Playboy Princes (Royals of Arbon Academy, #2)(80)

“Creepy,” I said with a snort of laughter. “Super fucking creepy, but I can’t complain about the end result.”

Mattie shrugged like she didn’t really care about the creep factor of her actions, then grinned. “In all seriousness, you don’t sleep long or soundly enough for me to try anything like that. I stole one of your dresses, and the designer worked from that.”

That did make more sense. Especially recently.

“You did pretty good with your dress as well,” I said with fake casualness. “I mean, if you’re into that whole glamor queen, goddess, dropped-from-the-heavens sort of look.”

Mattie wore gold, the sort of shimmery gold that caught and held the eye without need for any further adornment. Unlike mine, hers didn’t have a full skirt; instead it was slimline, skimming and holding to her body and showcasing her very impressive assets. It was low cut in the front, tits way out for the world to see, and to make it even more intense, was equally low cut in the back.

If by equally, I meant right down to the top of her ass.

Her hair was dead straight, her eyes winged like motherfuckers, and with gold shimmer on every inch of exposed skin, one might think a literal goddess had been dropped in their midst.

“This is my favorite designer,” she said with a twirl of her own. “Cami Loren. She is a legit genius, and I won’t wear a gown not by her.”

I looked down at my own. “Is mine by her too?”

Mattie looked at me like I was insane. “Uh, yes. That’s why it’s so fucking bangin’”

There was a knock on the door then, and I jumped because I’d sort of forgotten that the real world was waiting out there and that Mattie and I hadn’t just spent hours being plucked, prodded, made up and dressed so we could stand around her room and admire ourselves.

“Our dates have arrived,” Mattie squealed, hurrying over to open the door.

“You mean your dates. I have to make an appearance with Ale…”

My words dried up as I got my first look at the two princes in the doorway.

Fuck me sideways and dead.

Rafe and Jordan. Side by side. Both in fancy black suits. Their outfits were clearly custom made to fit their broad shoulders and tapered down to slim hips. Jordan actually wore a tie with his, but Rafe’s was open collar, and as he moved, I caught a tantalizing glimpse of bronze skin.

“Jesus, Violet,” Jordan said as he stalked closer to me, his long-legged strides eating up the distance between us in seconds. “You look unbelievably beautiful.”

He caught and held my gaze, and it was like he’d never seen another chick in his life.

The intensity…

I swallowed hard. “Thanks. I mean, this is all just a fancy designer dress and Mattie’s makeup chick. I didn’t really do anything.”

Rafe’s laugh was low and raspy, and I almost arched my spine as that sound caressed my ears.

“The wrappings have nothing on the present,” he said, finally moving closer. Side by side with Jordan, it was obvious he was a tiny bit taller, a little broader, and a lot darker. But Jordan more than held his own, one of the few men in the world—that I knew of anyway—who could come close to touching the Fallen Angel beauty of Rafe.

His fighting persona was an apt description.

“I already hate tonight,” I whispered, some of my vulnerability appearing. “Watching you two dance with other women, having to touch Alex, that fucking piece of shit.”

Knowing my luck, Brandon would be there too, probably teaming up with Claudette to commit some atrocity toward me.

I mean, I hadn’t seen his pathetic face since the fight, but no doubt he’d had time now to lick his wounds and would be raring for some revenge.

Rafe wrapped his hand around the back of my neck in a sudden, possessive sort of move. Now normally, with anyone else, I would have fought against this type of hold, but with Rafe, I just wanted to step closer. Press against him. Have him strip this fucking dress, which had taken ten minutes just to get on, right off me.

A low rumble filled the space between us, and I realized it was from him. “Tonight is the last night we do this with Alex,” he said softly, but with a deadly undertone. “After this, I don’t care what we have to pay, we are going to end this bullshit.”

Hope. It was a dangerous line to walk because when it was dashed, the pain was beyond devastating. But in that moment with Rafe, I believed what he said. This was the last time I’d have to endure Alex, the last time I’d be forced to touch or kiss someone I detested to keep myself alive.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I can do this. I can do this for one more night.”

Rafe’s grip tightened, not that he was hurting me, but he was forcing me closer and closer. Jordan didn’t move, so I was touching both of them.

“That’s my girl,” Rafe murmured, before he leaned in and kissed me. When he let me go, his hand falling from my neck, I almost groaned at the loss of contact.

Jordan came to the rescue, distracting me with a kiss of his own. “The virus should complete tonight anyway,” he told me when he pulled back. “If it all goes to plan, Alex will be out of your life for at least the few months it’ll take his family to sort that mess out.”

A few months wasn’t much, but I’d take it. Jordan’s idea would at least buy us some more time for a more permanent plan after Alex got himself out of this one.