Page 46 of Tempting the King

I don’t have anything for him. I don’t have a solution to his problem yet. I will, but not yet.

I shake my head back and forth, dread sinking into my bones, knowing I have to figure something out. And fast.

But, for this moment, right here, I’m going to stick a pin in that problem and finish the world’s best breakfast.

Twenty minutes later, I’m riding a maple bacon cheesecake and double espresso high, and simultaneously dreading and counting the seconds until I hear the knock on my door.

CHAPTER 15

Emee

God, please believe me, I’m trying to keep this professional.

King has his head in my lap as we lie side by side on the bed.

If I’m wearing my therapist hat, there’s no reason for the tingling between my legs at the proximity of my pussy to this man’s face, the way my fingers long to curl into his hair and pull him down onto me.

Or the way my breath hitches as his fingers trail along the inside of my thigh, inching closer to the hem of my skirt.

I don’t wear skirts for meeting clients. Never. It goes entirely against my code.

“Are you wet, little firecracker?” he rumbles, his deep voice connecting with all those dark parts of me that he’s been waking up. “Wet just for me… makes my mouth water. Want a lick?”

“N—no,” I stutter. “I’m your therapist right now.”

“And I’m your King.”

I ignore him. Or try to, as my mind gets all flustered and I struggle to think clearly. “Tell me about your time at school,” I say clumsily, silently berating myself for being so blunt.

The tiny increase in pressure of his fingers on the inside of my leg tells me I’m getting close to the truth of King Hertzof. But instead of answering, he asks a question of his own. “What do you dream of, firecracker? If you had a magic wand, what would you wish for?”

“That’s not what we’re here for.”

“Humor me.”

I let out an exasperated sigh.

As his therapist, I should be keeping things professional. But that ship has already sailed… “Well, it’s pie in the sky…stupid, really.”

“No.” He runs his hand up and down my leg, making me shiver. “Never say that. Nothing about you is stupid, baby. If it’s your dream, then I want to hear it.”

“There’s this farm,” I say, then shake my head. “Well, it’s not the farm. The farm was a mixture of Green Gables and a painting my parents had hanging in what passed for our living room. Not the best painting, but when things would get really bad, I dreamed of living on the farm in that frame. I used to wish I could take Benjamin’s hand, wish hard enough, and jump into that painting.”

“It sounds perfect, baby,” King says, but there’s a hint of something in his voice. Something I can’t place. Interest, not just in me but in the idea, I guess.

“It would be, and I had a place I was looking at, but… Something came up, and the people selling the farm took another offer. I don’t blame them, but that’s what I’d want. That farm.”

“I want to know everything. Every thought, dream, victory, heartbreak, joke…” he says, turning his face on my lap, just enough to watch me out of the corner of his eye, the angle of his crooked nose reminding me of how tough this man is but how soft his eyes are when they look at me.

I laugh at the look on his face. “What?”

“Nothing… There’s—”

A buzzing interrupts my answer.

”That’s me,” he says as his hand leaves my skin, and he drags his phone out of his pocket.

I tut in irritation. “Mr. Hertzof, I’ve told you before to turn all electronic devices off when you attend our sessions. Do I need to—”

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