Page 17 of Cloud Storm

Self-preservation 1.0, people say.

The guy watches me and suddenly I feel exposed, I don’t feel comfortable under his scrutiny. I can see in his stare that he’s trying to guess what I have on under my clothes.

This is disturbing.

“I’m Conrad, what did you say your name was?” he asks, cutting through the awkward silence.

Where is the nearest exit?

“I never said it,” I reply.

My words sound sharp and even a bit rude. Believe me, it was intentional.

“Let me guess.” The asshole begins to say random names. When it takes more than two dozen attempts, I decide to get the hell out of here.

“Well, it’s been nice to meet you. I’m leaving.”

I take my bag, ready to get the hell out of here.

“Wow, that was fast, baby,” he exclaims enthusiastically. “Where do you want to go?”

“With you?” I ask, stopping to look at him with disdain. “Nowhere. It was just a courtesy announcement, certainly not an invitation.”

He smiles and my skin bristles.

Like a warning.

Something will happen here.

Conrad stretches out his hand to take mine, preventing me from moving away from him.

I immediately calculate my possibilities. I could shout, everyone would hear and be alarmed.

“I think it’s best if…”

“There you are. I was looking for you.” Him. On hearing his deep voice my body instantly relaxes. “Come on, there are some people I want to introduce you to.”

It’s him. He’s just appeared out of nowhere to save me like a knight riding on his white horse. I let go of the breath I didn’t even know I was holding, until his hand touches my shoulder, making me hold it once more.

Dear Lord.

My skin gets goosebumps again, but for a totally different reason.

“I’m sorry,” he says, not breaking eye contact with me, “I know being with this lady is the best part of the party, but I have to take my girl back.”

Lancelot says it in such a primal way that it even sounds true to me. I wish it was. I wish I knew what it was like for a man like him to call me his girl.

I know this feeling will be short-lived, so I better enjoy my five seconds in paradise while it presents itself.

Conrad looks at us with disgust, but he knows there’s little he can do. Next to a man like Lancelot Hills he looks less than insignificant, like a mouse wanting to duel with a lion. That’s the man whose fingers are now calmly stroking my arm. A lion.

This is his jungle.

And he’s the king.

Lancelot slides his arm around my waist and moves me away from the guy as he looks at us in bewilderment.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” I whisper.

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