Tess jumped out of her chair. Literally. Not that it had been a particularly comfortable chair. She’d found another wingback in the second of Catacomb’s living room areas, hoping she’d have better results in here with the whole calm-down-and-talk-to-somebody-dammit efforts. And how did all that go for you, missie? Did changing rooms help you escape one drop of the feeling that you’ve showed up at Prom without a date, three damn nights in a row? She’d given herself until eleven o’clock to get the stick out of her ass and strike up a conversation with somebody, or just leave. No use sticking around until midnight when she didn’t even have mice, a pumpkin, and glass slippers to worry about. All of a sudden, her fairy godmother of BDSM got a huge damn clue. And delivered a prince who defied her wildest, kinkiest dreams. And not because he instantly reminded her of Dan.
