Page 15 of Made for Reign

I’ve never had a boyfriend. Being Arthur Worthington’s daughter made dating complicated. Boys either wanted me for my family’s money and connections, or they were too intimidated by my father’s reputation to even try. So I threwmyself into my studies, into my art, told myself I didn’t need romance.

But this feeling coursing through me right now, this desperate, all-consuming need for this man, makes me realize how much I’ve been missing. How empty my carefully controlled life has been.

“Hey.” Reign’s voice is concerned. “What’s wrong? You just went somewhere else.”

I force a smile, pushing down the sudden ache in my chest. “Just thinking about tomorrow. Flying home.”

“Heavy thoughts for someone who just had multiple orgasms.”

I laugh despite myself. “You’re not supposed to remind me of that.”

“Why not? I plan to give you several more before morning.” His hand slides down to cup my ass possessively. “Consider it a going-away present.”

Before I can respond, there’s a knock at the door.

“Room service,” a voice calls.

Reign groans. “Perfect timing.” He presses a quick kiss to my forehead before sliding out of bed. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

I watch him pull on his pants, admiring the way the fabric hugs his ass, the casual confidence in his movements. He throws a hotel robe over my naked body before answering the door.

The server wheels in a cart laden with covered dishes, the smell making my mouth water. Reign tips him generously and locks the door behind him.

“Hungry?” he asks, wheeling the cart toward the bed.

“Starving,” I admit, sitting up and pulling the robe tighter around me.

He uncovers dish after dish. There are gourmet sandwiches, fresh fruit, chocolate-covered strawberries, and champagne. It’s enough food for four people.

“You might have gone overboard,” I say, eyeing the spread.

“I told you, I plan to keep you busy.” He picks up a strawberry, holding it to my lips. “You’ll need the energy.”

I bite into the strawberry, juice running down my chin. Reign’s eyes darken as he watches, and before I can wipe it away, he’s leaning in to lick the sweetness from my skin.

“Delicious,” he murmurs against my throat, and I know he’s not talking about the fruit.

We eat slowly, sharing bites and talking about lighter things. He tells me about learning to fly-fish as a kid, about the time Marcus got lost in a blizzard for twelve hours and came back covered in snow but grinning like an idiot. I tell him about my art classes, about the professor who made us spend an entire semester studying the way light changes throughout the day.

But as the food disappears, and the champagne makes me warm and loose-limbed, reality starts creeping back in.

In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be back in Cooper Heights, back to being the dutiful daughter, back to pretending Gio’s hands on me don’t make my skin crawl.

Reign sets down his champagne flute. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Going somewhere I can’t follow.”

I force another smile. “Sorry. Just tired, I guess.”

He doesn’t buy it. I can see it in the way his eyes narrow slightly, the way he leans back against the headboard and studies me. The silence stretches between us, and suddenly the easy intimacy from earlier feels fragile now, like something that could shatter if I breathe wrong.

“It’s getting pretty late,” I say, moving to get up from the bed. “I should probably get going.”

His hand closes around my wrist, not hard but firm enough to stop me. “What are you running from, Princess?”

“I’m not running from anything,” I lie, tugging against his hold. “I just think it’s time for me to go.”

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