Chapter 3: Get Caught

## Chapter 3: A Bad Idea

Everything I'd ever been taught told me to get the hell out of there.

He belonged to Freya. My sister. The same sister who had watched with a smile while Scott tore my life apart in front of the Council.

The same sister who'd sent me here that morning with a Cartier box in my hand, treating me like her personal errand girl.

Fuck it.

"I have to go," I whispered.

"You do."

I took a step back, but my heel caught the edge of the rug. I stumbled, and Xavier caught me, one hand firm on my waist, the other gripping my wrist. The contact sent a jolt of heat straight through me.

"I can let you go," he said, his voice low.

"I know."

"But you don't want me to."

I didn't answer. I didn't pull away, either.

His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist. "You're always so quiet around me. I thought you hated me."

"I never hated you."

"You ignored me."

"I ignore everyone."

A small, unwilling smile tugged at my lips.

"There it is," he murmured. "That smile."

"Stop counting them."

"I'm starting to think they're worth collecting."

Heat climbed my neck. "This is a terrible idea."

"It is."

"You're not even denying it."

"I'd be lying if I did."

Scott had always told people exactly what they wanted to hear. Xavier said things that burned.

"Do you feel guilty?" I asked.

"Yes." His gaze didn't waver. "But the guilt isn't stopping me. That's a problem for both of us."

I let out a short laugh. Standing this close, he didn't look like the bored royal I'd seen at family dinners. He looked hungry.

His eyes traced my face. "You have freckles."

"Nobody notices them."

"I do. They suit you."

No one had ever said anything like that to me.

"Do you actually think I'm beautiful?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

Xavier didn't hesitate. "I think you're the kind of beauty people miss because they're too busy staring at your sister."

He stepped closer, smelling of cedar and whiskey.

"I've watched men overlook you for years. They're idiots."

"You don't have to—"

"I'm saying it because it's true." His voice dropped. "Your sister is beautiful. You are too. And right now, I don't give a damn about any of the rest of it."

Something inside me finally snapped.

I grabbed his sweater and pulled him down into a kiss that was desperate and almost angry, nothing like the careful way Scott had always touched me.

For half a second, Xavier went still. Then his arm tightened around my waist, and he kissed me back.

He pulled me toward the couch until my legs hit the edge. We tumbled down together, his weight braced carefully over me, his thigh pressing between my legs.

I arched into him. A low sound escaped his throat as his hand slipped beneath my blouse, his palm hot against my skin.

Ciel's voice had gone from a scream to a low, relentless claim.

I tugged at Xavier's sweater. He broke the kiss long enough to pull it over his head and toss it aside. The sight of his lean frame and the faint scar on his collarbone left me breathless.

As I reached for him, he caught my wrists and pinned them above my head, kissing me harder. Then he released them, giving me room to move.

I shoved his chest and rolled us over until I was straddling him.

His expression shifted, surprise giving way to a slow, dangerous smile.

"Getting brave?"

"Shut up."

I kissed him before he could say anything else.

His hands settled at my waist. I pulled away just long enough to drag my whiskey-damp blouse over my head and drop it to the floor. His gaze followed the movement, and the heat in his eyes made me feel something I hadn't felt since Scott rejected me.

Wanted.

Not tolerated. Not chosen for convenience. Wanted.

Xavier's mouth found the lace of my bra, then the sensitive skin above it. I gasped, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Xavier—"

"Tell me to stop," he said against my skin, his voice rough.

I looked down at him.

I knew who he was. I knew who he belonged to, at least in the eyes of the Royals. I knew exactly how badly this could end.

I kissed him again instead.

He gave me one last moment to change my mind. When I didn't, he drew me close, and the rest of the world narrowed to his hands, his mouth, and the dizzying certainty that I wanted this as much as he did.

I helped him out of his remaining clothes, and he gathered me into his arms. We made our way from the couch to the bedroom in a tangle of kisses and impatient hands, neither of us willing to create enough distance to think clearly.

By the time we reached the bed, my last sensible thought had vanished.

Freya's face flashed through my mind: the cold smile, the way she'd adjusted her necklace, the way she'd walked past me as if I were already discarded.

Enjoy this, then.

I wrapped my arms around Xavier and pulled him closer.

"God, don't you dare stop," I whispered.

His expression changed at my words, the last trace of teasing disappearing from his face. He kissed me as if he understood that this wasn't only about wanting him. It was about wanting, for once, to feel like someone had chosen me.

The intensity of it left me breathless. My wolf, Ciel, surged beneath my skin, restless and unfamiliar in her excitement.

I'd never felt anything quite like this.

Xavier lifted his head, watching me with dark, searching eyes.

"I had no idea you were this starved," he murmured.

"Don't flatter yourself."

His mouth curved. "Too late."

I pulled him back down.

For once, I didn't want to think about Scott, my father, or the consequences waiting beyond this room. I wanted Xavier, and he wanted me. That was enough for the moment.

It was reckless. It was selfish. It was a spectacularly bad idea.

I didn't care.

Later, we lay tangled in the sheets, trying to catch our breath. The penthouse had gone quiet around us. My blouse was a crumpled heap on the floor, and the cool air was beginning to creep across my skin.

Reality returned in pieces.

Freya's engagement ring.

The Council.

My sister's fiancé.

I turned my head toward Xavier. He was staring at the ceiling, his violet eyes still dark, his expression impossible to read.

"That was…" he began.

My phone wasn't ringing. His was.

The sound cut through the silence.

Neither of us moved. The call stopped, then immediately started again.

Xavier's jaw tightened. He reached for the phone on the bedside table. The screen lit up for the third time.

He answered.

A nervous male voice came through the speaker. "Mr. Beckett… sorry to bother you. It's Miss Holloway, sir. She insists on coming up."

Xavier's eyes locked on mine.

"That," he said, his voice suddenly cold, "is a problem."