Page 82 of Guarded King

“You’ve been here before?” Though I’d never admit it, the idea that he might have brought some beautiful French model here, or maybe even Katherine, lodges itself like a rock in my throat.

His eyes pierce into me, as if he can sense the direction of my thoughts. “I haven’t. But Cole and Delilah raved about it after their last visit.”

Irrational relief sends blood surging to my cheeks. I turn toward the restaurant so he can’t see my reaction. “I can’t wait to see for myself.”

Just then, a couple exits the bistro, and the delicious scent wafting out of the open door makes my stomach grumble at an embarrassing volume.

Roman steps forward to catch the door before it shuts and holds it open for me.

Once we’re inside, a server approaches and speaks in French. Roman, of course, responds in kind. Because of course he’s fluent in French. It’s not like he needs anything else to make him more attractive.

Beaming, the server ushers us to a table for two in a dimly lit corner.

When we reach it, Roman pulls my chair out for me, and once I’m seated, he takes the seat opposite me. He discarded his tie and undid the top button of his shirt long ago, but now he rolls up the cuffs of his Oxford shirt, revealing his toned forearms.

I have to fight the urge to lick my lips at the sight. Every square inch of him, from his face to his chest to his arms and his large hands, conjures thoughts I have no business thinking.

Dirty, dirty thoughts.

Like the ones I have at night, when I’m alone in the dark. Thoughts that have me sliding my fingers between my thighs as I imagine those big hands on me, touching me, bending me over the desk in his office, sliding inside me and making me feel good.

My core clenches.

I’ve done my best to remain composed around him. But every moment we spend together makes it harder. And after these last few days—the things he’s done for me, the moments of intimacy—my attraction is burning out of control.

I’m behaving in ways I never would have dreamed of behaving around my boss. Every time he gets close, my brain and body go haywire.

Like the moment in the Louvre where I let my barriers down and flirted with him. It was impossible to ignore the impulse when he was looking at me with an intensity that had me breathless. When he was so close, the heat rolling off his big body soaked into mine, and his crisp, citrusy scent invaded my senses.

Desire sparked a desperate heated tension inside me. A need to touch and be touched. To explore the chemistry that flares to life every time we’re near each other.

He did the right thing, thesmartthing, and shut it down. Kept both of us on the right side of the line we drew.

Except now we’re here. In this quaint bistro, tucked away in a corner of Paris, surrounded by the kind of scents that make me salivate almost as much as Roman’s sheer existence does.

He remembered my words from months ago.And rather than take me to a fancy restaurant he would probably choose for himself, he brought me here.

That knowledge has my heart fluttering in time with the butterflies in my stomach.

When the server returns, Roman orders wine—in French again, the way the words roll off his tongue only fanning the flames of desire burning hot inside me.

To distract myself, I bury my face in my menu. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to read the options, but thankfully, they’ve included the English description in brackets for people like me.

The food choices here are far more rustic than at the hotel restaurant in Nice last night. Everything sounds amazing, but I end up ordering crab and celeriac in remoulade sauce to start, and for my meal, I choose the “bistro classic” of truffle croque monsieur and a green salad.

Roman orders the same, and when my mouth pops open, he raises a brow. “What?”

“I just… I don’t know, thought you’d get the Beef Bourguignon or the pan-fried scallops, something like that.”

He leans back in his chair, resting one hand on the table. A smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Cole raves about the croque monsieur. Swears it’s almost as good as the first grilled cheese Delilah ever made him, whatever that means.”

I’ve never seen him like this, so… I wouldn’t say relaxed. Maybe just focused on something that isn’t work. And right now, that happens to be me. It’s a side of him I’ve never witnessed, and like this, it’s far too easy to imagine that this is actually a date. That the Roman sitting opposite me isn’t my billionaire boss, but the man who’s sweeping me off my feet and might even shower me with orgasms later.

“How are Cole and Delilah, anyway?” I ask, desperate for conversation that won’t entice me to crawl across the table and slide into his lap. “How’s your niece?”

“They’re adjusting.” He smirks, but the expression quickly softens. “Lottie is… adorable. She already has Cole wrapped around her little finger.”

“And what about her uncle?”

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