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“Doesn’t matter.”
“Get back here, princess.Get back here and finish what you started.I want you.Ineedyou.”
I freeze.Seriously freeze in my tracks, midway between Rogan on the bed and my leather clutch that I finally see draped on a chair by the bathroom door.
An invisible force pulls me back toward the bed while another pushes me toward the purse.I can’t fucking move.
The vamp gene—the one that requires me to answer when my king calls—seems to have met its match.
In Victor Rogan.
My knees begin to tremble.The phone stops ringing and then rings again.Silently, but I hear it as if it’s a siren heading our way.
Then Rogan…
“Princess…”
I pull on my long hair.“Damn it.No!”I force one foot to move forward.Then the other.I make it to the chair, pull the phone out of the clutch.It’s still vibrating.
“Yeah?”
“What took you so long?”my father demands.
“I’m busy.Doing what you asked.”
“In bed, huh?”
“Not anymore.”
“Good, good.Glad it’s going well.I assume you’re more than satisfied.”
Really?I’m not going to discuss this botched seduction while the object of it is ten feet away and sporting the raging hard-on I left him with.
“What do you want?”
“Just checking in.”
“Bull.”
He laughs.A big and boisterous laugh.Which means he’s in a good mood.He probably just got a blow job at his desk.
“You’re a smart girl, Hannah.”
“Woman.”
“Right.Of course.”
“What do you want?”I ask again.
“I have some new information,” he says, “about Victor Rogan.”
14
“What?”I demand, not nicely.
Whatever information my father has on Rogan can’t possibly be more important than his gorgeous erection waiting for me on the bed.
“Easy does it, Hannah.”
