Page 83 of Reckless King

I stare at him, my heart tapping out an erratic rhythm against my sternum. In a million years, I never would have pegged Tate King as a growly, possessive man who doesn’t like when his fake fiancée isn’t wearing his ring. It makes me wonder how much of his true self he’s been hiding behind his devilish smiles and smart-ass remarks, his flirtatiousness and love ’em and leave ’em attitude.

“I’m going to get changed,” he says. “Otherwise, I’ll take something my fiancée isn’t ready to give me.”

I let out a shuddery breath. “Tate…”

He cuffs the back of my neck. The warmth of him seeps into me, fueling the flames he ignited when he murmured those dirty words. “I told you, butterfly. The ball is in your court. But when you do ask,” his fingers slide along my jaw, and his golden eyes are hot on mine, “I won’t take it easy on you. When you beg me to take you, you’re going to take everything I have to give.”

My thighs clench against the ache deep inside. If Tate were to slide his hand up under the towel wrapped around me, he’d find me wet and ready for him.

“Get dressed, Violet. I want to show off my beautiful fiancée tonight.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me wondering if there’s even any point in pretending I won’t give in to what we both want.

I’m distracted as I do my makeup and blow out my hair. I’m still lost in my own thoughts as I pull on the gorgeous dress and zip it up.

When I check my reflection, I can’t help but admire how the champagne-colored gown clings to my curves. Tiny spaghetti straps attach to the V-neck bodice that dips low enough to reveal the swell of my breasts. The dress brushes the tops of my glittery nude pumps, while a slit reaches my upper thigh, revealing a sliver of skin with every step I take. It’s probably the sexiest dress I’ve ever worn, and I’m thankful that on the night I’m going to be paraded around as the future Mrs. Tate King, I look as put together as I do.

When I’m ready, I grab my matching clutch, mist on some perfume and leave my bedroom. Tate is already in the living room, looking incredible in his tuxedo. He glances up as I enter the room and is immediately on his feet, striding toward me.

“I don’t think I can take you out looking like this,” he says.

Disappointment hits me hard. I was sure I’d made a good choice with this dress. With a hand pressed over my stomach, I look down at myself, then back up at him. “I can change. I have other dresses.”

He molds his hand to my waist, and with his head lowered so I can feel the heat of his breath on my cheek, he groans. “You’re killing me, butterfly. I don’t know if I can handle it if any other man sees you looking so fucking sexy.”

The weight in my stomach morphs into a kaleidoscope of butterflies in an instant. I laugh a little breathlessly. “Lucky for you, I’m wearing your ring.”

“I like that,” he says. “A little too much.”

My heart pangs, because as much as those words affect me, I can’t help but wonder if he only likes it because heknowsit’s not permanent.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

I nod, and he threads his fingers through mine and leads me to the elevator. On the ride down, we watch each other’s reflection, some silent communication passing between us. The intensity of Tate’s stare promises pleasure I can only imagine, and by the time we reach the bottom, my pulse is racing.

It isn’t until we’re in the back of the limo, driving to the nearby King Group hotel where the event is being held, that I remember what happened earlier. “Something strange happened today,” I tell Tate, shifting in my seat to face him. “Eric commented on one of True Brew’s posts.”

His brows lower. “What did he say?”

“Just something about looking forward to trying us out.”

“Has he ever commented before?”

“No. I haven’t heard from him or seen him since before I moved.”

Tate’s jaw is rigid, along with his posture. “Did you ever talk about True Brew when you were together?”

“Sure. But the last he would have known was that I was in Maine. Maybe it’s just a weird coincidence? Or maybe…” I trail off. Maybe he saw an article about Tate and me that mentioned where I work.

His dark frown tells me he’s thinking the same thing. I gnaw on my lower lip. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything. “It doesn’t matter. It was just an innocuous comment. I doubt I’ll hear anything else from him.”

He’s silent for a beat, his brows drawn down, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Let me know straight away if you do, okay?”

I put my left hand on his leg, my engagement ring glittering in the lights of the passing traffic. “I will, I promise.”

Tate dips his chin and focuses on my hand, and the tension drains from him. His gaze roams slowly back up over me, coming to rest on my face. The flare of his pupils makes it clear he’s flashing back to the same thing that’s been running through my head for the last week. All thoughts of Eric are forgotten as my blood heats under his perusal.

If we weren’t pulling up outside the hotel, I’m not confident I wouldn’t have slid across the leather seat and climbed onto his lap. But we’re still locked in one another’s gaze when Jeremy stops the car at the end of the red carpet and the flashes start going off. This year’s King Group gala is in support of funding sustainable developments in underdeveloped countries, and the guest list apparently includes a host of celebrities, politicians and titans of industry, so the press is out in force.

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