…and why does he have to be promised to my sister?
Prince Luca leans down and brushes his lips against my cheek. His breath tickles my neck and he moves his mouth closer to my ear. My pulse jumps, and sparks fly between my thighs.
“I’ll see you again, Poison Ivy.”
Before I can respond, he throws me a knee-weakening grin. Holding a tea towel against his head, and still sans shirt, the Prince strides out of the kitchen as if nothing at all is amiss.
Hunter stares after him, and then at me. His eyes narrow. “I’m watching you, Ivy. You’d better not mess this up for Margot, or else you’ll have hell to pay.”
“I was helping him.” I gesture to the blood on the floor, on the cabinets, on the countertop. “I’m not messing anything up.”
“Why wasn’t he wearing a shirt?”
“I don’t know, maybe because you pimped out my sister and made her hook up with him? Why are you asking me this? Can you leave? You don’t even live here, pervert.”
Hunter rolls his eyes and walks away. When I hear the door close, I jog over and lock it, even though Margot’s agent has a key. I tiptoe upstairs and make sure my sister is still okay. She’s on her bed, sideways, still wearing her dress and heels.
My heart thumps. Maybe they didn’t have sex after all?
Why does that make me so happy?
I sigh, taking Margot’s sparkly stilettos off. I throw a blanket over her, and then I head back downstairs and clean the kitchen. As I mop up the last of the Prince’s blood, I blink back tears.
He was probably just upset that his first choice passed out before he could have sex with her, and then I walked in. I was the second choice, as usual. The fool who enjoyed the attention.
I won’t cry tonight. I won’t.
I’m sick of crying over everything that my sister is given, and everything that I’ll never have. I don’t know why the Prince was interested in me tonight. Maybe that’s just what he does. He hooks up with girls, and then flirts with their sisters.
I scrub the kitchen of any evidence of his presence—as much for my own sake as anyone else’s. By the time I’m done, my back is sore, my hands are raw, and all I want to do is collapse into bed.
But when I get into my room, my hands ball into fists. Anger flares in my chest, burning me as I try to breathe.
He was here.
It smells like him. I can sense him here, like a whisper in the wind. The bed is messed up. There’s ash on my bedside table.
I repeat: ash on my bedside table.
What the actual fuck?
My ears burn, and it feels like my head is going to explode. Was he just toying with me that whole time? He snuck into my bedroom, and he thought he’d pretend to be into me? He flirted with me and trespassed into my space just because he thinks he can?
I rip the blankets off my bed and ball them up, tossing them to the floor. Opening the window, I fling the water out of the glass, sending his ash away with it. I wipe my bedside table, but it’s still not enough.
I can’t sleep here. Not until I clean it of his presence.
He’s too dangerous. Too addictive. Too damn sexy for his own good—or mine.
Tonight, I’ll sleep in a guest bedroom. Tomorrow, I’ll purge my room of him, and then I’ll stay the hell away from Prince Luca.
6
Luca
The royal doctor stitches me up, and then I jerk off in the bathroom while I think of Ivy. When I come, the wound on my head throbs like hell. I probably shouldn’t have done that, but I haven’t been that turned on in months.
Feeling Ivy’s tight, lithe body on top of mine was almost too much. If she’d have stayed on top of me for much longer, grinding her hips against me without even realizing she was doing it, I might have exploded right there. Her tits smelled like magic. She fitted on top of me like we were made for each other.
How the hell am I supposed to date her sister?
I collapse into bed and dream of the dark-haired beauty with the dimpled smile and two-toned eyes.
When I lived in Singapore, I forgot what it was like to be on a Royal Tour. Every day is full of events from morning