I wanted him to see some of what I’ve tried to push down for so long, in the hopes that maybe we’d find some common ground. That maybe he would see I’m not the enemy he’s made me out to be, and I have no ulterior motives when it comes to him. That he doesn’t have to snoop around anymore, not when he could just ask me.

Stupid? Absofuckinglutely.

Because not only did we actually, maybe, sort of finally reach some semblance of a middle ground—no, he just had to go an inch further and squeeze my damn hopeless romantic heart with that little speech about freakin’ sunrises of all things, as if it was his God-given right to reach in and take what’s always belonged to him.

With the sun shining upon his head like some kind of halo, and his big hazel eyes looking into me as if he could see all the broken parts of me, it’s a damn miracle I didn’t do something infinitely more stupid. Like kiss the absolute shit out of his corny, poetic ass. Even when he was giving me every damn signal there was to do just that.

And Jesus Christ did I want to kiss him.

It was as if all those finely tuned protective measures snapped, falling into a heap of better judgments on the floor along with my gut when I realized just how close I had moved toward him. And when he stumbled back, and I caught him before he could join the others who’ve lost their lives falling or jumping off that fucking thing, it was all I could do not to wrap my arms around him and never let go.

Like I said: S-t-u-p-i-d.

“First of all,” I now tell him as I lean toward him, the din of the crowd threatening to drown me out, “you don’t pay me. Mason does.”

He opens his mouth but I raise a hand, inches from his face, effectively cutting off whatever bullshit remark he was going to let loose my way. “Second. I’m a preventative measure. If Your Highness is that concerned about getting another drink thrown at his pretty face, maybe he should reconsider how he treats women.” And me, the lucky bastard somewhat responsible for protecting said pretty face.

His eyes narrow and it’s only then I realize why his eyes look so goddamned green tonight. The pupils are practically non-existent, washed out by whatever toxins are swimming through his system. Coke, if I have to guess.

“And third,” I say, my eyes dragging back and forth between his. “Maybe you should worry more about yourself. I can do my job, but can you?”

“Listen,” he growls, stepping into me so that our chests bump. A chill snakes down my back, and if I’m not mistaken, he sucks in a breath. “I don’t—”