Page 17 of Savage Prince
I blink twice, staring at him—until he turns and his icy blue eyes lock with mine. Shock and recognition flit across his face.
No. This can’t be happening.Goose bumps pebble along my skin as he surveys me, his gaze traveling down my body before returning to my face. One corner of his mouth lifts, and an expression that looks a lot like satisfaction settles on his features.
Is this a setup? Is he going to approach me? What the hell am I going to say?
My phone buzzes, and I’m torn out of the staring contest I’ve been unwittingly dragged into by the stranger who I let fuck me within the first fifteen minutes of meeting him.
Classy, Temperance.
I look down at the phone and breathe a sigh of relief when I read Gregor’s number. “Mr. Standish?”
The response is garbled and impossible to decipher.
“Sir?”
Something that sounds likeofficecomes through my phone, and I hope like hell he’s telling me he’s down in my office. I step forward, my gaze automatically cutting back to where the stranger was standing, but he’s gone.
Was he really here? Or have I moved on to full-blown hallucinations as a result of the orgasms he gave me?
I move through the crowd toward the stairwell, trying to speak with Mr. Standish, but his phone is cutting out in the middle of every other word. Cell service is crap in the basement where my office is, so I hope that means he’s down there.
The call drops as soon as I reach the middle of the crowd.
Hell.
I excuse myself at least a dozen times as I make my way to the stairway. I push open the door and grab the rail to race down the first flight of stairs. When I reach the landing, the stairwell door behind me slams shut.
“Running off again?” There’s no mistaking that deep, rasping voice.
“You,” I whisper.
His mobile mouth quirks into something that would barely qualify as a smile, and I absorb the impact of his face without a mask. Not classically handsome, but rugged and raw in the same way that I like my art. His masculine features lack subtlety, and they’re a punch to the gut.
“Me, indeed.” He takes the stairs almost lazily, stopping when he’s standing before me on the landing.
My nipples approve of his tall form and perfectly tailored suit, but my brain still can’t comprehend what’s happening. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think?”
“I have no idea, but I’m—”
“Running again, like I said. Seems to be a talent of yours.”
“No. I have business to take care of.”
“Maybe I do too.”
Those blue eyes heat, and the expression on his face says he’d just as soon fuck me up against the concrete stairwell as do anything businesslike.
“You can’t be here.You have to leave.”
“Says who? Maybe I was invited,Ms. Smith.”
I’ve been over the guest list dozens of times, but not since Keira added the late RSVPs. Can he be one of them? What are the odds?
But hearing the name he called me that night stops me short. “I tried to tell you I wasn’t her.”
He steps closer, crowding me as he presses a palm to the wall beside my head. “I didn’t give a damn who you were after watching you watch them.”
