Guarded King (Empty Kingdom #3)

Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHLOE

T he bar is crowded. But as usual, Roman’s height and presence are enough to quickly clear a space for us, and to summon a bartender. Probably because the bartender is a gorgeous woman whose eyes light up when she spots him.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur. Que désirez-vous boire?”

Roman answers her in French. “Je voudrais un Michel Couvreur, s’il vous pla?t.” Then he turns to me. “How about you? Would you like to try that whiskey now?”

Nose scrunched, I hum. “I’m not sure. Will it really make me sleepy, or is that just the excuse people use to drink whiskey before bed?”

He chuckles. “It doesn’t work for me, but I’m sure it does for some.” Mouth curling into a too-sexy smile that sends a shivery little thrill through me, he rubs his chin. “Why don’t you try some of mine, and then you can decide if you want one of your own?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Roman nods at the bartender, who turns around and pulls a bottle from the top shelf. She pours an inch of amber liquid into the glass and slides it across to him.

Thanking her, he holds the glass out to me. Our fingers brush as I take it from him, the contact eliciting another shiver. Ignoring the sensation, I lift the glass to my nose and sniff, my eyes stinging a little at the potent scent of alcohol.

Unsure, I glance up at him.

The devilish glint in his eyes is a challenge. So though I’ll probably regret it, I take a sip.

As I swallow, I swear my throat closes up. I wince, my eyes watering as I cough and laugh at the same time. I quickly pass the glass back to him. Instead of taking his own sip, he places the drink on the bar, cups my face with both hands, and uses his thumbs to gently stroke the tears from my cheeks.

My laughter dies at the heat of his touch and once more, our gazes clash. His gray eyes stare into mine, then drift to my mouth.

My pulse beats out of rhythm and an instinct I can’t fight has me wetting my lips under the intensity of his regard.

As a muscle leaps in his cheek, he drops his hands, and with a clearing of his throat, he turns and throws back his whiskey.

Even as my heart thumps in my ears, I swallow and try to break the sudden tension. “You make that look so easy.”

He huffs a laugh, and the thick air around us dissipates a little. “Years of practice.”

“So tell me. Do you actually like that stuff, or do you just drink it to be manly?”

He faces me again, resting his elbow on the bar. “Do you think I need a prop to be manly?”

Doing my best to hide my smile, I shake my head. He knows he doesn’t.

“Why don’t you have a brandy instead?” he says. “I think you’ll like it more.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

He signals to the bartender again and when she comes over, he orders another whiskey for himself, and a brandy for me.

When the first taste of the smooth, warm liquid hits, I let out a little sigh of relief.

“Better?” he asks.

Relaxing, I smile up at him. “Better.”

I’m jostled from behind, the move forcing me closer to Roman. As my thigh brushes his, I’m enveloped in the delicious scent of his cologne.

Casually, he lays his arm on the bar behind me, skimming his thumb along the back of my arm. The move is almost protective, enticing me to lean into it. To lean into him . To feel more of his body against mine.

Or over it.

Maybe this brandy wasn’t a good idea. It’s putting all kinds of dangerous thoughts into my head. Thoughts about throwing caution to the wind and touching him, sliding my hands over his chest, pressing my lips to his and finally finding out what it would be like to kiss him.

Every time he looks at me with those wolf-gray eyes of his, I feel breathless. When he touches me, my heart skips a beat. Yes, he’s my boss, but nothing about our interactions tonight has felt like those between a boss and his employee. How could they? Walking around the Louvre, eating dinner in that cozy little bistro, standing here with him now. None of it was required of either of us.

Here, away from New York, away from the King Group, he’s different. Less guarded, more… real. God, what I wouldn’t give to experience the real Roman for just one night. To witness him lose control.

To have the entirety of his intensity focused on me.

“Tell me what you meant when you said life happened.” His low voice breaks into my thoughts.

I blink, my mind struggling to find its way back to reality. When I realize he’s talking about why I don’t paint anymore, I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

He says nothing, but he doesn’t look away either, as if he’s determined to find out.

Steeling myself, I take another sip of my drink. “Mom walked out on us when I was fourteen. Found some guy who promised to give her a more exciting life than the one she’d been living as the mother of a teenager and the wife of an artist. Dad wasn’t in a great place after she left. He’d never been particularly organized, always too busy getting lost in his painting. Then he became a single parent overnight, and he was in shock—we both were. He did his best, but…” I shrug, “He struggled to manage it all.”

“So you took over?” He frowns.

