Page 20 of Fierce King (L.A. Ruthless 1)

Alana

Alejandro handedthe menus back to our waiter and turned to face me. He wore a navy suit and a crisp white shirt, open at the collar, revealing just the tiniest glimpse of one of his many tattoos. It hadn’t escaped my attention that almost every woman in the restaurant had glanced in our direction at least once. He was probably the best looking man I had ever seen – but he was still a bastard and a devil. I could never forget that.

‘That was quite the show you put on outside,’ he said as he took a sip of his water.

‘Well, I had to make it look convincing, didn’t I? Although I’m not sure that us together is that convincing.’

He frowned at me. ‘And why is that?’

‘Oh, come on. I’m not your usual type, am I? I’m sure there are plenty of people wondering what L.A’s most eligible bachelor is doing with a slightly chubby brunette from New York.’

His frown turned to a scowl. ‘Chubby? In what world could you be ever considered chubby, Alana?’

‘In your world, Alejandro. Your world of models and actresses and women who survive on carrot juice and kale,’ I replied.

I was confident in my body, usually, and back in New York, I’d been happy to show off my curves in any weather. But here, in L.A, women had bodies that were beyond unbelievable. They all looked like they’d been airbrushed to perfection.

‘None of those women meant anything to me,’ he said dismissively.

‘And I do?’ I flashed an eyebrow at him.

‘You’re my wife, aren’t you?’ he frowned.

‘Hmm, your wife in name only.’

He narrowed his eyes at me and I wondered what was going through his mind. I felt a flush of heat between my thighs as I sat under the glare of his gaze.

‘Speaking of names. Why do the staff call you Alana?’

I frowned at him. ‘Because it’s my name. What the hell else should they call me?’

‘Mrs. Montoya,’ he snapped.

Of course. I’d only ever heard them call him Mr. Montoya, or Boss. They never used his first name.

‘I’m not Mrs. Montoya,’ I started to say and saw him scowl at me. ‘I mean, it makes me sound like your mom. And it’s too formal.’

‘It’s kind of supposed to be, isn’t it? They’re the staff.’

‘They’re your staff. But to me, they’re the people I spend most of my days and nights with,’ I replied.

I wondered if he was going to reprimand me. He was so bloody serious and had so many rules. But there was no way I was going to insist on Magda, Jacob and Hugo calling me Mrs. Montoya.

He stared at me for a few moments and was about to reply when our waiter brought the wine. When Alejandro had tasted it and confirmed it was to his liking, our waiter poured us each a glass.

I took a sip, expecting it to taste like pretty much any other red wine I had ever had, but I was surprised to find it was the most incredible wine I’d ever tasted. Rich and warm, with hints of chocolate and cherry. It almost justified its eight hundred dollar price tag.

‘So, how was your shopping trip?’ Alejandro asked as I was still savoring the aftertaste of the Rioja.

‘Good,’ I nodded as I put my glass on the table.

It had been a surprise earlier that morning when Jacob had handed me a small white envelope. It had contained a credit card, and a note on Alejandro’s personal stationery instructing me to buy whatever I needed to make his house feel more like my own. I had called him to say thank you and ask how much I was allowed to spend, and he had told me that he didn’t care, as though money meant nothing to him.

It even made me wonder if he had a heart in there after all – if only for a brief moment.

‘You said you got what you needed?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

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