Page 12 of Claiming His Throne
“Grant.” The guy holds out a hand.
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Have a girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m married?”
“Darling, whatever you do in your personal life isn’t any of my business.” He smirks. “Now, if you want me to follow you up to your room, undress you, and give you a night in Vegas you won’t forget, I’m in.”
“Okay then, let’s get out of here.” I turn and walk towards the exit, feeling Angus’s eyes on me as I leave with Grant following close behind.
The ride up to my floor is awkward and silent.
“I’ll call room service for that drink,” I tell Grant, stepping out into the hallway.
He nods his head at me. “The mini bar will be fine.”
“Okay.” I press the card to the door handle, waiting for the green light before pushing my way into the suite.
Grant lets out a low whistle. “Nice room.”
“I like nice things,” I tell him. “The kitchen is just through…” The words die on my tongue at the sight of a man sitting in the single chair by the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room is dark, lit only by the single lamp in the small living room.
Alfie fucking Giuliani. How the hell did he get in here? I’m standing in stunned silence, with this random guy right behind me.
“Friend of yours?” Grant asks.
Alfie pushes up from the chair, and before I know it, his hand rises and he’s pointing a gun in our direction. “You’ve got three seconds to leave before I blow your brains all over the fucking wall,” he says to Grant.
My eyes are wide, and my heart picks up speed. This isn’t happening.
“Molly?” Grant looks to me. His hand lands on my shoulder. I, however, can’t take my eyes off Alfie. His gaze falls to where Grant is still touching me, and his jaw clenches.
“Three…” Alfie says.
“You should go,” I whisper to Grant.
“You gonna be okay?” he asks.
I spin around. “Yep, my… ah… brother is deranged but he’s not going to hurt me. You, he might,” I say, shoving Grant backwards towards the door.
“Okay.” He nods and then he’s walking out, leaving me in a room with a damn psychopath with a gun.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yell as I spin back around and face Alfie. The gun now lies on the coffee table.
“I don’t like people playing with my toys, Molly.”
“What?” I shake my head. “How’d you even get in here? You need to leave.”
Alfie smirks. And onhisface, that smirk, well, itdoesmake my panties wet. Damn him. “You don’t really want me to leave,” he says confidently.
“Yes, I do.”
Alfie steps right up to me, his hand wraps around my throat, and then he’s tilting my face upwards. His lips are a breath away from mine. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”
