Page 37 of Princess Claimed

“You,” he says. “You’re funny.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’ve worked hard on this comic routine.”

Phil laughs again, this time audibly, but then he narrows his eyes and shakes his head as if angry at himself for allowing a crack in his own wall of anger.

“Let’s go back down,” Crusher says. “Find the others.”

“Who us?” Flame and Blade appear, entering the darkened gallery from the corridor.

“I got a call from DEFTA security,” Blade says.

“Why did they call you?” Crusher’s eyes narrow.

“Is your phone even on?” Blade rolls his eyes.

“What is it?” Phil stomps forward. “What did they say?”

Blade raises his palms in defense. “Cool down, Phil. Diederik’s looking for Ana. He wants her to come in for some urgent meeting.”

“No fucking way.” Phil lifts me.

And then, moving so quickly the humans’ security cameras won’t even capture a blur, Phil carries me out of the building.

Chapter

Eighteen

Phil

“Put me down!” Ana’s fists pound my back.

She pummeled me non-stop while we traveled the distance from the Art Museum to Freetown, and she’s still pummeling me now. It’s heightened my drive to teach her a lesson she won’t soon forget.

“Gladly.” I dump her onto a leather sofa and then stride to the other side of the room.

I slam my palms against the wall, hoping the sting from the painted concrete will rid my arms of the memory of her thighs, of her ass, how both felt as I carried her over my shoulder. If I live for five thousand years, my arms will never forget the sensation of her body slung over mine, struggling against my hold. Worse, her scent is permanently planted inside my head now, imbedding lust deep into my cock.

“Why are you so angry?” she asks. “Why did you grab me and run?”

Glaring, I turn. If only I knew the answer to that question… Every part of my gut told me to do it.

She’s standing next to the sofa, arms at her sides, her hands over that fluffy, see-through gown. She’s not in the least bit intimidated by the daggers shooting out of my eyes. And fuck if she doesn’t look beautiful. She always looks beautiful. The clothes don’t matter.

And now, I’m thinking of her without any clothes. My anger rising, I growl.

“Why the fuck would you think I’m angry?” My back and chest tighten along with the rest of me. And now I’m even more angry knowing she can tell that I’m angry. Which pisses me off even more, because I can’t understand why I’m so angry in the first place.

Like a twisted bundle of magnetized steel cables, my body and thoughts keep changing polarizations, fighting to simultaneously unwind and then bind inside me, twisting my mind and guts into unnatural shapes.

Nonchalantly, Ana crosses the room toward the bar. Fuck if she doesn’t look like a sparkling breeze floating across a field of lavender.

Once there, she reaches for a glass on the shelf, rising up onto her toes, unable to reach it.

Fuck me.

Crossing the room in a flash, I reach up and over her body to grab one.

Her scent overwhelms me, and I back away quickly, slamming the crystal glass onto the counter.

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