Page 38 of Tempting Kat
She backs up, her hand gripping the doorframe. “You're—you're my Mr. Mysterious. Conrad fucking peach napkin.”
“Conrad Gallo,” I confirm, closing the distance between us. “Though you already knew my name, just not altogether.”
She’s shaking her head. “No. No fucking way. This is some kind of joke. Like where is the camera and who’s making money off this?”
“It's no joke.” I close the distance between us, backing her against the doorframe. “Did you think I was just some randomrich guy who happened to be interested in you? I've been watching you for months, Katarina.”
Her eyes narrow, that fire I love so much flaring to life. “Stalking me, you mean? That's fucking creepy.”
“Is it stalking if I own the bar?” I counter, placing one hand on the wall beside her head, caging her in.
Her jaw drops, and she stares at me like I've just told her I'm a fucking alien. Those gorgeous green eyes widen to almost comical proportions.
“You…own Euphoria?” she sputters, her voice rising to a pitch I haven't heard from her before. “What the actual fuck? You've been my boss this whole time?”
I can't help the chuckle that rumbles from my chest. Watching her put the pieces together is almost as satisfying as her coming undone minutes ago.
“Silent owner,” I correct, reaching out to tug gently on a wild strand of hair that's escaped her messy ponytail. “Santiago handles the day-to-day. I just observe.”
“Observe?” She smacks my hand away, but there's no real heat behind it. “You mean spy on your employees like some fucking voyeur?”
I step back, giving her space to breathe. Even in her indignation, she's magnificent.
“Not my employees,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep from reaching for her again. “Just you.”
“Oh, well, that makes it so much better,” she snaps, rolling her eyes. “Just stalking one specific bartender. Totally normal behavior.”
“I never claimed to be normal, kitten.”
Her eyes narrow at the nickname. “Don't call me that here.”
“Why not? You seemed to enjoy it well enough with my face between your thighs.”
The blush that spreads across her cheeks is delicious. “You're such an asshole.”
“So you've mentioned.” I lean against the opposite wall, giving her the illusion of control. “And yet you came three times for this asshole.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, her posture screaming defiance, but I can see the way her thighs press together, still sensitive from my attention.
“I can't believe I didn't figure it out,” she mutters, more to herself than to me. “The expensive bourbon. The corner seat. Always watching. Fuck, you were practically broadcasting 'I own this place' energy.”
“Would it have changed anything if you'd known?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She snorts. “Yeah, I probably would've asked for a raise instead of letting you finger-fuck me in a gloryhole.”
I bark out a laugh, surprised by her candor even though I shouldn't be. “Your honesty is refreshing.”
“Yeah, well, one of us should try it sometime,” she retorts, but there's no real bite to her words. She's annoyed, but not genuinely angry.
She slumps against the wall, suddenly looking exhausted. The adrenaline crash after those intense orgasms is hitting her hard.
“Let me take you home, or Henry can,” I say, softer than before.
“Or,” she says, pushing herself off the wall with visible effort, “perhaps I’ll just take the bus home.”
Something violent rips through me at the thought of her on public transportation in this state.
“Perhaps the fuck you won't, Katarina.” My voice drops to that register I know makes her pussy clench. “You're not getting on a bus with no underwear and my mark on your thigh.”
