Page 73 of Reckless King

“No. Take it off.”

The woman and I both stare at him.

“Now,” he growls.

I fumble to slide the ring off, my skin flaring hot in embarrassment. The woman gives me a placating smile and covers my shaking hands with hers. She removes it with ease, and as soon as she has it back in the display box, Tate has me by the hand and is towing me out of the shop.

“Thank you,” I call back over my shoulder.

We’re silent until we get back in the car. Confusion settles heavily in my chest, making each breath a challenge.

Once Jeremy has shut the door behind Tate, I turn and search his expression for answers. His brow is pulled low and his jaw is tense, but I can’t understand why.

“Was it too expensive? You could have just said something. I didn’t care which one we got.”

“That’s the point,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

His eyes pierce me, the golden hue gone molten. “Fake engagement or not, I want you to care about the ring on your finger. I want you to at least goddamn like it.”

I blink at him, stunned. When I finally find my words, I stutter through them. “I-I’m sorry if it came across that I didn’t like it. That wasn’t the case. I swear. It was beautiful. Really. We can go back and?—”

He takes my hand and strokes his thumb over my ring finger. The touch is gentle, despite the tension vibrating through him. Little sparks flicker over my skin, traveling up my arm. “Don’t apologize.”

I roll my lips together. “It’s just that you seem angry.”

A muscle leaps in his jaw. “I’m not angry at you.”

“Then who are you angry at?” The words are tentative, soft. This side of him is still new to me. He always puts on such a charming façade, so seeing his anger, his pain, feels far more intimate than it would from anyone else.

“I’m angry with myself.” With one more brush of his thumb over my finger, he lets go. “Jeremy, can you take us home, please?”

My stomach drops. “We’re not getting a ring?” I shouldn’t feel sad about that. It’s just one more indication of how easily I could lose myself in this fake relationship.

His only response is a simple “not here.”

On the drive home, he busies himself with his phone. I, on the other hand, am reeling over what just happened. He sensed my discomfort and obviously doesn’t want to force me to wear a ring that doesn’t work for me. But the way he whisked me out of the store and shut things down so abruptly makes me feel a little sick. He said not here, but he didn’t elaborate. And now we’re going home. Not home.Hisplace. I don’t know what to think.

Fifteen minutes later, as we step into the lobby of Tate’s high-rise, he’s still quiet. I don’t know how to break the tension, so the ride up to his penthouse is silent.

When we get inside, he turns to me. “I’m going to take a swim. Want to join me?”

Before I have a chance to reply, he’s shucking out of his jacket. I’m frozen to the spot as he tugs his shirt out of his pants and begins to unbutton it. His fingers move deftly over each one, revealing his smooth, tanned skin. My mouth goes dry as I track the movement of his hands. I only stop when they stop.

“My eyes are up here.”

I whip my focus up to his face, and an incoherent explanation spills from my mouth. “I wasn’t… I mean…”

An amused half smile tilts his lips, and he shrugs the shirt off completely, revealing his muscled shoulders.

While I’m relieved that any tension he was holding on to seems to have dissipated, the sight of Tate shirtless does nothing to calm my libido. In fact, it does the opposite. It sparks an image of him standing by the pool last night, his attention fixed on me, his hand stroking his cock.

My knees wobble, and a breath shudders out of me.

When Tate moves his hand to the button of his pants, I force myself to look away. “You’re not going to get changed in your bedroom?”

“Why? Am I making you nervous?”

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