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“You don’t get to turn your back on me, Angel. That’s not how this is going to work.”

His lips slam down on mine, the length of his body pressing against me.

It takes all the self-control I possess not to kiss him back.

But as his lips move against mine, I remain motionless while my heart thrashes in my chest.

“Angel,” he groans before tugging my bottom lip into his mouth and nipping at it to get me to react.

The sound of a coffee machine down the hallway hits my ears before the scent of fresh beans fill my nose.

To my surprise, he releases my wrist and I manage to press against his chest.

He allows me to push him back and he removes his lips from mine.

Instantly, I feel his loss, but I slam a door down on all of those feelings and shove away from the wall, my eyes holding his the entire time.

“It’s going to take more than a kiss, Daemon. You want me on board with this stupid plan, then you know what you need to do.”

Turning my back on him, I follow my nose until I find a kitchen and Ant standing at a coffee machine.

He does a double take when I storm in, his eyes immediately dropping down my body.

I place my hands on my hips, my irritation levels with both of them at an all-time high.

Footsteps close in behind me as I quirk a brow at Ant.

“Nice… uh…” he stutters as Daemon steps up behind me. “Sweatshirt,” he finally finishes.

“Thanks. I made it myself,” I sneer. “Coffee, please. Strong.”

Pulling out a chair, I drop into it with zero class or care. Crossing my arms across my chest, I stare at the wall as they both stand at opposite ends of the kitchen, looking utterly out of their depth.

If the situation weren’t so dire, it would be hilarious.

Finally, Daemon clearing his throat drags my attention to him.

“He’s right. Nice shirt.”

I glance down at the text written above my tits and smirk.

Not your average princess.

I did the design for Stella and Emmie, but it seems to suit the situation right now.

I glower at him as the coffee machine jumps into action.

Silence rings out between the three of us, the air crackling with tension as we all bite back the things we’re desperate to say.

After a couple of minutes, Ant delivers me a perfect cappuccino that would put any barista to shame.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“What do you think? You snatched me when I was buying snacks. Where are they, by the way?” I ask, not willing to give up my chocolate stash.

“I’ve got it,” Daemon says, walking deeper into the kitchen.

“You worried I can’t cook, Deimos?” Ant grunts.