Guarded King (Empty Kingdom #3)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ROMAN

B lue-green eyes search mine, wide and imploring. Soft pink lips part on an indrawn breath as I grasp her by the nape and pull her close, my mouth hovering over hers.

Her scent, honey and vanilla, is intoxicating. I’m drunk on her, my body hard and wanting. I need to know if she tastes as good as she smells.

She’s so close. The heat of her body seeps into me, warming me. I lower my head and?—

I’m wrenched from the dream, my subconscious pulling through, thank fuck. But even though the vision clears from my head, the memory of Chloe’s scent lingers. Not to mention the damn hard-on.

Fuck .

I swing my legs over the side of the mattress, plant my elbows on my thighs, and drop my head into my hands.

This has to stop.

With a grunt, I push myself up and stalk to my en suite bathroom. I need a cold fucking shower.

This isn’t the first time I’ve dreamed about Chloe. And I doubt it will be the last.

Under the rainwater showerhead, I scrub my hands over my face and let the water beat down on me. All the while, I grit my teeth, using all my strength to resist taking myself in hand and relieving the pressure in my dick. That’s a damn slippery slope.

I need to get fucking laid.

Once I’m dressed for work—for another day of fighting the temptation to dwell on visions of silky hair, flushed cheeks, and those smiles that I want to see more of—I pick up my phone and type out a message.

The reply is immediate. If only it made me feel even a modicum better. Later, I tell myself. Tonight, I’ll work off some steam. Afterward, the ability to focus on work while in the proximity of my too-attractive, completely off-limits assistant will return.

All day, I avoid summoning her to my office any more than absolutely necessary. The last thing I want when I meet up with Gemma tonight is thoughts of Chloe clouding my head. Gemma is a model, and someone I’ve had a casual arrangement with in the past. If anyone can get my mind off the woman who’s been haunting it, it’s her.

Two hours after I send Chloe home for the day, I’m sitting in a booth in a Manhattan bar with Gemma next to me. She’s as gorgeous as ever, with long blond hair and cool blue eyes. Her slinky black dress fits her like a glove, with straps so thin, I’ll be lucky if I don’t snap them while I peel the garment off her once I get her back to her place.

I take another sip of whiskey and inhale deeply as I set my glass on the table. “What have you been up to since we last…”

“Fucked?” Wearing a seductive smile, she coyly traces her finger around the rim of her wineglass. “I’ve had shows in Paris and Milan. I haven’t been back in New York long. I’m glad you messaged me.” She squeezes my thigh and leans closer. “I’ve missed this.”

I bring my whiskey to my mouth, this time for much more than a sip, and turn to look at her, waiting for the kick of lust in my gut.

Without taking her eyes off me, she takes a slow sip of wine then licks her plump lips. “Mmm, delicious.”

Instead of making my cock hard, all I can think about is Chloe biting into a slice of pizza in my office. The way she turned me on without even trying.

“Where are we going for dinner?” Gemma asks. “I haven’t been to Trio’s in ages. Or what about that new Japanese fusion restaurant? Everyone I know has been trying to get into it, but you can make it happen. There’ll probably be paparazzi out front too.” She says that last part without a hint of shame.

I tap my thumb against my whiskey glass, irritation tightening the back of my neck. “I thought we could grab a pizza.”

Her mouth drops open on a huff. “You’re joking, right? You know I can’t eat pizza. And why would you want to when we could be eating oysters at Trio’s?”

I’m not craving pizza by any means, so I’m not sure why I suggested it.

“Or,” she says, her voice lowering to a purr, “We could get a suite and order room service.”

She knows I won’t take her back to my penthouse, and she’s never seemed to mind. Especially not when I take her to one of the King Group hotels. After all, they’re known for their luxurious suites and fine dining room service.

I should take her up on that offer. I don’t have much interest in making small talk over oysters when we both know what this date is about.

Yet instead of guiding her out of the booth and into my car, I flag down a server and order another round of drinks.

Gemma sags against the seat with a pout. “You know you don’t have to get me drunk, right?”

“One more drink,” I tell her. I’m stalling, and for all the wrong reasons.

Gemma slides in closer to me, her long leg pressing against mine. One slender hand slides up my chest, then she finger-walks her way up to the knot of my tie while she presses her lips against the side of my neck.

The way she flicks her tongue over my skin should elicit at least a slight response. So should the breathy moan she lets out. Especially since I’ve been celibate for the better part of a year. I should be dying to sink into her. I should be anxious to take her home, strip that dress off her, and bend her over the nearest flat surface.

