Damien’s brow furrowed as he reached out to close the door, shutting out the draft. “Have you been crying?”
“Crying?” Chloe murmured. She could not, however, mask the truth from a man who seemed to possess an intimate knowledge of her very being.
“Your eyes are as red as a rabbit’s,” he observed, stepping closer to scrutinize her face.
Chloe met his gaze and whispered, “Has rabbit hunting become a new diversion for you, Your Majesty?”
“Only when the prey is particularly appetizing,” he replied, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile that sent a tremor through her heart. Slowly, he peeled off his gloves. His large hand encircled her waist, while the other—chilled from the winter wind—cradled her face tenderly. His lips were cool, the fervor they concealed within a blazing contrast. A wave of warmth claimed Chloe’s mouth with an unrestrained passion.
“The sun has not yet set, Your Majesty,” she breathed as their lips parted just enough to allow a whisper.
