Page 103 of Reckless Royalty

“Showing off?” I ask, arching a brow as I pick up a fork. “You think you’re so impressive, don’t you?”

“I don’t think that,” he says, leaning on the counter with a cocky grin. “I know. Now eat before I’m tempted to feed you.”

The omelet smells amazing, and my stomach growls again as I pick up a fork and take a bite. It’s perfect—fluffy eggs, gooey cheese, earthy mushrooms.

I glance up at him, catching the way his eyes are locked on me, watching every move I make. It’s unnerving and thrilling all at once. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, though the smirk on his face says otherwise. “Just thinking about how good you look eating my food.”

I choke on my bite, coughing as I reach for a glass of water. He laughs, coming around the counter to pat my back.

“Easy, baby,” he says, his voice low and warm. “I didn’t mean to make you choke.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I manage to say, glaring at him through watery eyes.

“I could always make you choke on something else, if you’d like?”

My jaw drops, and I nearly spit out the sip of water I just managed to swallow. My face flames instantly as I gape at him, utterly mortified.

“Mihai!” I sputter, clutching the glass like it’s the only thing anchoring me to reality.

He throws his head back and laughs, the deep, rich sound echoing in the kitchen. “What?” he asks innocently, his grin wicked. “I’m just offering options.”

“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter, setting the glass down and crossing my arms over my chest. “And completely inappropriate.”

He steps even closer, his presence overwhelming in the best and worst way. Smirking, he brushes a stray strand of hair from my face.

“Inappropriate would be me spreading you out on this counter and having breakfast where anyone could see you coming for me.”

My face heats up more and I can’t look at him. If I do, I’ll combust on the spot. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the p as he leans on the counter beside me. He props his elbow up, resting his chin in his hand as he studies me. “But I like this look on you. All red and squirmy. It’s a good look, baby.”

I huff, trying to muster up some indignation, but it’s hard when his dark eyes are smoldering, his lips tilted into that stupid, irresistible smirk.

“So,” I say, desperate to change the subject, “how come you’re such a good cook?”

He shrugs, reaching for a bottle of water. “My mom taught me. Said a man should know how to take care of himself.”

There’s something softer in his tone when he mentions his mom, and it tugs at my chest. “She sounds like she was a smart woman.”

“She was,” he says, his voice quiet now. “Smart. Strong. Stubborn as hell.”

I smile at the affection in his voice. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

He glances at me, his lips quirking up in a half-smile. “Maybe she rubbed off on me.”

We lapse into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels natural despite the unspoken tension humming between us. I finish my omelet, setting the plate aside, and Mihai watches me with a small smile.

“Done already?” he asks.

I nod, leaning back against the stool. “It was fantastic, thank you.”

He smirks, pushing off the counter to clear the plate in the sink. “Glad to know I can impress you with my cooking skills.”

“You don’t have to try so hard,” I say before I can stop myself.

He freezes, his back to me, and for a moment, I think I’ve said too much. But then he turns around, his expression unreadable, and takes a step closer.

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