Page 60 of Tempting Kat
Her mouth drops open slightly. “You were jealous? Of Henry?”
“Of anyone who gets to spend time with you when I can't,” I admit, moving closer to her. “The thought of you with him all day, shopping, laughing...it drove me fucking crazy.”
She swallows hard, her eyes darting around the room before landing back on me. “So you just...created an entire art studio for me?”
“Office,” I correct her, though we both know it's more than that. “I had this room gutted and redone. Called in some favors to get it done quickly.”
“But why?” Her voice is softer now, uncertain. I can see her walls starting to crack.
I close the distance between us, standing close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her body. “Because I want you here. With me. And I want you to have what you need.”
She stares up at me, those green eyes searching my face like she's trying to solve a puzzle. “I don't understand you.”
“What's to understand?” I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her skin is warm under my fingers. “I see something I want, I make it happen.”
She's staring at me like she doesn't quite believe me, and it twists something deep in my chest. I've spent my entire fucking life taking what I want, never apologizing for it, never second-guessing myself. But with Katarina, I find myself wanting to explain, to make her understand.
“You're not used to people doing things for you, are you?” I ask, watching her face carefully. There's a flicker of vulnerability she quickly masks.
“I don't need people to do things for me,” she says, but there's less bite in her words than usual. “I take care of myself. It’s just always been me and my sister.”
“I know you do.” I take her hand, half-expecting her to pull away. She doesn't. “That's what makes you so fucking incredible, Katarina. You've been fighting your whole life, haven't you?”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “What's your point?”
“My point is that you don't have to fight me.” I lift her hand and press my lips to her knuckles, watching her pupils dilate. “You can let someone take care of you without losing who you are.”
She snorts, but I feel the slight tremor in her fingers. “Is that what this is? Taking care of me?”
“It's what I want to do.” I don't release her hand, instead using it to pull her closer. “You deserve good things, Katarina. You deserve to be treated like the goddamn queen you are.”
“I'm not?—”
“You are,” I cut her off, my voice dropping lower. “And I want to be the man who shows you that. Who gives you everything you've never let yourself have.”
She shifts uncomfortably, her eyes darting away from mine. I recognize the look. I’ve had it myself before. She's not used to kindness without strings attached. Not used to someone giving without demanding something in return.
“Come on,” I say, taking a step back to give her space. “I'll show you where Henry put your things.”
Relief flashes across her face at the change of subject. She follows me out of the office and up the stairs, her footsteps light behind me.
“This place is like a fucking museum,” she mutters as we pass an original Basquiat on the wall. “Do you actually live here or just store expensive shit?”
I chuckle. “I live here. And yes, I like expensive shit.”
We head down the hallway to the main suite, pushing open the double doors. Her steps falter as she takes in the king-sized bed, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sitting area with leather chairs.
“This looks awfully a lot like your room,” she says, suspicion creeping into her voice.
“It is.” I watch her face, enjoying the way her eyebrows draw together when she's irritated.
“All this damn house and there's not a guest bedroom?” She plants her hands on her hips, glaring at me.
“Oh, don't be so obtuse, Katarina.” I smirk, pointing toward the walk-in closet. “Your stuff is in there.”
She narrows her eyes at me before stalking toward the closet door. I count down in my head—three, two, one...
“CONRAD GALLO, WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS?” Her voice echoes through the bedroom, making me laugh.
