Page 42 of Tempting Kat
Before he can protest, I turn around and hold my phone up, angling it to capture both of us in the frame—me in my tiny towel, ends of my hair wet and clinging to my shoulders, and him behind me looking absolutely terrified, the bags of food clutched in his hands.
“Smile!” I snap the selfie, checking it quickly. Perfect. My towel's riding dangerously low, and the poor delivery guy looks like he's about to have a heart attack.
I take the bags from his hands and shoot him a wink. “Thanks for the food. Have a good night!”
I set the bags down on my kitchen counter and open my messages to Conrad and send him the photo.
Thanks for the delivery. Of the food AND the boy.
I hit send and set my phone down, unpacking the mouthwatering spread. There are at least half a dozen tacos, rice, beans, chips, guacamole, and what looks like flan for dessert. My stomach growls again, reminding me how fucking hungry I am.
I've barely taken my first bite when my phone starts ringing. I glance at it, see Conrad's name flashing on the screen, and let it go to voicemail. It immediately rings again. And again.
Taking another bite, I savor the explosion of flavors. Holy shit, these might be the best tacos I've ever had. My phone keeps ringing persistently, vibrating across the counter like an angry bee.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter through a mouthful of food, letting it ring out again.
After the fifth call, my phone buzzes with a different notification. A video request from Conrad. I roll my eyes but can't deny the little thrill that runs through me at the idea of seeing his face again.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and accept the call, making sure to angle the camera so he can see I'm still in just the towel.
Conrad's face fills my screen, and fuck if he doesn't look even better than I remember. His jaw is tight, eyes dark and intense. He's sitting in what looks like his car, the leather interior visible behind him.
“Having fun?” His voice is deceptively calm, but I can see the muscle ticking in his jaw.
I take another bite of my taco, chewing slowly while holding his gaze. “Mmm, these are amazing. Thanks for dinner.”
“Put some fucking clothes on, Katarina.” He's using that commanding tone that made me call him Daddy earlier.
I lick some salsa from my finger, making sure to do it as suggestively as possible. “Why? It's my apartment.”
His nostrils flare, and his eyes darken to almost black. “That fucking delivery boy better not be in your apartment. He better not have touched you, and you better not have fucking showed him anything.”
I bite my lip to stop from laughing at how quickly I've gotten under his skin. I make a show of glancing around my tiny apartment, even leaning out of frame for a second.
“Delivery boy?” I call out in a singsong voice. “Are you in here?”
I pause, tilting my head like I'm listening for something.
“What was that?” I ask the empty air before turning back to Conrad with wide, innocent eyes. “Oh, sorry, I didn't hear anything. So unfortunately, no delivery boy is in my apartment.”
Conrad's jaw clenches so hard I'm surprised his teeth don't shatter. “Don't fuck with me, Katarina.”
“Wouldn't dream of it,” I say, adjusting my towel to give him a flash of side boob. “Yet.”
He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the perfect styling. “You're playing a dangerous game.”
“Am I?” I take another bite of my taco, making sure to moan a little as I chew. “These really are delicious. How did you even find a place that delivers this late?”
“When you have enough money, everything delivers,” he says dismissively. “And stop changing the subject. Put some fucking clothes on.”
I lick sauce from my fingers again, deliberately slow. “Why? Does it bother you?”
“What bothers me is thinking about that fucking delivery boy seeing what's mine.”
There it is again—that jealousy that should piss me off but instead sends heat pooling between my legs.
“I told you, I'm not yours,” I remind him, even as my body betrays me with a shiver.
