Page 38 of The Devil's Playground

He’s still too much of a gorgeous distraction. That look on his face makes it hard for me to think right now, and he said something about firing me, and now I’m inwardly panicking. He won me. For a night, at least, and I figured things would go back to normal after that… but I fucked my boss.

How in the world could they ever be normal again?

I don’t know, but the most I can get out in answer is, “I like my job?—”

Before I can finish, he pulls out his right hand. A shiny coin—quarter, I think—is clutched between two of his wicked fingers. A practiced flip, an arc about three feet into the air, and then?—

“Tails.”

Huh. I’m distracted, but that’s pretty fucking convenient. “Can I see that?”

Royce winks, tossing the coin my way. I fumble the catch, recovering before it hits the kitchen tile. It is a quarter, and I’m looking at the eagle. Turning it over, I’m not even a little surprised to see another eagle.

I meet the amusement that replaced the dare in his expression. “You rigged the toss?”

He shrugs, making the apron bunch up around the midsection. “You like your job.”

“Is that what you do? Cheat?” I mean for it to be a tease, but suddenly I’m thinking about the other night at the Playground. “Is that how you beat Miles?”

“I don’t need to cheat to beat a bogus gambler like that. Fucking moron has a tell he’s too dumb to realize. But that doesn’t mean I won’t tip the odds in my favor from time to time.”

“Oh. Okay.” I reach out my hand, offering him his quarter. “Then you’ll probably want this back.”

He takes it, then quickly wraps his fingers around my wrist. “That’s not all I want.”

A gentle yet forceful tug and, suddenly, I’m pressed up against that silly apron as he drops his forehead down to mine.

Our mouths are barely an inch apart as he breathes out, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to get out of kissing me good morning, Nic. I’ll take that now if you don’t mind.”

My cheeks heat up. I didn’t want him to notice that—or think I was rejecting him—but he’s not wrong. I did try my best to avoid his kiss before.

Swallowing roughly, I admit, “I didn’t brush my teeth yet.”

“And?”

“You know. Morning breath.”

Royce snorts. The rush of air is warm on my face as he drops his mouth to mine. Against my lips, he murmurs, “Oh, baby, didn’t you get the hint last night? You’re perfect to me. There isn’t anything about you that doesn’t turn me on.”

Really?

Wrapping my arms around his lower back, mimicking the way he’s done the same to me, I blow out a small puff of breath. “Even that?”

He chuckles. “Even that,” he promises, and to prove it, he slants his mouth over mine, turning a simple good morning peck into a kiss so deep, I forget any of my nerves, my insecurities, and my fears because, when Royce McIntyre has me wrapped up in his embrace, I don’t fucking have any.

Breakfast is icy-cold, definitely burnt, and a little rubbery by the time we eventually get to it—but believe me when I say I’ve never had a better meal.

Or better company.

FOURTEEN

THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA

ROYCE

It’s been three weeks since I stood in Nicolette’s kitchen, wearing the most ridiculous apron I found in her mother’s collection, realizing that the idea of surprising her with breakfast seemed a lot easier in my head than in reality. Coming from a guy who eats out for every meal—or bums cooking from Mona on the rare occasion I don’t—I haven’t cooked more than microwaveable shit in almost a decade.

I wanted to show Nic that I was more than a pretty face and a gun. If I wanted her to think of me as a partner, I needed to show her what I can bring to the table that isn’t just my money, my power, and my dick.

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