Page 66 of Guarded King

Ah, yes. The car ride back from the meeting with Haverscombe. Her tone is light, thank fuck, as if she’s using the memory to steer the conversation away from talk of my family.

“We have.” I arch a brow at her. “I believe we agreed to disagree.”

She laughs, and the sound goes straight to my gut. “Something like that.” Yawning, she lifts her arms above her head and stretches.

The move causes her breasts to press against the fabric of her sweatshirt, and the hem rises just enough to reveal a sliver of creamy skin. Skin that my fingers itch to stroke. I grit my teeth. All too conscious of the bedroom at the back of the plane.

“I think I might be able to get some sleep,” she says, poking at the arm of the chair she’s sitting in. “These recline, don’t they?”

“They do, but you’re better off lying down in a real bed. There’s one back there,” I say, jerking my chin in the direction of the bedroom.

Her eyes widen. “There is?”

“A big, comfortable one,” I tell her, fighting a smirk at the awe in her expression. “You should go lie down. Get some decent rest. We’ll hit the ground running. You won’t be able to give in to jet lag.”

She shakes her head. “Then you should be the one to use the bed. I’m happy to sleep here.”

“That’s not going to happen. I doubt I’ll sleep more than a few hours anyway. I can work out here and grab a quick nap before we land.”

“Roman, I’m your assistant. I can’t sleep in your bed.”

She didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but her words have my mind imagining all the things she could do in my bed that don’t involve sleeping.

By the way her cheeks flush, her mind obviously went to the same place. “I mean, you’re the CEO. It’s your plane. You should have the bed.”

I’m still caught up in the forbidden images her words have conjured. If I don’t put some space between us now, there’s a chance I’ll do something we’ll both regret. Leaning forward, I let my expression turn serious. “Chloe. If you don’t climb into my bed of your own free will. I’ll throw you over my shoulder and put you in there myself.”

Her lips part, then she swallows hard. Fuck. That only created more vivid images. “And if I try to escape?” Her voice is soft and husky.

We’re skirting a line that’s already too fuzzy. I don’t know whether it’s good or bad that I’m not the only one that’s struggling to remember why this is a terrible idea.

I can’t help but glance at her mouth before I force myself to look her in the eye. “I might just have to tie you down.” The mental image is enough to send a lick of fire blazing through me.

With a ragged breath, she closes her eyes, her lashes dark against her flushed cheeks. When she pushes out of her chair, her nipples have stiffened to hard little points, clearly visible through her sweatshirt, and all I can think about is tasting them.

“I appreciate you letting me take the bed,” she says, her voice slightly uneven. “I think I could use the rest.”

I nod, my muscles tight with the restraint it takes not to reach out and drag her to me. It’s better for both of us if she’s out of sight for the next few hours. But as she passes me on the way to the back of the plane, I can’t help but clasp her wrist. Her breath catches as she looks down at where I’m touching her.

Not letting myself think too hard about what I’m doing, I stroke her delicate skin with my thumb, relishing the flutter of her pulse. “Sleep well.”

Before she has a chance to respond, I let her go and turn back to my laptop. She hesitates for a moment, frozen beside me, but then, with a jolt, she turns and walks away.

The tension doesn’t leave my body until the door clicks closed behind her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHLOE

Five hours later, I’m groggy and a little out of sorts. The queen-sized bed was incredibly comfortable, and the bedding was cool and soft, but I tossed and turned for quite a while before finally dropping off. Not only because I’m not used to going to sleep so early, but because I was too aware of Roman on the other side of the door. Lying in a luxurious bed, knowing he was so close by, had all those fantasies I’ve been doing my best to suppress swirling around my head.

Not exactly conducive to drifting off.

When I exit the bedroom, I find him typing away on his computer.

“Did you sleep at all?” Guilt gnaws at me. I should have insisted he take the bed.

“I caught a couple of hours.” There isn’t a hint of fatigue shadowing his eyes. Is this man really so used to working through the night? Sophie warned me that he’s a workaholic, and I’ve certainly witnessed his drive, but does he ever take a break? How does a man like Roman relax?