Page 82 of Reckless King

I squirm a little just thinking about it.

I expected him to join me in the shower afterward, but he surprised me instead by laying out a thick, luxurious towel and a robe for me before disappearing. For a moment, I waffled between disappointment and relief. I settled on relieved. Because it would have been far too hard to resist him if he was naked in the shower with me. And I’m just not ready for that. Not yet anyway.

After having the most incredible shower of my life, I retreated to my room for the night. The sight of Tate frying up eggs and bacon the next morning did nothing to curb my attraction. Neither have the subsequent days. He hasn’t pushed me for more, but he hasn’t made things easy on me either. He makes a point of walking around without his shirt on more often than not and insists we cook together. He’s letting me in, showing me who he really is, treating me like he cares more than he should. As if there’s more to this. As if there’s more to us.

Tonight, we’re attending another gala—this one actually hosted by the King Group—so he’ll be all dressed up in histuxedo again. That definitely won’t help matters. God knows my willpower can only take so much. Especially knowing just how good he can make me feel. With just his fingers. Without even touching me. And knowing I haven’t had the chance to touch him yet.

Marie, our new server, gives me a wave to let me know she’s going on her break.

With a nod to her, I pick up my phone so I can head to the counter and help out while she’s gone. Before I can slip it into the pocket of my cutoffs, a new notification pops up. It’s a comment on our latest photograph. Deciding to fire off a quick reply before jumping into serving, I swipe into the app. Then I freeze. Because I recognize the username. It’s Eric’s.

All the comment says isLooking forward to trying this place out.

It’s innocuous, but it’s far too much of a coincidence to not be deliberate. I scroll back through my feed, looking at the recent photos. I appear in a few of them, although I’ve been focusing primarily on our coffee, food and the story behind the shop and our coffee beans.

I broke off all communication with Eric after the messy way we ended, blocking him on my phone and social media accounts. Since then, I haven’t seen or heard from him. And as far as I know, he still lives in Maine.

So this? This is weird.

I make a note to do an internet search later and make sure he’s still working for his uncle. But for now, I slide my phone into my pocket, pick up a tray, load it up with plates and coffees and get moving.

As I make my way across the dining area and take in the new customers at several tables, any thoughts about my ex are pushed to the side. For the next thirty minutes, I remain busy, serving and chatting with several people. A few tell me thatfriends or family recommended us to them, or that they saw one of our posts and decided to try the place out.

I’m even asked to pose for a couple of photos with smiling customers holding up their cups of coffee. The interactions fill me with so much hope I practically float my way from table to table. These customers will go on to post on their social media pages, and in turn, word will continue to spread. Finally, I feel like I’m doing more than treading water.

At the end of the day, Jarrod and I close up, and as always, the Pinnacle Security guy waits patiently for us. I’ve learned to ignore their presence while I’m working, since they do their best to blend into the crowd with their plain clothes.

Once I’ve locked the front door behind us and said goodbye to Jarrod, my bodyguard steps up and gestures down the street to where one of the team’s dark sedans is waiting.

I give him a smile and head that way. I’m not going to lie, I could get used to being driven to and from work every day. Not having to worry about catching the bus or walking in the rain is wonderful. No wonder Tate has Jeremy drive him around everywhere.

Tate isn’t home when I step inside his penthouse. The little pang of disappointment that ricochets through me is hard to ignore. For all my protestations, I’m already far more invested than I should be.

I lay out the dress I chose from the selection the stylists provided me, then jump in the shower. Tate offered to have hair and makeup organized for me again, but I prefer doing it myself. It was good for that first event, when I was nervous and had no idea what to expect, but I don’t particularly love the idea of having a team of people fussing over me every time we go out.

I’m fresh from the shower and wrapped in a towel when there’s a knock on my bedroom door. Immediately, my heartrate spikes. I blow out a breath and lift my chin, grasping for what little composure I can conjure, then shuffle to the door.

When I swing it open, an involuntary shiver darts up my spine. Oh god, will I ever get used to the sight of Tate in a suit? He’s still wearing his jacket, but his tie’s been loosened, and his top button is undone. The sight is so damn hot I almost spontaneously combust.

His eyes darken as they trail over my exposed skin. When he meets my gaze again, that cocky smile that I’m actually starting to like—maybe much more than like—creases his cheeks. “Wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Good.” I sound far too breathless. “I just have to do my makeup and get dressed.”

Without asking permission, he walks into the room. I step back to move out of his way, but he grasps my waist with both hands and pulls me against him. He drops his head, pressing his face against the crook of my neck and breathing in.

“Tate,” I say gently, “What are you doing?” I smooth my hands over his back, uncertain of what’s going on in his head. There’s something almost vulnerable about the way he’s holding me like this.

“You always smell so good.” He straightens and trails his fingers along my collarbone. The move sends goose bumps skittering along my skin and makes my nipples pebble against the towel. It would be so easy for him to hook his finger in the material and tug it loose. And it would take no effort at all to go up on my toes and press my lips to his.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, his mouth finds the sensitive skin below my ear. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your pretty pussy all day. I was in a meeting with my marketing team, and all I could think about was how you looked when you came.” He huffs a breath against my skin. “I got a fucking hard-on in the middle of a meeting I was supposed to berunning because I couldn’t stop imagining how hard you’d come with my tongue inside you while I press a toy to your clit.”

Heat pools low in my belly and spreads outward. “Tate.” It’s a strangled whisper.

When he pulls back, his smile is lazy and sexy. Like he knows exactly what his words do to me. He cocks one brow and leisurely scans my body, pausing when he gets to my hands. “Where’s your ring?”

I gesture over to the bedside table. “I took it off before I got in the shower.”

He stalks over to it, swipes it off the top of the table and then stalks back toward me. He picks up my left hand, then slides the ring onto my finger. “That’s better.”

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