“I’ll be right over.”
I end the call, a huge smile stretching my lips.
After a quick morning routine, I take a shower, get dressed and I’m out the door.
Memories of our fiery kiss tiptoe through my mind when I pass in front of the spot where Phoenix assaulted my lips a few hours ago.
My mind kept reminding me it was all for show––a practice run––but from the way my body ignited under his touch, I know it was way more. I’m still unsure who that brazen woman was who so greedily grinded her body against a near stranger without an ounce of shame, out in the open for public scrutiny.
Fuck, that was a hell of a phallus.
Kissing Phoenix shouldn’t trigger this wave of confusion. I need to keep things straight. I can’t afford to have a fuzzy mind around this guy. He’s too dangerous. And too much of a great kisser.
Damn him.
With each step I take, more snippets from last night’s kiss flash in front of my eyes.
I don’t want Phoenix to kiss me again.
I don’t want Phoenix to kiss me again.
I. Don’t. Want. Phoenix. To. Kiss. Me. Again.
I stop halfway to the house and I bring my fingers to my lips as if they’re still burning.
How could I have enjoyed it so much?
Why does he have to be who he is?
Such injustice, God.
Another time, another place, and that kiss might’ve meant something.
The irony.
This isn’t a Hallmark movie.
My new reality is as far removed from a fairytale as can be.
I, Michaela Knight, am a pauper, pawned by her desperate father, in debt to King Phoenix König to the tune of two hundred million for a year of pretend.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
As I reach the main house, my phone rings.
King Kong Tycoon.
I should change his name.
Nah. Not yet.
I laugh under my breath.
“Good morning,” I say, accepting the call.
“Good morning, Michaela.”
That voice.
