Serayah Morgan.
“Royal Alpha?” I say softly, as I notice his face inching closer. It’s like he’s forgotten himself—forgotten everything—and wants to kiss me? But the sound of my voice anchors him, snapping him out of whatever this is. He hates me. There’s no way he’d want to do something like that.
He steps back abruptly, dragging a hand through his hair, and then the most ridiculous, uncanny words come out of his mouth.
“Did you use lipstick?”
“What?” I blink at him.
“Why did you use lipstick?” he repeats.
“I didn’t…” I stammer.
“First, it was the bathroom and now you’re trying to tempt me again. Why are you like this? Is this how your father raised you? To be a damn—”
“Roar, I’m not—”
“What the hell did you just call me?” One hand goes to his waist and the other points at me.
