the knuckles off his fingers and set them back on the table with a light clunk. “What was life like for you here, Frankie?”
“I—”
It was with a sudden and sharp puncture high in her heart that she feared honesty, not lies, might be the only way out of this mess.
“I might tell you one day,” she muttered.
“Sit with me,” he said again, more firmly.
Giving in, she moved to sit on the coffee table opposite him. If he brought his spread legs together, they’d press against the outside of her knees, trapping her inside his borders. Physical awareness of him snaked through her, a faded shadow of itself, too tired and battered to tie her in knots, but there just the same.
He extended the bag. Silently, she reached in and took a handful.
“Nice room.” He spoke without taking his eyes off her. “Better than the dump over Rose’s Diner.”
“Hey.” She piled several nuts into her mouth. Roasted and salted. Delicious. “I liked it there. The mold in the bathroom was sentient. We had conversations.”
“It was disgusting.”
“It was as close to you as I could afford,” she said.
He frowned a little. “Don’t royal guards get paid enough?”
She winced, but didn’t answer.
“You can’t even answer that honestly?” he asked in insulted disbelief.
“No, it’s just—” She sighed. “King Vinci didn’t want any resources spent on your dad or his family, okay? No allowance. No staff. Not even basic security or monitoring. As far as your uncle was concerned, the day Erik left Kiraly, he was on his own. Philip couldn’t have me on the books as a royal guard in Sage Haven, so he found a way to pay me to gather information on political figures instead.”
“That’s what you did when you left on private investigations?”
She nodded. “And the bouncer work helped cover the rest.”
“So.” Kris was still frowning at her. “You stayed to watch over us even though you weren’t properly paid for it?”
“I guess.” She hesitated, skin prickling at what she’d given away. “Philip promised me a role in the palace when I got back, but I wanted some experience. And I figured if I could track you boys down, someone else could, too. So it wasn’t, you know, just because of . . .”
You.
Shit.
He didn’t answer. Just scanned her face, expression serious. She braced for a comment she wouldn’t be able to handle.
But all he said was, “Your mascara’s smudged.”
“I had a shower—”
In a single, fluid movement, he’d licked his thumb and placed it beneath her right eye, the contact as gentle as it was startling.
With a delicious thrum, her body tightened.
He adjusted, leaning forward, his careful attention set just beneath her gaze. Scared to breathe, to do anything that would remind him of who she really was, she held still, her cheek tingling, aching as the rest of his hand hovered just out of range. Another moment for her collection—alone with him, but unable to enjoy the wonder of his intimacy for fear of losing her head.
“You been crying over me?” he murmured as he smoothed the makeup away. If he intended it as a joke, his tone completely missed the mark.
Always.
His touch ruined her—for something so light, brushing against the outskirts of her body, it felt like playing out a thousand heartbreaking moments at once. It was the kind of contact that broke the sky and put a stutter in the pulse of the earth. Then with another soft swipe, put it all back together again.
He stilled the instant he collected her tear on his thumb.
“Frankie,” he breathed.
She blinked, refusing to meet his shocked gaze. She was too tired to miss him this much and have him this close.
“You were lying,” he said, and shifted his thumb to her left side. Used the damp of her tear to clear the stain from her skin. “When you said our friendship was never real.”
Focus pinned on his knee, she nodded.
“When you said I was just your job.”
Her silence didn’t deny it.
“When you said you’ve never wanted my hands near you.” His voice had lowered.
“It doesn’t matter what I want.” She ducked her face away from his touch, even as her attention shifted up his leg to the hard strength of his thigh.
Under her gaze, his legs moved, inching inward. Not quite trapping her but setting her thoughts racing over what she’d do if he did.
“My guards overheard me asking to kiss you.” Energy hummed in the air between them.
Her face heated and she snatched up the bag of cashews, pouring some into her palm. “Good for them.”
“You told me later your answer was no.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but they both knew he was asking her to admit the lie. To turn this confrontation into a stolen moment; to mend the past week with taste and touch. But a kiss would never just be a kiss with Kris. Frankie had always sensed that. Once their mouths met, they’d have no hope of parting until their bodies had blended and brought bliss itself to its knees.
“My answer isn’t yes.” She raised her palm to her mouth, cramming it full.
He rested his hands on his thighs, seeming to wait until he had her attention before slowly sliding his palms up and down the length of his quads. How . . . how did he do that? Turn a simple movement into a sex act? It was everything she could do to keep chewing she watched.