Page 45 of Tempting Kat
“Humble, too.”
“Look,” she says, leaning across the bar, “I appreciate the offer, but I don't need your charity.”
“It's not charity,” I say, my voice hardening. “It's practicality. I need you functioning, not exhausted from hiking up four flights of stairs to an apartment with no running water.”
She studies me for a long moment, and I can see her weighing her options. Pride versus comfort. Stubborn independence versus basic fucking hygiene.
“Fine,” she finally says, throwing her hands up in defeat. “Whatever. I'll stay at your fancy hotel if it'll shut you up.”
“Good girl,” I say, just low enough for her to hear.
She walks away, her perfect ass swaying as she moves to the other end of the bar where a couple is waving to get her attention.
I watch her lean over the bar, all smiles for these strangers when she gives me nothing but attitude. The guy's eyes drop to her cleavage for a fraction of a second too long, and I have to grip my glass harder to keep from launching myself or it across the room.
“Another drink?” Santiago appears at my elbow, that knowing smirk still plastered on his face.
“Double,” I growl, not taking my eyes off Katarina.
She's laughing at something the couple said, her head thrown back, exposing the smooth column of her throat. I imagine wrapping my hand around it, feeling her pulse race under my palm as I fuck her into oblivion.
For the rest of the night, I sit in my corner and watch her work.
She knows I'm watching. I can tell by the little smirks she throws my way when she thinks I'm not looking, the deliberate way she bends over to grab bottles from the lower shelves, ass in the air like an offering.
My little tease knows exactly what she's doing.
Every so often she'll glance over at me, catch my eye for a brief second before deliberately turning away. Each time it happens, my cock gets harder. By hour three, I'm in physical pain, straining against my zipper like a fucking teenager.
When closing time finally rolls around, I've had enough of this game. I grab a napkin, draw a small peach on it, and write down the suite number. I slide the napkin and the keycard across the bar when Katarina's back is turned.
Without another word, I stand up and walk out. Let her come to me this time. I've done enough chasing.
Outside, the night air is cool against my flushed skin. I loosen my tie, taking deep breaths to calm the fire raging through my veins.
“Mr. Gallo,” Henry says, opening the car door as I approach. “Back to the penthouse?”
“No,” I say, sliding into the backseat. “The Lovelace.”
“Very good, sir.”
Chapter 14
Katarina
I'm gonna kill him. I'm actually gonna fucking murder Conrad Gallo with my bare hands and plead temporary insanity when they drag me to court.
Opening the suite door, I step in, cursing his damn name to hell.
“Fucking Conrad Gallo with his fancy-ass hotel and his stupid napkins and his goddamn sexy face that I want to punch and kiss at the same time,” I mutter, dropping the bags in the entryway. “Thinks he can just solve everything with his black card and his big?—”
“Do go on and tell me more about how infuriating and fine you think I am.”
I freeze, my heart slamming against my ribs like it's trying to escape. There he is, lounging in a leather chair in the foyer like some kind of fucking morally grey villain, one ankle resting on his opposite knee, looking impossibly good in dark jeans and a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to expose those forearms that shouldn't be as hot as they are.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I demand, trying to ignore the way my pulse kicks up just looking at him.
“It's my suite,” he says simply, those dark eyes tracking over my body like he's cataloging every inch. “I think the better question is what took you so long?”
