Page 1 of Tempting Kat (Lust & Luxury #2)

Conrad

I 'm halfway through a bourbon when she walks in, and my cock immediately perks up like it's got a fucking radar for trouble.

Katarina goddamn DeLuca. Twenty-four years old, five-foot-nothing, and carrying the kind of curves that make my hands itch to grab.

Santiago slides another drink in front of me without me having to ask.

“You're gonna need it,” Santiago mutters, nodding toward Kat as she dumps her bag behind the bar.

“Fuck.” I down half the fresh bourbon in one swallow, letting it burn all the way down. My laptop screen's gone dark, the contracts I was reviewing forgotten.

Those cut-off shorts might as well be painted on her ass, and that fucking t-shirt—Christ. It's tied up under her tits, shredded across the chest like she got into a fight with a cheetah, and it's obvious she's not wearing a bra.

I can see the dark shadows of her nipples through the rips, and my mouth goes dry.

I take another sip, letting the burn distract me from the hard-on pressing against my zipper. Six months I've been coming here to escape. Six months of torture watching her flirt and smile and bend over the fucking bar to grab bottles, giving everyone a show.

Who the hell let her come to work dressed like that? Oh right. Me. I own this fucking place, and I've never once thought to implement a dress code. Might be time to reconsider that shit.

“Hey, Mr. Mysterious,” she calls out, that smart mouth of hers curving into a smirk. “Ready for something new?”

She knows damn well what I drink. She's playing with me, like she always does. Like she has no fucking idea I could buy and sell her ten times over. Like she hasn't been driving me insane for the past one-hundred-eighty damn days.

“You know what I like,” I reply, my voice dropping an octave.

“Sure do.” She smirks, not moving away. “You gonna sit there all night brooding again, or are you actually gonna talk to someone?”

“I talk when I have something to say.” She has no idea that smart-ass grin is a dare for me. It’s like dangling a carrot in front of me that says, ‘bend me over and fuck the defiance right out of me’.

She laughs, and the sound goes straight to my dick. “Fair enough, old man. Keep your secrets.”

Old man. She loves throwing that in my face. Like I give a fuck. Like it doesn't make me want to bend her over this bar and show her exactly what experience brings to the table.

I mutter under my breath, but she's already sauntering down the bar, hips swaying like she's got a fucking metronome in there.

Santiago drops onto the stool next to me, sliding a foil-wrapped package on a plate across the counter. “Mariana sent this. Said you look too skinny.”

The smell of his wife's carne asada hits me as I unwrap it, making my mouth water. Santiago's already digging into his, grabbing two Modelos from behind the bar.

“Your wife trying to fatten me up?” I ask, but my eyes never leave Katarina as she pours someone's drink at the other end of the bar.

“Someone needs to. You work too much.” Santiago takes a long pull from his beer bottle.

I grunt, shoving a bite of perfectly seasoned meat into my mouth. Kat's laughing at something some college prick said, and my jaw tightens. She's leaning forward, giving him a view I'd kill for. My fingers tighten around my fork.

“You know,” Santiago says casually, “staring holes through that kid’s head won't actually kill him.”

“Not for lack of trying.” I wash down the food with beer, cold and crisp against the heat of the asada.

Kat stretches up to grab a bottle from the top shelf, her shirt riding up to expose a strip of skin above those shorts. There's a tiny tattoo there, just above her hipbone. I want to trace it with my tongue.

“You gonna do something about this situation, or just torture yourself?” Santiago asks through a mouthful of food.

I tear my eyes away from her long enough to glare at him. “There's no situation.”

“Right.” He snorts. “And I'm the fucking Pope.”

Kat's mixing drinks now, her small hands moving fast, bangles jingling on her wrists. Every movement is fluid because she’s a damn good bartender. She pours, shakes, stirs. I imagine those hands on my chest, my stomach, wrapping around my cock.

“She's too young,” I say, more to myself than Santiago.

“She's grown.” Santiago shrugs. “And she looks at you too, when you're not watching.”

That gets my attention. “Bullshit.”

“I don't lie, hermano.” He takes another bite. “But you're the boss. Your call.”

I turn back to watch her. She's wiping down the bar now, bending over in a way that makes my throat tight. Her hair falls forward, and she tucks it behind her ear with a casual flick. I want to fist my hand in it, pull her head back, expose her throat.

Kat glances our way, catches me watching. Instead of looking away, she holds my gaze, one eyebrow raised in challenge. Then she fucking winks before turning back to her customers.

“You could fire her,” Santiago suggests, following my gaze. “Then get her out of your system.”

“And then what?” I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Never see her again? Fuck that.”

Kat bends down to grab something from under the bar, and I nearly choke on my food. Those shorts are practically swallowing her ass cheeks, and I can make out the lace edge of whatever underwear she's wearing.