My heart squeezes at the thought of him thinking badly of Dad. “It was just the two of us, and he had to paint to keep money coming in,” I clarify. “But Mom leaving out of the blue like that shook him. He lost his creative spark for a while and sales started to drop off. We didn’t have a safety net, so I got an after-school job to help out and I took over the things he wasn’t so good at, like managing the bills and organizing day-to-day things.”

“And that’s when you gave up on your dream?”

Chest tightening, I shake my head. “That’s not how I think about it. I was a teenager, with a teenager’s dreams. I figured out my priorities earlier than most, that’s all.”

“And what are those?” His tone is laced with a grittiness I don’t understand.

I raise my chin, unsure if he’s judging me. “Having a stable job with a steady income and making sure I can look after the people I love. What’s the point of following your dreams if it means leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces?”

His lips thin. “That explains a lot.”

I search his expression. “What does it explain?”

He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers skimming the sensitive skin of my neck. “Why you’re so mature for your age.”

The heat of his touch sparks a sudden rush of boldness within me. After all that’s happened between us, after the conversation we’ve just had, I’m feeling equal parts vulnerable and reckless. Add in the brandy, his scent, his sheer presence , and I’m riding high on a heady combination of emotions.

I slant my head to the side, my hair sweeping over the bare skin of my arm. “So not too young after all.”

His eyes rake over me, darkening as they go. “You’re still too young.”

My pulse shoots into overdrive. He’s not talking about the job.

“You just said I was mature for my age.”

Gripping my chin, he tilts my face up to his. His scrutiny has warmth blooming in my cheeks. The urge to step into him is a wild beat behind my ribs. To see how he’d respond if I went up on my toes and pressed my mouth to his.

The bar around us fades and a shiver racks through me as I imagine him wrapping my hair in his fist the way he did in the elevator.

In response, that too familiar muscle leaps in his jaw. “Don’t,” he growls.

I deliberately wet my lips, my heartbeat detonating in my ears. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” My voice comes out breathless.

“Like you want me to taste you as much as I fucking want to.”

A tingling sensation rushes through me, my nipples tightening into hard little points. What the hell has gotten into me? Whatever it is, I’m too lost to the moment to care. “What if I do?”

Eyes hooded, he leans in. “You want me to taste you, Chloe?”

Oh god. My core clenches at the dark way he says those words, and I think a little moan escapes me.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” He slips his free hand down my arm to my waist, then lower, curling it around my hip.

He drags his thumb over my lips in a way that, if I still had any lipstick on, would have smeared it. “Is this where you want me to taste you, sweetheart?” Before I can even begin to formulate an answer, he gathers up the hem of my dress until he’s touching bare skin, his palm hot against my thigh, fingers skimming so close to my panties he can probably tell how wet I am right now. “Or is it here?”

“Roman.” I don’t know what I’m pleading for, but my whole body is on fire. I’ve never been so desperate to be touched.

For a second, his eyes flash, his expression turns feral, and both of his hands tighten on me. Then, abruptly, he lets me go and steps back.

The loss is so sudden it causes me to sway.

He turns to face the bar, picks up his whiskey, and downs half of it. “It’s late. You should probably go to bed. We’re leaving early tomorrow.”

My heart lodges itself in my throat. How can he just switch off like that? My body is still humming, the rasp of my dress too much against my sensitized skin. It takes a moment, but finally, reality crashes over me like a wave of icy water. What was I thinking, basically propositioning my boss in the middle of a bar? My boss who’s already made it clear he wants to keep our relationship professional only, despite our obvious mutual attraction.

I should want the same.

My cheeks burn with humiliation. I need to get away. Since he’s given me an out, I take it. “You’re right,” I say, my words stilted. “I’m tired. I’ll see you in the morning, Mr. King.”

His fingers tighten around the glass he’s holding, and his head dips, dark hair hanging over his forehead, but he doesn’t look at me. “Good night, Chloe.”

Blinking back tears, I beat a hasty retreat, pushing through the crowded bar and all but running to the elevators. Once I’m locked inside my suite, I rush out onto the balcony, hoping the fresh night air will cool my hot cheeks.

Pressing myself up against the stone balustrade, I take deep breaths and stare sightlessly at the Eiffel tower glowing in the distance.

I thought getting caught watching him jerk off was embarrassing, but tonight? Blatantly telling him I wanted his mouth on me and being sent away? It’s so much worse.

It was a straight-out rejection, and I have no idea how I’ll face him tomorrow.