Page 45 of How to Resist Prince Charming

Lenna sifted her fingers through his hair. “I love the way you touch me.”

“I love touching you.” He licked her sternum.

A roaring filled her ears until Braxton froze and lifted his face, frowning as he cocked his head toward the doorway.

“Did you hear that?”

Lenna stiffened; every muscle in her body went rigid. “Hear what?”

“It sounded like someone just opened and shut the front door.”

Eyes darting toward the bedroom entrance, Lenna held her breath. She immediately thought of her father. She could imagine Tom stalking through the doorway and rushing inside to murder them.

When she actually heard footsteps, she yipped out a small scream.

Oh, God. Her father had found out.

Braxton sat up, frowning. “What the hell.” He lifted the blankets like he was going to leap from the bed and go investigate.

A woman appeared in the doorway.

“Jesus!” Braxton gasped, dropping the sheets back over his waist and scrambling to cover himself.

Lenna screamed again and clutched her half of the sheet, pulling it all the way to her chin.

The woman was pretty and looked to be the same age as Lenna. Her shoulder-length hair was dark brown, almost black, and her blue eyes were flaming mad. Her hands fisted at her sides as she glared at them.

“Braxton Michael Farris—” she growled.

“Damn it, Savannah,” he said, cutting her off. “Do you mind?” He motioned toward the bed, trying to alert her to the fact he wasn’t dressed and had company.

But the girl didn’t seem to care. Her eyes only sparked hotter. “How many times,” she bit out, “do I have to tell you...my name is Clara!”

Braxton closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. Lenna glanced at him and then returned her attention to his irate guest, utterly lost. What the hell was going on?

She jumped and shrank closer to Braxton when she realized the girl was shooting daggers her way.

The woman sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “Who is she?”

“This is Lenna,” Braxton announced calmly, though Lenna wasn’t so sure she wanted his wacko-freak woman knowing her name.

Clara—or Savannah, as Braxton had called her—turned her scowl back to him, immediately dismissing Lenna as she commanded, “Well, get rid of her. I need to talk to you.”

Braxton snorted. “I don’t think so, Savannah. You need to turn your little butt around and get the hell out of my room. How’d you get in here, anyway?”

Clara held up a key and smirked.

He sputtered. “Where’d you get that?”

“Under the welcome mat in front of your door,” she hissed right before winding her arm back and throwing the chunk of metal straight at his head.

Lenna and Braxton ducked together, and the key smacked against the wall above them.

“Vannah,” he bellowed. “That’s enough.”

As if his shout flipped a switch, the girl changed. Her shoulders twitched, and she began to convulse.

“Oh, hell,” Braxton cursed, frantically looking around the room like he was searching for something to help the girl.

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