PLAYBOY PRINCESS (gxg) ✓

07. Paris Young

                 Tasha's beanie slid lower over her eyes. She nodded.

                 Paris backed away from the room, thinking of every single thing she would say to Evelyn Tribeca—none of them pretty—until her knees hit something warm. Solid. 

                 A wheelchair.

                 Her arms sprung out, trying to balance herself, but it was too late.

                 She fell right back into Rory's lap.

                 "Well, Doc, if you wanted some alone time, I would be more than happy to oblige," said the princess's voice in her ear, her arms snaking around Paris's lap.

                "You can't—this is—improper—"

                Paris sputtered, trying to stand, but Rory's fingers slid over her hips and pulled her securely onto the warmth of her thighs.

               "Rory, you—"

               "Oh, so finally you call me by name," breathed the princess against her jaw.

               The hallway was empty, but it wouldn't be for long. At any moment, a nurse or intern or doctor would catch a glimpse of this—this inappropriate behaviour. 

              And not only that—the door to Dhonielle's room was open.

              Paris knew just how big of a spy she was.

              "You have to let go of me," Paris hissed, although her body reacted to Rory's touch the same way it had back in boarding school.

              With warm, flushed pleasure.

              "And what if I don't, Paris?"

              "This is inappropriate. I'm a doctor and you're my patient, for God's sake!"

              "'For God's sake'?" Rory said. "I didn't know you were so devout when I knelt between your—"

              "You can't just do this, Miss Preston."

              "Do doctors and patients usually have a shared history?"

              "No, and usually one of their hearts wasn't once broken," Paris shot back. "Let go of me, Your Highness, or I'll—"

               Rory released her, and although Paris jumped to her feet, she immediately missed it—the aching warmth of Rory's fingers burning into her waist.

               Somehow, the thrill of being touched by the princess was something Paris had never been able to forget.

               And no one else—none of the boyfriends or girlfriends in the past five years—had been able to equal it.

               Paris had forgotten what it felt like. This sensation.

               But the moment she stood, she remembered her fury.

               A dirty fucking whore—

               "I have to go," Paris said, balling her hands into her fists.

               Rory's hazel eyes glinted. She was so beautiful it wasn't fair—that sleek but rugged perfection, honed to a striking blend.

               The way she leaned back, so arrogant it made Paris want to throw a punch for the first time in her life.

               The way her left cheek dimpled, so charming it made Paris want to grab her face with both hands and kiss her until she saw stars.