Page 39 of Savage King

"Come in," I growl.

Maisy, one of the serving staff, enters, pushing a cart filled with plates and bowls hidden underneath golden domes. "Good evening, Mister DeLuna."

"Good evening, Maisy. This is Scarlet. She'll be staying with us for a while."

"Very nice to meet you, Miss Scarlet." She bobs her head.

"Same, Maisy." Scarlet smiles at her, creating havoc inside me. She's supposed to only smile at me, damn it.

"Where would you like to take your dinner?"

"By the fireplace," I decide, and watch her roll the cart to the spot I indicated.

"Will there be anything else, Mister DeLuna?"

I turn to Scarlet, questioning. She shakes her head, and I wave Maisy out of the room.

"Go ahead and start; I'll only be a minute." I nod at the waiting food.

"Uhm…" She steps from one foot to the other. "Do you have another shirt I can borrow?"

Shit, I forgot all about her clothes situation. Not only that. She needs all that other stuff women like, toiletries, creams, pastes, and whatnots.

"Of course, feel free to pick anything from my wardrobe. I'm sorry, I should have thought about that. How about after dinner, we go online shopping?" I suggest. Her face falls a little, but she nods.

"When this is over, I promise to take you on the shopping trip of your lifetime; right now, we can't afford to have you seen."

Like any woman I've ever met, she perks up at that. She tilts her head toward me, sporting a mischievous grin. "Deal."

I chuckle and move into the bathroom; time for a shower, and from the state of my dick, it's going to be a cold one.

Ten minutes later, it's my turn to walk out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my waist. I hear Scarlet's short, sharp breath intake, and pride swells my chest. Seems I'm not the only one in this room affected by the other's body. She is sitting on one of the padded chairs, staring up at me; the dishes look untouched. With a grin, I flex my biceps as I walk by, happy to see that the strong sexual attraction between us is mutual.

I pick a pair of gray joggers and a black shirt, noticing the towel neatly folded on top of the center island. Scarlet. Instead of discarding her towel on the ground like I do, she folded it. Suddenly, I can't wait to learn more about her, so I rush out.

She’d put the few minutes I spent dressing to good use. Two plates, accompanied by silverware, now sit on the short coffee table, next to two glasses filled with white wine. The domed bowls of food sit in the center, waiting to be opened. My attention is caught by a fire roaring in the gas fireplace, and I wonder how she managed it all.

Two large pillows are placed on either side of the table, and she gracefully lowers herself down. Mindful of her injury, I ask, "Are you in any pain?" I am astonished by how hoarse my voice sounds.

Her slim neck turns, and I'm instantly hard again, seeing her there, her long legs angled underneath her, her slim figure drowning in one of my sweatshirts. Something else wells inside me. I like seeing her in my clothes. It awakens a proprietary instinct in me. It marks her as mine, and I like that. I want the whole world to know that she's mine. Nobody will ever dare to touch her again. Nobody. Unless they have a death wish.

She shakes her head. "I helped myself to a bottle of Motrin on the nightstand."

"Good." I lower myself on the opposite side of the table. "Interesting dinner seating," I comment.

"We can sit somewhere else if you like. I just thought…"

"I like it," I assure her.

"Really?" Her face brightens as if I'd just handed her a five-carat diamond.

"It looks… comfy." I lift the first lid. "I wasn't sure what you liked. I ordered Fredo to make a couple of steaks, but if you like something else, we can order it."

"Fredo?"

"The cook."

"Oh." She steals a glance at the uncovered tray. It holds two medium-rare steaks; the garlic butter has melted some, giving the meat just the right appearance to make it drool-worthy. "You're not a vegetarian, are you?"

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