Tempting-Red Lips, Truthful Lies $ Seductive Touch

Celeste’s POV

"If you're going to kill me, at least let me finish my drink first.”

I say it lightly, my fingers gripping the fragile stem of my champagne glass. Whispered talks fill the ballroom, crystal clinking across polished cutlery. But here, in the shadows of the balcony, it's just him and me.

Adrian Devereaux

The man I arrived to kill. The man who, at this very moment, is gazing at me as though I belong to him.

He leans closer, the sharp aroma of his perfume wrapping around me like invisible shackles. Who claims I wish to murder you? Though his voice is silky, something deeper lurks behind. Something risky. Many more fascinating tactics exist to exact payment from someone.

Though my pulse races, I remain unflinching. I will not. Not when I have labored so hard to be here, to come this near to him.

Mr. Devereaux, your flirting is really unusual. Though my body tightens with awareness, I grin slowly and purposefully.

Reaching out, he says, "I don't flirt." Though the contact is electrifying, his fingers barely brush my wrist. I accept.

He's pushing me. Seeing whether I would withdraw. I do not. I am unable to. I need him to think I'm the prey while, really, I'm the predator.

I chuckled quietly. How incredible... dominating you.

His lips quiver, the suggestion of a grin there and gone. You don't know.

Oh, but I really do. I have studied. Adrian Devereaux lacks faith. Lacks affection. He has. Regulations. And at this time, he finds me dangerously interesting.

Ideal.

Keeping my eyes fixed on his, I raise my glass to my lips. So tell me, Adrian—do you always corner ladies in dark balconies, or am I simply unique?

He moves closer, the thin fabric of my dress allowing his body's heat to lick at mine. You are unique.

In what way?

His gaze falls to my lips, then lower, as though he could see past the silk and lace to the secrets I keep concealed. You don't fit here.

I tilt my head, pretending to be entertained, but within, frost runs down my spine. He looks too much.

"Now that's impolite," I joke, running my finger down the lapel of his tux. I assumed we were friends.

Before I could move away, he grips my wrist with a strong but not uncomfortable hold. Just enough to remind me who controls this moment.

Who dispatched you? His voice is soft, lethal.

My heartbeat stutters for a fraction of a second. He has his suspicions. I knew getting close to him would be risky, but I didn't expect him to be so aware.

As if I found the whole thing funny, I let my body relax under his grip and force a gentle chuckle. Send me? Sweetheart, I wouldn't need someone to send me if I desired a man's attention. I drop my voice and lean closer. I would just accept it.

A difficulty.

Something dances in his frigid blue