Page 81 of The Prince and His Stolen Groom
Brendon pulled away from me and groaned my name, clasping one of my wrists, leaving the other free to unbutton his pants. “We should talk,” he panted.
I hesitated because dammit, he was right. Plus there was the whole ‘my sister is just outside the door and an evil mage is still upstairs’ issue. Talking was more important than kissing.
We spoke at the same time.
“I don’t want to—”
“—marry you.”
I blinked up at him, confused. I couldn’t tell what he’d actually said, but the words jumbled together sounded like, “I don’t want to marry you.”
I tried again.
“I want to—”
“—stop the wedding.”
Gods dammit.I reached up and covered his mouth to prevent any other overlapping sentences. “Brendon, this is probably the worst proposal ever”—locked in a bathroom in the magic tower where I’d kept him for a week right after an evil mage almost killed us—“but will you marry me?”
He grinned against my palm. Still holding onto one wrist, he grabbed the other one and pinned them above my head. “I thought you’d never ask,” he murmured before kissing me again, deeper this time.
Which would have been perfect if he hadn’t accidentally pressed against my wound, sending a bolt of completely non-pleasurable pain through my chest. I made an involuntary sound—I wouldn’t have stopped that kiss for anything less in the world—and he immediately pulled away.
“Let’s treat your wound first,” he said, putting a few feet between us and searching for the first-aid kit.
“Alright,” I grumbled, “but I’m not waiting for the fucking wedding to consummate it.”
He looked at me oddly and said, “It’s tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah, that’shoursaway.”
He chuckled, the sound deep and delicious, and kissed me again—just a peck on the lips, not nearly enough to satisfy me. “I can’t argue with that. Now, hold still, this is going to sting.”
Chapter Thirty
An evil mage, his wife, an imp, a princess, two princes, and a bodyguard sat in the living room of a magic tower.
Which sounded like the beginning to a joke known as ‘my life.’
At some point, the evil mage’s wife had composed herself, though her hair was disarrayed in a way that implied they might have had make-up sex in my bed.
Since Franny and Kit had separated their entangled arms quickly when Brendon and I left the bathroom, I suspected they’d been fast on their way to having sex on my couch.
Everyone was getting laid in this tower except me, and dammit, I really needed to change that.
Our side sat on the couch. Even though Franny and Kit hadn’t undressed, I’d covered the couch with a blanket, just in case. I sat in the middle with Brendon to my right, Franny to my left, and Kit perched on the arm next to her.
The other side sat in two of the armchairs. The imp had one to itself, while the evil mage took the other, his wife sitting cuddled on his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck.
Yup, they had definitely made up.
“I believe introductions are in order,” the wife said, acting like her choice of seating was totally normal. “My name is Lucinda Bowers, and I believe you already met my husband, Cyril.”
Oh, Cy-ril. Her pronunciation sounded a lot less like breakfast food.
“Brendon Banes, of the Kingdom of Bane,” Brendon said stiffly, eyeing Mr. and Mrs. Evil Mage warily.
“Frederick Woeful, of the Kingdom of Woe, and this is my sister Francesca,” I introduced, dropping titles since Lucinda hadn’t used her husband’s long list of them.
