Page 38 of Reckless King

“Only on the streets.” He winks.

I groan. “Does that line actually work on anyone?”

He chuckles. “No.”

Despite my best efforts to remain unaffected, I can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up. During our limited interactions over the years, he’s always remained cocky and arrogant, but something seems different now. He’s still those things, of course, and he’s still clearly aware of the effect he has on women, but aside from all his flirtatious charm, he doesn’t seem to take himselftoo seriously, and though I hate to admit it, that quality is… disarming.

My laugh dies quickly when he splays his big hand over my lower back and guides me toward the car. The unexpected contact has a silent breath shuddering out of me. I’m really going to have to get used to his casual touches when we’re out in public.

Tate’s driver is already waiting as we approach and is holding the back door of the limo open for us.

“Violet, this is Jeremy,” Tate says.

I hold out a hand. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

Jeremy’s brows shoot up, and his eyes flick to Tate, as if he’s surprised, but then he focuses on me, his face splitting in a grin. He takes my hand, giving it a little shake. “Good evening, ma’am.”

Once he’s stepped back behind the open door, Tate helps me slide into the car. He follows, sitting close but not too close, and a moment later, the car pulls away from the curb.

Hit with another wave of nerves, I run my fingers back and forth over the silky material of my dress, concentrating on the texture against my skin.

Tate covers my hand with his, the heat of his palm grounding me. “You have nothing to worry about.”

I swallow and nod my thanks at him. He removes his hand, and a small part of me wishes he’d left it there, if only because the warmth of it was reassuring.

Sooner than I’d like, we arrive outside the venue. There’s a red carpet with the press lined up along it, just like in the movies. A glamorous-looking couple walk toward the building’s entrance, and camera flashes explode as they pass. It takes a moment to recognize the man as one of cinema’s hottest stars, but when I do, all the air rushes from my lungs.

I turn to Tate and force myself to take a breath. “Just a casual Friday night for you, then?”

He focuses on the actor and his date, who have almost reached the end of the carpet, and his gaze narrows. “I can introduce you later if you like. Just don’t get any ideas. You’re too crazy about me to flirt with anyone else, remember.”

Even though I have no intention of flirting with anyone, I tap my lips with my pointer finger and hum. “I don’t remember a no-flirting clause in the contract.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “We’ll amend it on Monday.”

“So, until then…?”

He grips my chin, tipping my face up to meet his hot stare. “Until then, butterfly, you only have eyes for me. That’s the agreement.”

My pulse kicks into high gear, blood rushing in my ears. With another forced breath, I will my heart rate to steady. He just said it himself—his attention, his words and actions, are all about the agreement.

It isn’t until he smooths his thumb across my lower lip, tugging it out from between my teeth, that I realize I’ve been staring too long. When I blink back to reality, there’s something dark and potent flickering in his gaze.

“You with me?” His voice is low, his fingers still warm against my skin.

I let the breath I’ve been holding in a little too long trickle out, then take another one to steady myself. This is just us getting ready to perform for the press. I summon my brightest smile. “Yes.”

He angles his head down, gaze flickering to my lips for the briefest of moments. “Good girl.”

Instantly, a memory flares to life inside me:Such a good girl leaving a mess all over me.The sudden ache low and deep inside me has me pressing my thighs together.

I turn my face away to hide the flush creeping up my neck, and his fingers drop. An instant later, Jeremy’s opening the door and Tate’s climbing out of the car. Then he’s offering his hand to me. I accept it, clinging a little tighter than I normally would as I climb out after him. The last thing I want is to face-plant on the red carpet in front of a crowd of photographers.

With his hand on my back again, Tate leads me toward the entrance. As camera flashes erupt around us, I focus on keeping a serene expression on my face and avoid looking directly at them.

“Tate!”

“Mr. King!”

---