Page 71 of Reckless King

I nod. “All the wealth he’d already amassed wasn’t enough. Now he’s locked away for another seven years. But I doubt he’ll learn anything from his time in prison.”

Sympathy shimmers in her eyes. “And your mom? She didn’t seem to have the, um, warmest personality when we met.”

I smirk. “Warm and my mom don’t belong in the same sentence. She cares more about appearances than reality. Always has. As long as she can get us all in the same room and imitating a loving family, she’s content. Regardless of how we actually feel about one another.”

Violet’s quiet for a moment, absorbing my words. Maybe even the ones I didn’t say. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be to not have a parent who wants to love and protect you. I’m sorry you didn’t have that growing up, Tate. I wish things had been different for you.”

I can’t even begin to identify the chaotic mix of emotions that churns in my chest.

She’s hurting for me, upset that I didn’t have what she had growing up. But I gave up on the hope of ever having a loving parent long ago. Right now, all I want is her. I want the compassion in her gaze and the way she looks at me so openly when she lets her walls down—when she trusts me. I want her to trust me with her body and her emotions. I want her to believe I can keep her safe.

But I can’t force her to believe my intentions. I can only show her the truth of who I am and hope it’s enough for her to let me in permanently.

“I stopped wishing things were different a long time ago.” I say. “Now I’m focusing on shaping the future into what I want it to be.”

A smile plays on her lips now. “Scandal free?”

I chuckle. “I can only hope.”

Determined to keep the atmosphere light, I change the topic, asking her what it was like growing up with Mark. We finish our dinner talking about her childhood, and I love watching her smile as she remembers all the little things her dad and brother did for her to made it special.

After we finish eating, I suggest a movie. But her eyebrows pinch together as she studies the big, soft couch set up in front of the flat screen TV, and she declines, saying she wants to go to bed early so she can curl up with a book.

I consider watching a movie on my own, but I’m too restless. So I get changed and go for a swim. The pool isn’t large, but it’s big enough to swim laps, expel a little of that excess energy. Before, I might have fucked it away, but the only woman I’m interested in doing that with isn’t on the same page. Not yet anyway.

I power through the water, the repetitive motion calming my mind of all but one thing. One person. Violet. Violet and her pretty blue eyes. Violet and her long smooth legs. Her smile. Her laugh. Her touch. The way I imagine it on me. The way I imagine touching her.

I’ve had a small taste of her, but I want more. I want to feel her come apart for me again.

Fuck. This swim was supposed to settle me, but now I have a raging fucking erection. I turn and wade toward the edge of the pool so I can head inside and take care of myself. Handsplanted on the concrete, I freeze. Because Violet is standing in her bedroom window across from me, holding the curtain back.

How long has she been watching? I slick my wet hair back from my face and, never breaking eye contact with her, haul myself out of the water. From here, it’s impossible not to notice the way her gaze drifts over my chest and abs, then farther down.

I’m hard already, but her attention turns me to granite. With my heart picking up its pace and my blood heating, I reach down and give myself a rough stroke over my trunks. It’s wrong, I know it, but I’m desperate to ease the deepening ache caused by having her eyes on me.

There’s no missing the way she catches her lower lip between her teeth or the press of her nipples against the silky material of her pajama top.

We stand there a moment longer, surveying, studying. I fist my hands at my sides and heave in a breath, ready to storm toward her bedroom, to force her to admit she wants me the same way I want her, but before I take that first step, she spins away, and the curtain drops between us. I clench my eyes shut as a wave of frustration surges over me. Then, letting out a harsh breath, I head to my shower to take care of my throbbing dick.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

VIOLET

Idon’t know what I was thinking last night. I heard the splashes, and I knew Tate would be out there, looking way too hot for his own good. A wet, almost-naked Tate is a temptation I should know enough to stay away from. I went and stood by the window anyway. I told myself I’d take a quick peek, just to assuage my curiosity about how Tate looks in a swimsuit. But once I drew the curtain aside and saw him powering up and down the length of the pool, skin slick, muscles working, I couldn’t look away.

When he made his way to the edge of the pool, I should have been quicker to drop the curtain and step back from the window. But stupidly, I hesitated, entranced by his wet hair dripping down onto his broad shoulders, the drops continuing down over his muscular chest and chiseled abs. Of course he noticed me watching. How could he not? And instead of finally ducking out of sight, I just stood there, my heart pounding against my ribs while I watched him watch me. While I watched him stroke himself, eyes fixed on my face.

The hard length of him straining against his wet trunks, and the rough jerk of his hand, spawned an insistent ache between my legs that finally snapped me back to my senses, and I jumpedaway from the window. But by then, it was too late to undo the damage. And it was too late to undo the lust curling and flexing inside me. The thought of that hard, muscular body moving over mine, the long, thick length of him pushing inside me.

I was flat on my back, my hand between my thighs, before I knew what I was doing.

The orgasm came hard and fast, satisfying and unsatisfying at the same time, because I wantedhimto give it to me. But I didn’t dare let him, either. I tossed and turned for hours after that, and when I did finally drift off, I slept fitfully.

The idea of facing him this morning had my stomach churning. Could he tell what I’d done after I darted away from the window? I was sure the guilt was written all over my face.

But he acted as if it had never happened. No pointed comments, no veiled innuendo, no teasing of any kind. Which is absolutely fine by me. I can write the whole thing off as a moment of insanity on my part and leave it at that.

After surprising me once again by serving up eggs and bacon for breakfast, Tate told me to get dressed because we needed to go ring shopping.

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