How to Resist Prince Charming(34)

Caught off guard, Lenna’s gaze flashed to his face.

He opened his eyes to scowl at her. “That tickled.”

A devilish smile lit her lips. “Oh, did it?”

His frown turned warning. “Lenna.”

But she ignored the threat and taunted, “Just how ticklish are you?” Giving him no time to retreat, she attacked and went straight for his stomach, squirreling her fingers over his belly.

Braxton shouted out his sensitivity and tried to twist out of reach. “This means war, woman.”

He caught her around the waist only to howl when she tickled the back of his right knee.

“But I’m not ticklish,” she goaded, laughing as he desperately wriggled his fingers across her body. Then, just to amuse herself, she pinched the inside of his thigh.

He hollered a curse and jerked out of her reach. Dear Lord, he was ticklish everywhere.

Eyeing her warily from the other side of the mattress, he scowled. “This is so not fair. You’ve got to be ticklish somewhere?”

Lenna laughed in answer. “Want to bet?”

Face filling with challenge, Braxton lunged at her. She screamed with delight, making a weak attempt to escape. He caught her wrists and bundled them together, holding her with one hand as he searched her body with his other.

She grinned and hummed as he continued to hunt. When his hands moved over the inside of her thigh, she sucked in a breath and jumped. He lifted his eyes to hers, grinning in victory. But his smile fell when he saw the unfocused, impassioned glaze in her expression.

“That felt good,” she cooed and arched her back, wanting more.

His playful demeanor fled Braxton’s face as he arched an eyebrow. “Did it?” Then he stroked her thigh again, making her purr. “God, you are so beautiful,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her collarbone as he cupped the back of her leg and slid his thumb over the expanse of soft skin.

“Every time I’m with you, I only want you more.” He moved his kisses toward the middle of her chest until he got to the notch where her breastbone connected. He dipped his tongue into the hollow.

Lenna sifted her fingers through his hair. “I love the way you touch me.”

“I love touching you.” He licked her sternum.

A roaring filled her ears until Braxton froze and lifted his face, frowning as he cocked his head toward the doorway.

“Did you hear that?”

Lenna stiffened; every muscle in her body went rigid. “Hear what?”

“It sounded like someone just opened and shut the front door.”

Eyes darting toward the bedroom entrance, Lenna held her breath. She immediately thought of her father. She could imagine Tom stalking through the doorway and rushing inside to murder them.

When she actually heard footsteps, she yipped out a small scream.

Oh, God. Her father had found out.

Braxton sat up, frowning. “What the hell.” He lifted the blankets like he was going to leap from the bed and go investigate.

A woman appeared in the doorway.

“Jesus!” Braxton gasped, dropping the sheets back over his waist and scrambling to cover himself.

Lenna screamed again and clutched her half of the sheet, pulling it all the way to her chin.

The woman was pretty and looked to be the same age as Lenna. Her shoulder-length hair was dark brown, almost black, and her blue eyes were flaming mad. Her hands fisted at her sides as she glared at them.

“Braxton Michael Farris—” she growled.

“Damn it, Savannah,” he said, cutting her off. “Do you mind?” He motioned toward the bed, trying to alert her to the fact he wasn’t dressed and had company.

But the girl didn’t seem to care. Her eyes only sparked hotter. “How many times,” she bit out, “do I have to tell you...my name is Clara!”

Braxton closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. Lenna glanced at him and then returned her attention to his irate guest, utterly lost. What the hell was going on?

She jumped and shrank closer to Braxton when she realized the girl was shooting daggers her way.

The woman sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “Who is she?”

“This is Lenna,” Braxton announced calmly, though Lenna wasn’t so sure she wanted his wacko-freak woman knowing her name.

Clara—or Savannah, as Braxton had called her—turned her scowl back to him, immediately dismissing Lenna as she commanded, “Well, get rid of her. I need to talk to you.”

Braxton snorted. “I don’t think so, Savannah. You need to turn your little butt around and get the hell out of my room. How’d you get in here, anyway?”

Clara held up a key and smirked.

He sputtered. “Where’d you get that?”

“Under the welcome mat in front of your door,” she hissed right before winding her arm back and throwing the chunk of metal straight at his head.

Lenna and Braxton ducked together, and the key smacked against the wall above them.

“Vannah,” he bellowed. “That’s enough.”

As if his shout flipped a switch, the girl changed. Her shoulders twitched, and she began to convulse.

“Oh, hell,” Braxton cursed, frantically looking around the room like he was searching for something to help the girl.

But Clara was already starting to compose herself. She blinked repeatedly, her breathing shuddering back to normal. She lifted her face and looked around as if she had no idea where she was.