I can feel the exact moment she lets go, giving herself over to the kiss. It’s the same moment I lose all control.

I squeeze her even tighter against me, unable to get close enough to her. It’s overwhelming—the scent of her, the taste of her, the feeling of her body against mine—but I can’t get enough. Not nearly enough.

This desire for her is nothing new. But it’s one thing to desire her from a distance and quite another to have her in my arms, responding to me. Desire doesn’t even begin to describe the need coursing through me at this moment. If I thought I had any power in this situation, such ridiculous notions are gone now.

One of my hands moves up her back, pressing against her spine, keeping her close. I’m dimly aware of moving—of backing her up, nudging her toward the edge of the room. When we reach the wall, I push her up against it then continue my assault on her mouth.

She seems as desperate and frantic as I am. One of her hands digs into my back, her nails sharp even through my clothes. Her other hand is curled around the back of my neck, keeping my face close to hers. Her lips attack mine, her tongue teasing me with delicate strokes that send surges of blood toward my groin.

She wants me. She wants me just as much as I want her.

A small voice in my mind reminds me of the little stunt she pulled last night, warning me that this might be another ploy…but I can’t bring myself to believe it. Not with the way she’s kissing me. Not with the way she clings to me as if she’s afraid to let go.

My hand moves to her waist, then slides slowly up her side. The slinky gown she’s wearing does little to hide her body, and it’s so thin I can feel every curve of her through the fabric.

My fingers brush against the bottom of her breast. She gasps against my lips, but she doesn’t pull away. Slowly, I curl my hand around her, letting my thumb brush across her nipple.

She moans softly, leaning into my touch. Her lips tighten on mine, as if she’s suddenly dependent on me for air.

Maybe dancing was all we needed. And I’m more than ready to try a very different kind of dance with her…

“Honestly,” comes a voice from behind us, “don’t you two have any manners?”

I nearly jump out of my skin, jerking back so fast that Justine stumbles and has to catch the wall to keep from falling.

I spin around. Reginald and Lady Clarissa are standing in the doorway. Clarissa looks almost disgusted by the scene in front of her, but Reginald has that familiar, infuriating smirk on his face. God only knows why he finds this so damn amusing.

I twist, looking back at Justine. She’s frantically trying to smooth out her dress, refusing to look at me or her brother.

“It’s rude to interrupt people on a date,” I say to Reginald, straightening my shoulders. “And you’ve done it twice in one evening.”

Reginald laughs. “You’re accusing us of being rude? That’s rich. We simply noticed the ballroom lights were on and decided to investigate. You can never be too cautious, what with the sort of rabble they let into this palace these days.” He shakes his head at me. “Believe me—the last thing I wanted was to catch my sister in some sort of explicit embrace.” He pretends to gag.

Rage builds in my chest. “If it disgusts you so much, you’re welcome to leave.”

“Me?” He barks another laugh. “Oh, Your Highness, I think you’re forgetting whose palace this is.”

“It’s your father’s, last time I checked. And since he was the one who organized my marriage to Justine, I think it’s safe to say I’m welcome here.”

“For now, maybe.” He shrugs. “But my father won’t live forever. And when I’m king, I’ll make sure disgusting filth like you never sets foot in this palace again.”

My hands curl into fists. “Who says you’re going to be king? If Justine—”

“Produces four male heirs… Yes, yes, I know the law. But let’s be realists here. The chances of that happening before Father dies are quite slim.” His eyes narrow. “Even if you two start going at it in the middle of one of our formal ballrooms like some depraved little—”

I start toward him, no longer able to control my temper. But I only make it a couple of steps before I feel someone grab my arm—Justine.

“Come on,” she says to me. “We don’t need to listen to this.”

She practically drags me toward the door. My entire body is rigid, ready and eager to turn back and pound Reginald in the face.

“Good luck,” he calls after us. “I heard through the grapevine that you two can’t go five minutes without arguing with each other. Have fun producing those four heirs when you can barely speak to each other.”

The muscles in my arm tense, and I nearly rip myself away from Justine, but she tightens her grip.

“He’s just trying to get a rise out of you,” she hisses at me. “Ignore him.”

“We can’t let him talk to us like that. He’ll just—”

“He’ll continue to be a jerk, no matter what we say or do. Believe me, I grew up with the man. I know how this ends.”

“With him getting away with it.”

It’s not a question, but she nods anyway. “He’ll get away with it for now. But it’s better than the alternative—if you attack him, you’ll just earn my father’s wrath. And that won’t make anything easier.”

I look down at her. The sadness has returned to her eyes, and it makes some of the anger in my chest dissolve. I want to pull her into my arms again, to tell her I’ll protect her from her brother and father, but I know the words would ring false.

“We can’t let him become king, Justine,” I say softly.

She looks sharply up at me. “Is this some twisted way of trying to get into my bed? Because that’s not going to happen. What happened… What happened back there was a mistake. We just got caught up in the moment. It won’t happen again.”

I frown. “That wasn’t a mistake—”

“It was. I can’t afford to…” She releases my arm abruptly, as if she suddenly can’t stand to be touching me. “Look. I’m not going to sleep with you just to pop out some heirs. If…if I have children, I want it to be for the right reasons.”

“Keeping your evil brother from becoming king seems like a pretty good reason to me.”

“He’s not evil. He’s just…selfish. And misguided. You can’t imagine what it was like growing up with our parents. And Reginald got it far worse than I did.” She fidgets with the ends of her hair. “Either way, I don’t intend to have children just to spite him. I’m not even sure I want to be queen.”

That’s news to me—Justine strikes me as exactly the sort of woman who strives to use her influence to enact change. But perhaps I have it all wrong—after all, I still hardly know her, in spite of the fact that her tongue was in my mouth only a few moments ago.

I don’t care what you say, Princess. What happened back there was not a mistake—and we both know it.

I speak slowly, carefully, feeling for exactly the right words. “Whether you become queen or not, it’s unacceptable for your brother to speak to you the way he did back there. And I refuse to stand by and listen to him do it.”

We’ve reached the suite, and Justine doesn’t say a word as she opens the door. Once we’re inside, though, she looks around as if she doesn’t know quite what to do with herself.

“I… I’ll see if they can prepare another bedroom for tonight,” she says after a moment. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” I ask her. “Especially after what your brother said? People are already talking about us arguing. Suddenly switching to separate bedrooms is definitely not going to quiet any rumors.”

“It doesn’t matter what they say.”

“Doesn’t it, though? You may not be willing to start having children, but do you really want to give your brother that sort of ammunition against us?”

She’s quiet for a very long time.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “If it makes you feel any better, we can put a wall of pillows down the center of the bed. But I promise you, Princess, you can trust me.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” she says. “I don’t trust you. Or anyone, really.” She looks up at me. “One night. But only because I’m exhausted. We’ll figure out a better plan in the morning.”