Whose Bed Have Your Claws Been Under?: A sweet & steamy monster romance (Monsterville, USA Book 3)
Whose Bed Have Your Claws Been Under: Chapter 9

Darrow and I were acting like we were fifteen all over again, as if we’d regressed back to the time when we both first started noticing we liked each other. Prior to that, we were best buds playing in the dirt when we were little, riding bikes all over town as we grew older, then going swimming or just hanging out when we became teenagers.

Awareness spiked through my fifteen-year-old body, and it was heightened whenever I was around my friend. At first, I didn’t know what it meant.

When I figured it out, I worried my crush on him would drive a wedge between us.

I’d spent most of my time snarling, which he had no clue meant I liked him, and he’d spent his time dropping one tease after another.

Here we were again, me snarling, him teasing. Would we advance to the time when we were sixteen and accepted that we liked each other?

Perhaps we’d know by the end of the weekend.

Because I wanted to know what he was doing in the hall, I peered through the peephole in the door. He wasn’t standing outside, so I creaked open the panel an inch, poking my nose out.

He strolled down the hall and stopped at a door on the end. After unlocking it, he entered, shutting it behind him.

No glance my way.

I wasn’t sure why that made me feel miffed. Unless I was still locked at age fifteen.

Grumbling, I shut the door. I crossed the room fit for a princess and entered the private bathroom, taking in my equally princess-like appearance in the mirror. Half of my hair arrangement had slipped out of the thousands of bobby pins and two cans of hairspray the beautician had used this morning. My cheeks blazed bright pink, and my lips looked as rosy as if they’d been kissed.

No such luck.

I stripped, carefully laying my gorgeous green gown on a chair in my room, tugged out the rest of the bobby pins, and stepped into the shower, savoring the hot, steamy spray on my body.

After, I dressed in PJs and climbed into bed.

Tomorrow was a big day, and I couldn’t wait to get started.

I laid back and drifted to sleep, and in all honesty, I spent the night having hot dreams about what a grown-up Darrow might do with his fingers, bands of hair, and his . . .

When I walked into the dining room the next morning, I paused in the doorway, taking in how beautiful each room in this castle was.

Lush evergreen garland with bows had been draped artfully along the top of each wall, and matching garland decorated the buffet table set up on the left side of the room.

Monica sat beside Trevor, feeding him and giggling while he kept stealing kisses. Gunner and Rylee sat nearby, doing the same.

And Raze, Trevor’s cousin and personal wedding planner, sat on his right, staring forlornly at Elisa. He nudged his glasses higher on his nose, watching her with longing. Until yesterday, I hadn’t seen an ogre dressed in a suit—or wearing glasses for that matter—but he looked great with his bronze skin and big horns jutting up and across his head.

I’d wondered how having two wedding planners would turn out. Elisa and Monica were friends, and she’d chuckled when I asked her how Trevor and Elisa were handling what some might see as competition. Monica just laughed and said they both better behave.

Elisa stared at her plate of half-eaten food, oblivious to the thoughtful glances Raze shot her way.

Despite our friends arriving before me for breakfast, there were still plenty of places at the enormous table.

Poppy waved from where she sat beside her older brother, Gunner, rolling her eyes at his and his wife’s antics.

“Waiting for me?” Darrow asked by my ear, joining me in the arched entrance of the room. His warm breath coasted across the bare skin of my neck, making me shiver in a delicious way no one else had ever done. Turning, I found him dressed in a button up flannel shirt and weathered jeans that clung to his muscular thighs.

After spending the night salivating over what it would feel like to trace my fingertips across each of his ripcord muscles, I’d decided I didn’t want to act like I was fifteen any longer. Nope, it was time to speed this forward to at least eighteen and the legal age of consent.

So instead of acting irksome like last night, I gave him a sweet smile. “Actually, I was waiting for you.”

He blinked, no doubt expecting me to respond in a way appropriate to his teasing. Maybe shoot him down or huff and stalk away.

