Page 47 of Claimed By Desire

“It’s definitely not fine. God damn it, you and Lev are like two stupid children.”

He grunts and pushes me away. “I told you, it’s fine.”

“You need a doctor.”

He stands in front of the mirror and grabs his nose with both hands. “I can handle it.”

My eyes go wide. “Hold on, Alex, don’t?—“

He wrenches his nose back into position with a sickening crunch. I step back, hand flying to my throat. All he does is let out a soft grunt of discomfort before prodding at himself.

“Better,” he says, gesturing at himself.

“You’re a fucking maniac,” I mutter and storm down to the kitchen to get him some ice.

I start carrying boxes up to the guest room, but after the first few trips I realize everything’s missing. I could’ve sworn I put my sweaters right there on the bed, but suddenly they’re gone.

I find Alex in his room. Along with my stuff.

“What are you doing?” I ask him as he gently folds one of my dresses, unpacking a box.

“You’re not staying in the guest room.”

“Sorry, but from what I can tell of your admittedly very nice apartment, there isn’t exactly another bed for me to stay in.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“Then where do you think I’m sleeping?”

“In here with me.”

I burst out laughing. He doesn’t smile, just keeps unpacking me. When he reaches in and takes out a pair of pinky lacy underwear, a very revealing and sexy thong no less, I storm over and snatch it from him. He only raises one perfect eyebrow at me as my cheeks burn red.

“I’m not sleeping with you in your room,” I tell him, shoving the thing in my pocket. “And stop touching my things.”

“I’m helping my pregnant wife unpack.”

“I’m not your—“Although, technically, I guess I am. “Can you just stop?”

He faces me, arms crossed over his chest. There’s the barest hint of a playful smile in his eyes. “What’s wrong with this room? It’s not big enough for you?”

“It’s actually bigger than my place in Paris, but that’s not the point. This room’s like… a hotel.”

His smile falters. “What do you mean?”

“There’s no personality. Everything’s set out just so. Your wallet, your keys, even the pictures on your walls. It looks like someone staged this place and you just kept it that way.”

“That’s because they did.”

I stop short and narrow my eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I hired a decorator when I first moved in and haven’t changed anything.”

“My god. You’re a robot.”

“We both know I’m not a robot,” he says and there’s a hot undercurrent to his voice.

I shiver slightly at the memory of his hands on my hips.

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