Page 28 of Stolen Temptation (Irish Kings #3)

Kiara

I have to say, for a professional kidnapping operation, the Kings have really nice bathrooms. The water pressure in this shower is everything.

Especially after the day I’ve had.

Getting woken up at the crack of dawn after a crazy night of…firsts.

I shake my head as water sinks into my hair and douses my face. Just thinking about last night with Rory sets me off inside like a sparkler.

I’m the only one you come for?

Just you…

I melt down to a self-conscious squat in the shower, hugging myself tight.

What surprised me most about last night was how intimate everything felt. I don’t know what I expected. Something more clinical? Or instructive?

Definitely not smothering his face with the force of my orgasm after we sixty-nined.

Oh god . I can’t tell whether I want to hide from him for the rest of my days or…

The sensations of his mouth and hands all over me return to my mind in vivid, visceral detail.

The heat that’s been lodged inside me ever since his hands touched me hasn’t subsided for a moment. Not even a little bit.

Even stumbling after Rory through the labyrinth at dawn this morning didn’t dim the fire he set inside me last night.

His fingers and palms. His lips and tongue…

Even in the oppressive steam of this water, I shiver.

And what was with that goodbye earlier? He just stared at me. Couldn’t even bring himself to speak. Rory sure as hell didn’t give me any details about what happens next.

Is there going to be more interrogation? What are the Kings plotting to do with me now? I know they want to hurt Leo. They just need the how. And I understand that they plan to use me to help them figure it out.

What I’m really wondering, crazily, is where things stand with my kidnapper. I cover my face with my hands.

What is wrong with me?

Us messing around didn’t require a big sacrifice on his end. He probably does stuff like that with the women he abducts all the time. Just because last night was special for me doesn’t mean it was special .

Especially not for Rory. But I can’t exactly ask him.

Hey, so how many women have you done like this?

Asking would betray my interest, and this isn’t that kind of relationship.

I’ve been replaying the events of last night in my head over and over, wondering what he thinks about what happened between us. Whether he liked it.

Whether he likes me.

He seemed to last night, with those smoldering eyes and that gentle attention. With the way he focused on pleasuring me like it was his only job in the world.

But then again…if my twenty-four years around mafiosos has taught me anything, overpowering someone isn’t a difficult thing for men to enjoy.

What I really want to know is what it feels like for him.

I still find it kind of impossible to believe that the crazy effect he has on me is something I could have on him. The idea that someone could lose themselves over me, the way I lost myself last night?

All bleary-eyed and entranced, crying and moaning like some kind of lovesick creature…

I squeeze my hands tighter over my face, letting my scalding self-consciousness sear me.

I cannot believe last night happened.

And I also can’t believe how badly I want a sequel…

Several sequels, in fact.

Ugh.

Frustrated, warm, and clean, I stand up straight, turn off the shower, and climb out onto the mat.

Tugging a massive, fluffy towel off a bar, I wrap myself up and disappear for a moment into the plush comfort of this angel-soft fabric swathed around me.

I want to marry this towel.

Great. First I explore myself sexually with a criminal, and now I’m fantasizing about wedding inanimate objects. What’s next?

I pull the bathroom door open and pad out into my room, trying to shake off all the weirdness of today?—

A gasp rips through me, and it takes everything in me not to jump back against the bathroom door.

Rory stands like a statue at my window, his eyes lost beyond the glass, a paper bag suspended from his fist. When he hears my half gasp, half shriek, whatever trance he’s in breaks. His eyes find mine.

Immediately, I feel my cheeks flush. His handsome features mesmerize me once again. Did I really have an orgasm all over that supermodel face? Holy shit.

Rory stares at me, the concentration in his hazel eyes potent and heavy on my skin. Slowly, he holds up the bag swaying from his fingertips.

Am I supposed to know what’s inside it?

Please don’t let it be torture tools.

My mouth won’t move, my body still in fight-or-flight mode.

Undeterred, Rory starts to empty the contents of the paper bag onto the bed.

