Page 42 of Fortress of the King

“It shouldn’t be too long,” he says, gesturing for me to take a seat. I comply and slide onto the stool in front of me.

“Do you usually cook for all your dates?” I ask, a smile playing on my lips.

He takes a sip of his wine. “Never.”

“That’s a shame, it’s a beautiful kitchen.”

“I didn’t feel like going out. I didn’t feel like sharing you with the world.”

I’m about to take another sip of wine but hold the glass just short of my lips. “Yes, it seems that perhaps we’re not being as discreet as we could be.”

He frowns. “How so?”

I wasn’t going to bring it up, but a devilish part of me wants to see his reaction. “I ran into a friend of yours, Allegra, at the coffee shop this morning.” I make sure to keep my tone light and playful.

“Allegra?” He frowns a whole lot more.

“Yes, she was giving me some tips on bagging you.”

His eyebrows rise in surprise. “She, what?”

I laugh into my wine as I take a sip. “It’s all right, really, I know you’re a man about town and have slept with probably hundreds of women; I think she was just trying to give me the skinny.”

He looks very annoyed. “The last time I slept with her was in college,” he states firmly.

I look up at him. “It’s fine, you don’t have to –”

“It was brief and before my cousin Roberto. She married him many years later.”

I gulp my wine down, wishing I’d never brought it up, as his eyes turn thunderous.

“She was just being funny, I don’t think she meant any harm by it,” I go on.

“Let’s make one thing very clear,” he states, accentuating every word. “It’s ancient history. She’s a family friend, nothing more, and she never will be. Allegra would do well to keep her fucking nose out of other people’s business.”

Oh well, I guess it’s her problem now that she’s on the wrong side of Angelo.

His temper flares as I try not to feel a little satisfaction that she’ll be in trouble for her comments.

I lean across and put my hand over his. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, it was just girl talk.”

His eyes soften. “I’ll deal with her later. It’s time to eat.” His words have a double meaning as he turns back to the stove and turns the pot and the pan off simultaneously. Like a well-choreographed orchestra.

No matter what, Angelo Medici in gray slacks, barefoot, and cooking for me is about as delicious as you can get. His ass is tight and delectable and I can’t tear my eyes away from him. It’s so fucking hot.

“A little bit hungry or a lot?” he asks over his shoulder.

“A lot,” I call back, then add, “I’m not one of those girls who doesn’t like to eat.”

“That’s my girl,” I’m sure I hear him mutter.

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.

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