Forbidden To Touch, Fated To Love
I move to drop the tray on the mini table when his hands close around my wrist, sending mini sparks flying across my body in response to the mate bond.
"Wait," he says. "Actually — wait."
The whole rooftop seems to lean in a fraction, the way crowds do when they smell a scene about to happen.
"Elias—"
"You know what," his voice climbs, eyes glinting with the particular cruelty that alcohol always dragged out of him, "I don't actually want that."
He knocks the bowl clean out of my hands.
It hit the floor with a crack loud enough to cut through the music — broth splashing across the marble, across my shoes, up the hem of the gray dress his mother had approved that very afternoon. A few people