But the floral scent floating around me—not honey and vanilla—is anything but intoxicating. The half-lidded eyes fixed on me are glacier blue, not the color of a tropical ocean, and her hair is too gold, too bright, not the soft sheen of moonlight.

When I don’t react, she pulls back, expression hardening a fraction, and taps her long red nails against the wooden tabletop. “I saw Katherine last week.”

“Did you?” I keep my tone flat, hoping, for her sake, that she gets the hint.

“She looks good.”

I don’t answer. Apparently, Gemma’s emotional IQ is on the lower end.

“I told her that too. She didn’t return the sentiment.” Her laugh lacks humor. “You’d think she’d be less catty. You’ve been divorced over a decade, for fuck’s sake.”

My next sip of whiskey goes down harshly. I’ve wanted nothing to do with Katherine since our divorce, but that hasn’t stopped her from periodically trying to rekindle our relationship.

That’s never going to happen.

“Apparently she’s dating Roger Haverscombe.”

That gets my attention. Jaw locked, I turn to look at her. “Is she now?”

Obviously happy to have finally gotten a reaction from me, she smiles and tosses back her hair, exposing her long, elegant neck. “She kept saying Haverscombe Industries is going to be the next big thing in luxury real estate development.”

I snort. Katherine always did want to be with the top dog. I guess she hasn’t realized yet that Roger is never going to be that man.

I drain the rest of my whiskey and set the glass on the table with a thump.

“Mmm, all done?” She strokes her hand over my dick. “I can’t wait to get you alone. I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Maybe she would. But my body isn’t the least bit interested in what she’s offering. Not even when I twist my hand in her hair and pull her head back, making her gasp. Her lips part and her pupils dilate, and still nothing.

Because all I can see is Chloe. Chloe’s lips parted, waiting for mine. Chloe’s eyes begging me to touch her, Chloe’s hair gripped in my fist.

Fuck .

I let Gemma go, along with the notion of fucking my assistant out of my system. At least for tonight. At least with Gemma.

“I’m sorry, but tonight’s not going to work out. I have to get back to the office.”

She jerks back, eyes wide. “What? You invited me here, and now you’re going back to your office?”

I pin her with my gaze. “I am. I’m sorry if that upsets you. That wasn’t my intention. I’ll call the concierge at the Manhattan King International and tell them to reserve a suite in your name. Room Service is on me.”

“And if I invite someone to join me?” She challenges me archly.

Standing, I adjust my cuffs. “Tell him the steak provolone is exquisite.”

As I turn, I pull out my phone and text Phillip. He’s parked only a block away, so within minutes, I’m sliding into the back seat.

“Where to, Mr. King?”

I consider going back to the office, but for once, losing myself in work doesn’t appeal to me. “Take me home, Phillip.”

“You are full of surprises these days.”

“Surprises?”

He chuckles. “Pizza, donuts, leaving your date early. Not to mention going home instead of to the office. What’s next?”

I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. “No more surprises.”

And no more letting Chloe get under my skin.

I mean it. All of it. Until I’m in my shower again, this time washing off the floral scent of Gemma’s perfume. There’s no stopping the fantasy that hits me, the one where it’s Chloe’s scent on my skin instead.

Just that is enough to have my dick swelling.

Just this once .

I wrap my fingers around my shaft and grip hard. When I close my eyes, I picture her on her knees in front of me. The water would make her pale blond hair slide like a silk ribbon down the smooth skin of her back. Her long lashes would be wet and spiked as she looked up at me, those ocean eyes of hers full of need.

That’s all it takes to make me harder than I’ve been in as long as I can remember. When the image of the water running over her full breasts, nipples hard and begging for my touch hits me, my balls draw up tight. And the thought of using my thumb to press past her bee-stung lips and tug her jaw open for me? Fuck, it makes my whole body go rigid.

My breathing is harsh, my blood pounding in my ears. With one hand braced on the wall of the shower, I work my dick harder, faster, heat searing up my spine. In my mind I tell her to give me her tongue, and in response, her pupils flare with desire.

That’s all I need. My balls contract, my abs spasm, and my cock jerks in my hand as I pump out my release in harsh, wrenching spurts, painting the tiled floor of my shower. My thighs are shaking by the time it’s over. Holy fuck. I’ve never come that hard just from fucking my own hand.

Head lowered, I let the hot water wash over me—let it wash away the evidence of my misdeed.

Even as my breathing slows, my fingers curl into fists. That’s the one and only time I’ll let myself imagine Chloe when I come.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway, even if, deep down, I worry I’ve already lost my footing on that slippery slope.