First comes a sketchbook. Then a watercolor palette, a set of oil paints, a few small canvases, and even an expensive brush set.

My heart batters my ribs. Somehow, I’m even more stunned than I was before. For a few seconds, I’m lost in the maze of what these items mean.

Is Rory telling me that I’m supposed to start painting for the Kings? Now that they know I’m Libertas and the paintings I make sell for millions of dollars, they’ve decided to keep me as their art slave?

My brain races through the possible implications of these supplies as they stare up at me from the duvet, but still…I’m at a complete loss.

Towel wrapped tight around me, I move forward and pick up the canvases.

One by one, my fingers examine every item strewn on the mattress. All the while, Rory’s gaze sears my skin.

The intensity of the moment weighs on me as I face him once again.

He’s giving me that same unflinching gaze from last night…almost as if he refuses to look away from me. Or even blink.

What he’s feeling is a mystery. His emotions seem locked away behind a wall, completely invisible. Alarms ring deep in my chest.

He’s not the same guy from last night. This is a man I should fear.

I tighten my hold on the towel. “Why?” That’s all I can ask.

My captor’s face remains hard and impassive.

Quick enough to be a spasm, he shrugs one shoulder. “I figured you’d need something to do since you’ll be here for a while.”

My heart freezes, then falls. So, they’re keeping me.

But oddly, I don’t feel as terrified as I should. If the Kings are keeping me, and their ferocious reputation is warranted, then at least I’ll stay out of Leo’s hands for a while.

And that’s a great thing.

Attempting to maintain my composure, I straighten my spine and fix my eyes on his despite what it does to the butterflies in my stomach.

“What does your family plan to do with me?”

Rory’s expression becomes cloudy, conflicted , but the hardness in his eyes doesn’t scare me. “Lots of options on the table, but until something’s been decided, you might as well make good use of your time here.” He gestures to the supplies.

A vice grip squeezes my lungs. “You mean they want to make good use of me.”

Rory doesn’t respond. Everything in me wants to retreat to the bathroom and slam the door in his face, but my feet are sealed to the spot.

Frustration and betrayal rear up inside me like a bear about to attack.

After sharing how the De Lucas used my mom and me for all those years, he’s really going to tell me the Kings plan to do the same?

“I won’t do it.” With difficulty, I set my jaw. “I will not paint for the Kings. My days of being used as an art slave are over, okay? I’d rather die than brush another stroke onto a canvas just to make you or your mafia richer. Forget it.”

Rory gives me a blank stare, not a hint of anger. He almost looks confused. His strange, unsettling aura dissipates. “Kiara, all of that is for you.”

I blink. “What?”

“I’m not asking you to create a Libertas masterpiece for us.” He shoves the words out. “Do whatever you want with those paints.”

“You…” My brain quits on me the same moment my lungs forget how to breathe. Then realization hits me like a pie in the face. “You bought these for me?”

The last man to bring me art supplies was Enzo De Luca. My father.

I know what it means for a mafioso to bring me art supplies. It means expensive shoes tromping into my room and a haphazard collection of supplies being thrown at me unless I’m quick enough to catch them.

But this isn’t that. Painting supplies aren’t being forced on me. No one’s going to snatch away my creation once it’s beautiful enough to be sold.

Rory…he brought me expensive, gorgeous, high-quality stuff.

Just because.

Things you only get if you roam the aisles of a professional art supply store.

If what he’s saying is true, and he really got all of this just for me, and for nothing and no one else, then…

This is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing any man’s ever done for me.

Rory studies me with his eyes, as though he’s examining the various dimensions of this moment too. He speaks, drawing my gaze down to that mouth I want on me again. And again.

“So…paint. If you want. It’s better than trying to escape out the window.” He winks. “Because we know how that turned out last time.”

His ribbing makes both of us smile a little, like this entire situation is our own private joke and not the brutal reality of our lives.

Rory extracts one final item from the bag. A white cardboard box. “Here.”

Cautiously, I open the lid. My heart swells to twice its normal size. “You bought me cupcakes?” I gape at the colorful desserts until I’m sure I won’t cry before glancing up. “Thank you.”

