Page 64 of Guarded King

I’m grateful to Roman as my boss, but my heart has no place in that relationship.

I hope it’s finally gotten the message.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ROMAN

With a roar of its engines, my jet hurtles down the runway, the nose lifting as it angles skyward.

Chloe sits opposite me, her face lit up as she watches out the window. Her long, moonlit-blond hair is in loose waves and she’s wearing a thin sweatshirt that’s almost slipping off one delicate shoulder. When she walked up the stairs to the plane in front of me, her heart-shaped ass in that pair of snug jeans had me curling my fingers into fists to stop myself from reaching out and touching.

Dragging my gaze away from her now, I turn to my laptop so I can go over the talking points that she put together for my keynote speech. Less than five minutes later, I find myself distracted. When my intoxicating assistant is sitting opposite me, stealing my attention, it’s fucking hard to concentrate on the dry details regarding the King Group’s expansion into sustainable developments and the share price increase we’ve obtained while fulfilling our global corporate responsibility.

She’s examining the cabin now, fingers running over the soft leather of her chair’s armrests.

I can’t resist asking. “This isn’t your first time on a plane, is it?”

She narrows her eyes a little. “I’ve been on planes before. Just not one like this. And not going overseas.”

“Would you like a drink? It might help you settle.”

She cocks her head. “Are you going to have one?”

We’ll have a long day tomorrow. If it will help her relax and sleep through the night, I’ll have a drink with her. “I’ll join you.” I press the call button, and Carrie, our flight attendant, glides into the cabin.

“Can I get you something, Mr. King?”

Her smile is professional, as it should be. When I took over as CEO, I quickly requested new staff for the jet. Unsurprisingly, Dad’s previous staff had been hired for more than their customer service skills.

“I’ll have a whiskey, and Miss Callahan will have a…” I raise a brow at her.

She touches the tip of her tongue to her top lip, sending a troubling ripple of lust through me. “Maybe I should have one of those too. Whiskey is supposed to be good for sleep, right?”

I suppress a smile. “It can be. Have you had much whiskey before?” A sleepy Chloe I can deal with. A tipsy Chloe might be tempting fate.

“No.” She studies me for a minute, those pretty eyes of hers dropping to my mouth, then my chest, before she turns to Carrie and smiles. “Can I have a chamomile tea, please?”

With a nod and a smile, Carrie heads for the galley.

“No whiskey, then?”

Chloe blinks, her cheeks turning pink. “I think maybe alcohol isn’t a good idea after all.”

I guess I wasn’t the only one concerned that the whiskey might blur the lines we’ve redrawn. But regardless of the words we’ve said, the promises we’ve made to forget, the memory of the night she watched me simmers in the air between us.

I should go back to work, but I’m too distracted by her proximity, so I close my laptop. “Does your dad mainly paint cityscapes?”

She blinks at me, obviously not expecting the question. “Yes. He has a real passion for buildings. Not constructing them”—she flashes me one of her pretty, genuine smiles—“but capturing their beauty. Their personalities. He loves showing how the city changes from day to day, hour to hour.” Her voice softens, coloring with pride. “Tourists used to buy his work as souvenirs. Locals bought it because they loved seeing the city they call home portrayed in new and beautiful ways.”

Her eyes are bright, her expression animated. I want to keep her talking. Keep her looking at me like that. “I’d like to see more of his work sometime.”

She nods, but her happiness dims a little. “When he couldn’t paint any longer, he had to sell most of them off, so he only has a few left.”

“It must be hard, not being able to do what he loves.”

“It is,” she says, clasping her hands in her lap. “But I’m hopeful that with this new treatment, he can eventually paint again, even if it’s just a little bit.”

“You said he had his first infusion on the weekend?”

---