Claire.
He’d used my fake name — the one I used when trying to travel under the radar, or when I was in a less than perfectly safe area doing charity work. Or say, checking into party hotels in Ibiza, Spain, without my parent’s knowledge.
“How—”
The words weren’t forming, and my eyes still wouldn’t look away from his crotch.
“How’d I get in here, since you haven’t had the chance to beg me to come up yet?” He chuckled arrogantly, flexing a little and flashing another gorgeous grin at me.
I flushed a deeper red, the ridiculous cockiness of him hitting me like a wicked touch.
“Yes— yes,” I finally got out, finally tearing my eyes away from his erection to stare him in the eye with a flush on my face. “How did you get in here?”
He’d grinned. “You know who I am, beautiful?”
Of course I did, and he saw it on my face before I could even come up with a lie.
“What can I say?” He’d shrugged. “I saw you down by the pool earlier, and I knew I just had to have you. I own this hotel, so…” He’d shrugged again, his eyes dripping over my body and making me shiver with heat.
“You can thank me later, sweetheart, but for now, why don’t you get that hot little ass over here and get a closer look.”
My jaw had dropped.
He’d just grinned, and before I even knew what was happening, he’d reached down and wrapped his hand around his thick cock.
“You know you’re dying to ride the Magnum.”
And that’s when I’d fled. That’s when I’d turned, somehow managed to grab my purse and a sundress from the closet, and run full-tilt out the door, barefoot, down six flights of stairs to the lobby, out to my driver, and immediately gone to the airport, and back to Avlion.
That was four weeks ago, and I hadn’t stopped thinking about that arrogant man or what I’d seen between his legs ever since. And if life was fair, I’d have somehow pushed that memory out of my head and gone on with my life without ever seeing him again — the man who’d talked to me like no man ever had before, since he clearly didn’t know who I was.
But tonight, Prince Magnus and I were going to be face to face again. Only this time, I wasn’t going to be “Claire,” who hung out by the Ibiza hotel pools in giant sunglasses and beach hats.
This time, I was going to be me — Imogen Morningstar, Crown Princess of Avlion, twenty year old virgin, eligible bachelorette, and absolutely hypnotized by the most arrogant, most crude, most panty-meltingly gorgeous man I’d ever met.
Tonight was going to be awful.
Find Stealing Beauty, along with the rest of the series right HERE on Amazon.
Madison Faye, His Little Bad Girl
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