Whatever he reads in my expression causes him to clear his throat. His voice becomes gruff. “You need anything else, let me know.”

His gaze drops from mine to the towel covering me.

I’m not imagining the way he swallows, that thick, sexy knot in his neck bobbing up and down.

The corresponding pulse between my legs is so overpowering, I almost lose my balance even though I’m standing completely still.

Okay.

So, there’s no way to ignore or deny how much I want him.

Not at all.

Five minutes ago, I was in control. His unanticipated thoughtfulness shifted things, and now I’m seconds away from dropping my towel in front of this dangerous yet stunning man.

I glance at the art supplies one more time, and that’s when I know how sure and serious I am about this. Despite everything Rory’s said and done to me…despite how rigid and violent he can be…there’s something else inside him too.

Something that brought me art supplies.

That bought me cupcakes.

That wants me and sees me as I’ve never been seen before. And whatever it is, it’s waking me up.

I feel electric.

Alive. Because of him.

I try to tame my heart’s frantic beat. My brain feels like its short-circuiting.

Besides my mom, no one has ever given me spontaneous gifts before.

I’m close to whipping off my towel and jumping him, but he’s acting antsy and glancing at the door like he wants to bolt. My burgeoning self-confidence won’t survive a rejection, so instead of tackling him, I rise up on my toes and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “That was very sweet of you.”

He goes statue-still. Then, after mumbling, “you’re welcome,” he tells me he has to be somewhere and leaves.

His hasty retreat steals a little of my joy. Instead of allowing my mind to run wild with conjecture, I choose to focus on the positive.

I might still be a prisoner, but now I’m a prisoner with art supplies. And cupcakes.

Choosing one with yellow frosting labeled chocolate chip banana , I sink my teeth in and moan.

So. Good. After one more bite, I flip open the sketchbook and begin to draw.

Every day for the next two weeks, Rory stops by in the evening with cupcakes, always from a new location. At my insistence, he brings a knife so I can cut them in half and share.

We critique each one and rank them. Once we finish, Rory and I talk.

I find stories and anecdotes to share—mostly involving my mother, though some involve Mae too—and he returns the favor by feeding me tidbits about his own life.

He talks a lot about his three best friends and tells me about some of their various exploits.

I learn that Cian was a ladies man before his engagement, Darren has an alarming affinity for fire and explosives, and Finn grew darker after his first wife’s murder.

Speaking of Finn…he visited at one point, folded his arms, and told me to prove I was Libertas. I was more than happy to wipe the suspicion off his glowering face by whipping up a quick ode to The Emperor’s New Clothes . Was it my fault if the emperor resembled Finn?

For a second, I worried I went too far, so I was surprised when his lips twitched before he stalked out.

The day I tell Rory the story about how Leo once locked me in a closet overnight when I was five—using a fake name, of course—a thundercloud descends on his face.

After threatening to disembowel the culprit, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me for the first time since we hooked up.

Before things can get too heated, he groans and leaves again.

He kisses me again every day after that, but to my growing dismay, he continues to pull away as soon as our embrace starts to get out of control.

By the end of the second week, I’m not sure what’s holding him back. Only that my hormones are raging out of control.

Rejection be damned. If I want this physical relationship to progress any further, it’s clear that I need to take matters into my own hands.

That evening, I shower shortly before he arrives. When he knocks and enters, I’m once again only wearing a towel.

His eyes linger on the naked skin above the fabric. They fixate on my fingers as I fidget with the tucked in edge.

I draw in a deep breath for courage. He watches the rise and fall of my chest like a starving man.

Before I get a chance to proposition him, he drags his teeth over his lower lip. “I had a bad day today.”

At his husky tone, goosebumps erupt over my skin. “What’s wrong?” I whisper, unable to take my eyes off his gorgeous face.

His eyes hood. “I didn’t get to spend it with you.”

My heart shoots off a launch pad. I’m exploding inside.

This is so happening.

“Rory…” I lick my lips. “Turn off the security cameras in here.”