LANCE DOESN'T EVEN FAKE IGNORANCE. He doesn't try to act dumb or prudish like he doesn't know what was going on in the room before his entry—or what is about to go down now. Any chance at self-discipline was flung out the door the moment he'd seen seen Yennara in my arms, the touch of arousal like incense over her fair skin, her cheeks smudged by the rough petting of my hands, and her liquid eyes delivering enough unspoken sex to choke a London pub. We are all feeling it. And it is much evident, when Lance grabs at the ornate ivory knobs of my doors. Rather than walk out, I hear him pull down the dragon-shaped latch, securing the lock in a firm click.
He locks the doors. Then turns around.
