Page 5 of His Princess (A Man Who Knows What He Wants)

I try to tell myself I’m being silly. A voice can’t hold that much.

Maybe I’d be able to convince myself if my body wasn’t alight at the sound of his footsteps on the other side of the door.

What the heck is wrong with me?

I swallow all this confusion down, paying special attention to the infusion of warmth deep in my belly, swirling and tempting, telling me to give in to the desire…

But what desire?

I don’t even know what this man looks like.

“Hello,” I call out, as he moves up and down on the other side of the door. “I can hear you.”

“That’s because I’m not trying to be quiet,” he snarls, in that gruff beastly voice that sets my spine tingling.

Get it together, I scream at myself in my head.

“It sounds like you’re pacing,” I murmur.

“You must be a genius.” He laughs gruffly. “If you have to know, I’m deciding whether or not to send you back downstairs.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve just looked through the peephole, and you really are Ruby McCarthy. Older than the photograph we’ve got on record, though.”

“I’m nineteen.”

I straighten up a little, knowing he’s looking at me now.

But straightening up doesn’t do much when I’m only five foot three, my body leaning toward curvy rather than athletic or thin. And with my hair turned into a bird’s nest from the trek in the forest, I know I probably don’t look presentable, much less alluring in any way.

Which is fine.

I’m not here to be alluring.

Jeez, really what has gotten into me?

“Alright,” he grunts. “And I’m forty-three. There, we know each other’s ages. Doesn’t make this any less complicated, does it, Ruby?”

A shiver moves through me when he says my name, as though it’s some sort of magic spell or something. A shiver that makes me want to punch the door.

He shouldn’t be making me feel this way.

I’m all tingly with absolutely no reason.

“Can you please just open the door?” I snap, fire flaring in my voice. “This is ridiculous. You can’t send me back. You know what my uncle will do to me.”

“Yeah.” He pulls the door open, glaring at me with stark blue eyes. “And I also know what the fuck he’ll do to this city if he doesn’t get you back. He’s wild enough as it is.”

I feel caught off guard as I stare up at him.

He’s at least six and a half feet tall, broad, and muscled in a thick and capable-looking sort of way.

He’s wearing sweatpants and a shirt with the arms cut off like he was about to do a workout before I arrived. His arms are thick, the muscles well-defined. His hair is steel, not gray like Uncle Aaron’s, but steel as though he’s chosen the color.

And yet I can tell by looking into his square-jawed face this man would never dye his hair.

If I thought this was just a voice thing, I’m dead wrong.

My body tingles all over, surging up and down me, my most sensitive parts sizzling as I drink in the sight of him.

“Well?” His lips twitch into a smirk. “You were just throwing a tantrum about not being allowed in. I open the door… and now you’re just going to stand there?”

“I was not throwing a tantrum,” I murmur, finding it difficult to speak above a whisper.

The crazy urge to reach out and grab his arm slams into me, but I force it down, the same way I’ll need to force down any other insane urges that rise up inside of me.

“Whatever you want to call it,” he says, with that intoxicating infuriating smirk playing at his lips. “Come on, princess.”

I take one step forward, shouldering my bag, and aim my finger at him. It’s not fair how badly he’s making me want him, every inch of me alight with sudden need.

I’ve never felt anything like this before, so sudden, so compelling, as though he’s prodded something deep inside of me.

“Don’t call me princess,” I snap.

He chuckles, holding his hands up. “You’ve got some sass in you, haven’t you? I thought princesses were supposed to be dignified.”

I find myself smiling at his joking tone, waves of heat surging through me, my whole body aching with the need to be touched by him.

Insanely, my overactive writer’s mind throws up scenarios where we’re gathered around a dining table together, smiling at each other over a beautiful spread, with our children sitting all around us and waiting for the joy of the meal to begin.

What the heck is wrong with me?

I’ve only just met this man and now deep inside of me something is pulsing, whelming with need, as though I’ve been waiting to meet this man my whole life. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Come on.” He waves a hand inside. When I just stand here, he shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

He moves to close the door.

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