Page 101 of Reckless Royalty

I can’t help it—I laugh, even as I want to sink through the floor. “Mihai…”

He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering. “Seriously, though. Are you okay?”

I nod, the last traces of tension easing from my body. “I’m fine. I really wasn’t scared. Just… surprised.”

“Yeah, well, next time, maybe wake me up like a normal person?” he suggests, raising an eyebrow. “Or at least give me some warning before you pounce.”

“Excuse you, I did not pounce,” I argue, crossing my arms.

“Oh, you pounced,” he says, his grin returning. “Not that I’m complaining. Just maybe save the ambushes for when I’m awake.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “Fine. No more ambushes. But you owe me breakfast for flipping me like that.”

His grin softens into something more genuine, and he reaches out to cup my cheek. “I’ll make you breakfast, lunch, and dinner, baby. Anything you want.”

The sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache, and for a moment, all the teasing is forgotten. I lean into his touch, my own hand covering his.

“Just you,” I say softly. “That’s all I need.”

His eyes darken, and he leans in, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that’s both sweet and scorching. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, and he lets out a low chuckle.

“God help me, you’re going to be the death of me, Maddy.”

“And you’re going to drive me insane,” I reply, grinning despite myself.

“Good,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “At least we’re even.”

MADDY

Ifollow Mihai downstairs, his hand wrapped lightly around mine as he guides me to the kitchen. He’s still shirtless, his sweatpants riding low on his hips, and I can’t help but admire the way his tattoos shift and stretch with each step he takes.

The black ink crawling over his chest and arms is mesmerizing, and my eyes linger a little too long before I look away.

We reach the kitchen, and Mihai releases my hand to move toward the fridge. He opens it, rummaging through its contents.

“Omelet sound good, baby?” he asks over his shoulder, his deep Romanian accent curling around the word like it’s something sacred.

I clear my throat, suddenly aware of how dry it feels. “Perfect,” I reply, watching as he moves effortlessly around the kitchen.

It’s unfair, really—how someone can look so good doing something as mundane as making breakfast. His movements are precise, efficient, and I can’t take my eyes off him.

The way the muscles in his back ripple when he reaches for a pan, the way his curls fall into his face when he leans down to grab something from a lower cabinet—it’s all too much.

“Keep staring like that, and I might start charging you,” Mihai says without looking at me, his voice teasing and laced with that deep, gravelly edge.

My cheeks heat instantly, and I straighten up, trying to play it cool. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Sure you weren’t,” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder with a smirk that does wicked things to my stomach. “You’re worse at lying than I am at being subtle.”

I huff, crossing my arms. “I was just… observing.”

He laughs, low and warm, as he cracks an egg into a bowl, whisking it with a flick of his wrist that somehow manages to look effortlessly sexy.

“Observing, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?” The smirk on his face makes me want to either throw something at him or melt into the floor. “It’s okay, though. I get it. I am pretty nice to look at.”

I snort. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you’re still watching,” he says with a wink, setting the ingredients on the counter. “What do you want in your omelet? Cheese? Bacon? Or are you one of those weird people who likes pineapple on everything?”

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