Page 37 of King of Ruin

“It’s not really a thing. Do you mind?”

“It’s fine,” he answers. “Now, for your bag.”

“Did you go to my place?” I ask moving toward him.

“No. I went to a store. Or more specifically, I went to a shop that will bring a bag out to my car. They specialize in comfortable yet stylish lounge wear. But I asked them to add a few dresses, just because you look amazing in that one.”

I feel my cheeks heat.

The truth is, clothes are one more area I’m not great in handling. Lucia buys most of my stuff since my grandmother died. My gran did it before that.

But thanks to Lucia, I’ve got cute hip-hugging jeans, and lots of soft cotton fitted shirts. Roman takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom.

I’m reminded in this moment that I’m not even wearing underwear. Mine were soaked this morning, and I’m not talking about the shower.

“Sit,” he commands as he leads me to the bed.

Then he begins pulling items out of the bag, handing them to me.

Soft tops, silky underwear, lacy bras slide across my hands. “Roman…” I have no idea how much he spent on all of this, but I can feel the quality.

He stops. “If you’re worried about the cost, don’t be.”

“Of course I’m worried about the cost.” I’ve never even had a boyfriend. People don’t just give me gifts. I’m holding a very soft sweater in my hands, the fabric so smooth as I crinkle it in my tightening fingers. It feels wrong to take gifts from this man. I can’t quite put my finger on why.

He steps closer to me, his fingers dancing along my jaw. “Maddie, it’s the least I can do. I’ve upended your whole life.”

“Technically, Vigo upended my whole life,” I whisper back. Now that man should buy me a whole new wardrobe. Not that I’d ever accept a gift from him.

Roman’s fingers slide around my neck and into my hair as he cradles my head in his very large hand. “That is very true.”

I give my throat a delicate clear. “I compiled a list of questions while you were gone.”

His fingers stiffen against my scalp. “What kind of questions?”

My throat tightens as a I take a deep breath. This is the man whose body was plastered to mine this morning. Asking him for a few details shouldn’t be weird. Except we don’t really know each other.

He drops into a squat, his face now below mine. “My name is Roman Kincaid. I am one of five owners of Kincaid Enterprises, worth billions of dollars. Our primary business is Las Vegas real estate. Apartment buildings, casinos, clubs. Our current project is to build a tunnel underneath Las Vegas, a feat of engineering that doesn’t disturb the skyscrapers above, while connectingseveral of our properties and the properties of some of our preferred associates.”

I blink in surprise, digesting these words. They make the picture a lot clearer. “Am I to assume that the tunnel does not connect to any of Vigo’s casinos?”

“It does not.”

My shoulders slump because Roman does not sound like a criminal. But he’s being hunted by one.

“And the offers on my house. Who made them? You?”

“Luke.”

“And why does he want it?”

Roman hesitates. “We need to vent the tunnel.”

“So the tunnel goes under my house?”

“That’s right.”

“And if I don’t sell?”

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