“No, Chancellor. I think we’ve seen enough.” Landon leaves the room first, and one by one, the others follow. I let out a breath of relief as the door closes behind the last member of the Brotherhood.

Liam remains quiet as he unfastens the restraints. He hands my skirt to me, and I dress as the tension between us grows.

“Are you upset with me?” I ask, wishing I could wipe away the wetness between my legs.

Wipe away the evidence, erase the memory of Sebastian’s touch.

“Why would I be upset with you?”

Heat flushes my face, and I can’t meet his eyes. “Because of my reaction when Sebastian touched me.”

“You can’t help how your body responds, Novalee.”

“But you seem angry.”

“I’m angry at myself.” He rakes a hand through his copper hair, disrupting the perfection. “I shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.”

“You said it yourself—you can’t protect me.”

“I can’t protect you from my brothers, but I can protect us both from getting too emotionally involved.”

“What do you mean?”

“What happened on the balcony today?” He pauses, and the air thickens with the memory of our kiss. “It can’t happen again.”

“You don’t want me?”

“We already went over this. My attraction to you isn’t in question. But I’m not the only one who wants you.”

“I know the number of men who want to marry me. That doesn’t mean they want me.”

They only want a queen to fulfill the tradition. A conquest.

“One does.” He takes me by the chin, a tender edge to his touch. “And by the way you looked at him, I know the attraction is mutual.”

7

Sixteen days. Sixteen agonizingly long days that somehow pass too quickly. I spend the majority of them hiding in the penthouse, afraid of running into someone who isn’t Liam. But I can’t escape the irony, because Liam’s been avoiding me the way I’ve been avoiding Sebastian.

We barely see each other, except for meals. Those we share, minus the skimpy lingerie.

And he doesn’t touch me.

At all.

I know he wants to.

“This is fantastic,” Faye says, studying my hasty sketch of an evening gown. The dress is backless with a mermaid skirt, and though it’s done in charcoal, I envision a midnight blue, like the bedding in Liam’s quarters.

“It’s okay.” I grasp a pencil and start on another sketch. “The skirt could use more flare.”

“I think it’s perfect.” Faye sets the drawing on top of the others. “Elise would say the same thing.”

Elise is touring the island with a prospective suitor, and Faye and I are sprawled on two lounge chairs in the main sitting room. Just because Liam has locked himself away in his quarters doesn’t mean I have to.