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“Good night everyone,” I called. I dashed around the table and out of the dining room. Well, as much dashing as a nine-month pregnant woman could do.
“Royal,” Marco called.
Yeah, nope. I was not going to stop walking until I made it to my room.
I jogged up the stairs past two guys I couldn’t remember their names and felt that nagging pain in my stomach again.
“Would you slow down,” Marco called.
I glanced behind me and saw he was only a few feet from me. I turned toward my bedroom and speed walked through the pain.
“Royal,” he called again. “Slow down or you are going to hurt yourself.”
I reached my door and pushed it open. I tried to slam it shut, but Marco had his foot blocking it.
“What in the hell are you jogging through the house for?” he demanded.
I rolled my eyes and moved to the bathroom. “I wasn’t jogging. I’m tired and I wanted to go to bed.”
Marco set his plateful of food on the dresser and licked his thumb.
The damn man needed to stop licking his fingers. It was doing butterfly things to my stomach, and I wasn’t ready for it.
I pushed open the bathroom door and closed it behind me. Thankfully, this time, Marco didn’t barge in.
I had two choices.
I could get ready for bed and then walk out of the bathroom.
Or, I could get ready for bed, and then see about making a bed in the bathtub with all of the towels.
My back ached at the thought of laying in the bathtub so I knew I was going to have to walk out of the bathroom eventually.
Maybe I could wait him out and then he would just leave.
“I’m not leaving until you come out of the bathroom, Royal.”
My jaw dropped, and I stared at the bathroom door. “Could you please stop reading my mind,” I shouted.
I heard his gravelly chuckle and knew he had a sexy smirk on his lips. My heart did a flip at the thought of it.
“What is wrong with you?” I hissed at myself.
“Are you talking to me?” Marco called.
Ugh. How had I gotten myself into this situation? “I just want to go to bed, Marco.”
“I’m not stopping you, Royal,” he replied.
“You
’re standing in my damn bedroom,” I whispered.
“You’re going to have to talk louder if you want me to hear you.”
I stomped my foot. “I’m not talking to you.”
“But I’m sure you’re talking about me.”