Taking his hand, I dragged him over to the buffet.

“I’m starved. I need food,” I said.

“Well, we can’t have that. You need to eat up.” He handed me a plate and waved for me to go ahead of him. “Today will work up your appetite.”

Pausing while lifting a scoop of scrambled eggs to drop on my plate, I shot him a frown. “I assumed we’d be playing cards or sitting in the parlor doing puzzles.”

“I thought you and I could build a snowman and go sledding.”

Bart stood at the end of the table, his attention focused on Poppy, who was staring right back at him. Today, she wore a dress just like one you’d see on Snow White, and she looked as pretty as a princess. Really, them hooking up would be a dream come true for her. She’d fit right in with living in a castle.

“Do you think a snowman fits with the ambiance of this place?” I asked Darrow, keeping my voice low.

He shrugged. “I like snowmen. They’re like ice statues. If you’re worried, we could build it behind the chapel.”

“Alright,” I said. “I’m up for making a snowman. I’m not sure about sledding. I didn’t bring a lot of warm clothing with me.”

“I’ll keep you warm.”

I rolled my eyes and continued through the buffet, taking bacon and a croissant. Turning, I walked to the table and placed my plate on the surface.

“Coffee or tea?” one of the servers asked, gliding in beside me holding two carafes.

“Tea, black, if you have it.”

“Of course,” she sniffed. “I’ll bring you a selection of black teas. We only use full leaf here, and I’ll be happy to help you select the variety you find most pleasing and prepare it for you.” Turning, she strutted across the room.

“I’ll have coffee,” Darrow called out to her back, his hand lifted.

Another server rushed over, also leaden with carafes. “Cream, sir?” He poured coffee into Darrow’s cup.

“Black,” Darrow said.

The server dipped his head forward and backed away, taking the carafes to Gunner and Rylee, filling their cups.

We sat, and I’d just placed my napkin on my lap and lifted my fork when the woman returned with a basket full of tea tins.

“Would you like to explore each sample?” she asked, winking at Darrow.

He kept his gaze trained on me, placing an arm on the back of my chair. “What do you think?”

I leaned close to him. “I just want black tea.”

“Select one,” Darrow told the woman.

“Oh, surely you’d like to smell this one.” She unscrewed a lid and held it out to Darrow.

“He’s drinking coffee,” I said. “I’m the one who wants tea. Black tea.”

“Or this one?” She covered the first and opened the second, tucking it beneath his nose. “The hints of cinnamon in this one is amazing. We have others, too, some with orange notes. We stock the best tea in the world.”

“I want black tea,” I said patiently.

“Black tea,” Darrow repeated. His fingertips stroked my nape, and I lost all train of thought. “Princess?”

“Princess?” the woman asked, shooting me a look full of distain, topping it with lifted eyebrows. “I doubt she’s royalty.”

“You haven’t heard of the Kingdom of Verilia?” Darrow said, somehow looking down his nose at her despite him sitting and her standing. “Princess Paige is heir to the throne.”

The woman blinked slowly. “No, I haven’t heard of Verilia.” She shot a glance at Bart, who was glowering in our direction, and panic filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Princess.” She dipped forward in a bow, then followed it up with a curtsy. “Black tea, Your Highness?” Grabbing one of the tins, she lifted it. “You might enjoy this one. Can I prepare it for you, Your Royalness?” Not a hint of sarcasm came through in her voice. She truly seemed to believe I was the Princess of Verilia.

I placed my hand on Darrow’s knee. “Um, Darrow—”

“That will be fine,” he told the server in a snooty voice, lifting one of the tins. For whatever reason, he’d taken on a British accent, and it was all I could do not to snicker. “If you could be so kind, please prepare a pot of this variety for the princess.”

“Very well, sir,” the woman said, snatching up the basket. She bowed again, backing away while bent forward. Her pleading gaze fell on me. “Right away, Your Eminence.”

As she fled through the door at the end of the room, Darrow grinned and waved to my plate. “So, how are those eggs?”

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