The Luna's Bodyguard [a mature werewolf romance]

Ch 21: Peasant to Princess

OPHELIA'S POV

My intestines had pulled themselves into an impossible knot by the time we made it back to the hotel. It was like a tangled necklace that someone had undone the clasp on in an attempt to solve the puzzle, making matters worse in the process. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't smooth out my nerves.

I wasn't sure why I felt so guilty; I'd offered Fallon every chance to explore our connection before it was too late, even going so far as to emphasise there were no strings attached, and he'd rebuffed me at every turn. I barely even knew the man.

So why, then, did it feel like I'd just cheated on him?

I snuck a glance at Nate in the elevator mirror, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Too slow. Deliberately steady. Which meant he didn't feel okay about this, either.

His sea-green eyes locked on mine in the reflection. It was so intense I felt a shock fizzle along the surface of my skin.

"I regret hurting him," he said softly, gently cupping my elbow. As if I was the one that needed steadying. "But don't for one second think that I regret you."

The breath whooshed out of my lungs. "Nate, I —"

The elevator doors slid open, and we guiltily sprung apart. Fallon, who'd apparently been pacing in front of the doors, paused mid-stride to take us in.

He noticed everything. It was his job to be ruthlessly observant, but I found myself resenting the vigilance I'd previously so admired in that moment. His dark, glittering eyes swept over my body from head to toe, lingering for a brief, sizzling instant on my neck.

"No hickies," I assured him, forcing the scathing humour that usually came so naturally. Gods, if he wasn't a bloody mountain turned to flesh; Fallon's hands looked like they'd swallow my throat without even trying, wrapping around it until his thumb and fingertips touched.

Not that I'd overly mind that.

My cheeks warmed at the intrusive thought, but I refused to avert my gaze. I didn't belong to anyone, and I was unmarked to prove it.

Nate swallowed hard. "Fallon, I..."

"You don't owe me anything," he said pointedly, but there was a bitterness in his tone that implied the opposite. "Let's get going. The luncheon starts at noon."

I frowned. "It's only 7:30am. What's the rush?"

A pale head poked out the door behind him, blue eyes flashing like knives. "Only 7:30am? I know I'm a witch but I can't work miracles, girl. Get in here."

"Why?" I asked defensively, suddenly on edge.

"Because I only have four hours to make you presentable for society, and people spend years planning for this day."

"Oh." I glanced down at my scandalous black ensemble, which reeked like all the alcohol people had spilled on it, suddenly feeling very underdressed.

"Come on. I've got a hair mask with your name on it, and those cuticles are going to need all the help they can get."

Nate grinned. "And while she works, I'll catch you up to speed on introductions and dining etiquette. The other lessons will have to come later."