“You're forty-four, man.” Santiago shakes his head. “She's?—”

“I know exactly how old she is.” My voice comes out harder than intended. “I've seen her file.”

“She's gonna be trouble for you,” Santiago says, taking another bite.

“She already is.” I drain half my beer, trying to cool the heat building inside me. “That's the goddamn problem.”

Santiago claps me on the back, jarring me from my thoughts. “Gotta check on the delivery in the back. New tequila shipment came in today.” He slides off the stool, pointing at my half-eaten food. “Finish that. Mariana will ask.”

Now I'm alone with my food and my hard-on, watching Kat work the bar like she owns the place. The way she moves, confident and casual, makes me want to see if she'd be that confident riding my cock.

I force myself to look down at my phone, scrolling through emails I've already read. Anything to stop staring at her like some fucking creep. It's not working.

When I look up, she's standing right in front of me, those green eyes sparkling.

“Mm,” she says, leaning over the bar, “your meat smells so good.”

My brain short-circuits, immediately thinking she's talking about me. Like she can smell my want for her, the way I've been hard since she walked in.

“What?” I manage, my voice rough.

She points at my plate, her lips quirking up. “Your meat,” she says, drawing out the words. “Your meat smells good.”

I glance down at the remains of the carne asada, then back at her face. She's smirking, fully aware of where my mind went.

“You want a taste?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Her eyebrows shoot up, and for a second, I think I've gone too far. Then she leans in closer, her tits nearly spilling out of the ripped shirt.

“Depends on what you're offering, Mr. Mysterious.”

I spear a piece of meat with my fork and hold it out to her. Her eyes never leave mine as she leans forward, wrapping those plush lips around the tines. She pulls back slowly, a small moan escaping as she chews.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

“Santiago's wife make that?” She licks her lips, and I track the movement of her tongue like it's the last drop of water in a desert.

“Yeah.”

“Lucky you.” She reaches for my beer, takes a sip from my bottle. Her lipstick leaves a mark on the glass. “I'm starving. Been too busy to eat.”

“Take it,” I push the plate toward her. “I'm done.”

“You sure?” She's already picking up my fork. “I don't want to take food from a hungry man.”

“You should always make time to eat,” I growl, watching her shovel another bite into her mouth. “Skipping meals isn't smart.”

She rolls her eyes, chewing slowly. “Yes, Daddy,” she says after swallowing, the word making my cock twitch painfully against my zipper. “Got any other life advice for me?”

“You need to fuel your body properly,” I continue, sounding like a fucking health coach when what I really want to say is how I'd like to fuel her body with my dick. “Can't run on empty.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, clearly not giving a shit about my lecture as she takes another bite.

Behind her, two college dickheads at the end of the bar are practically drooling, eyes glued to her ass as she leans over my plate. One elbows the other, whispering something that makes them both snicker.

“Hey, sweetheart!” one of them calls out, waving an empty glass. “When you're done there, we could use a refill!”

My jaw clenches so hard I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. I'm about to stand up when Kat raises one finger without even turning around—a silent “wait your fucking turn” that makes me want to applaud.

“The human body needs protein,” I continue, just to keep my mouth occupied so I don't tell those fuckers to get lost. “Especially with the hours you work.”

She nods absently, focused entirely on the food. The way she's savoring each bite, eyes half-closed in pleasure, has me imagining that same expression with my hand between her thighs.

“Hey, bartender!” the second frat boy calls. “Some service over here!”

Kat doesn't even flinch, just keeps eating, her tongue darting out to catch a bit of sauce on her lower lip. I'm mesmerized by that small pink flick, imagining it elsewhere.

“These assholes bothering you?” I ask quietly, nodding toward the increasingly agitated college boys.

She shrugs, still chewing. “Nothing I can't handle. I'm used to entitled pricks.” Her eyes flick up to meet mine. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“Of course,” I echo, not sure if I've just been insulted or complimented.

“Yo, hot stuff!” The first guy is standing now, waving his wallet. “I'll make it worth your while!”

Kat takes her sweet time, finishing the last bite and licking the fork clean in a way that has my cock straining against my fly. She wipes her mouth delicately with a napkin, then finally turns to face the impatient assholes.

“I'll be with you when I'm ready,” she says, voice cool but firm. “And if you call me anything but 'bartender' again, you're out.”

The frat boys look stunned, like they can't believe a bartender just told them to shut their mouths. One of them—the louder asshole with the popped collar—opens his mouth like he's about to argue, but his buddy grabs his arm.

“Sorry,” the second one says, not sounding sorry at all. “We just want our drinks.”

Kat slides my empty plate aside and leans in close enough that I can smell her—something sweet like pineapple.

“Thanks again for sharing your tasty meat,” she says with a wink before sauntering off to deal with the college fucks.

My cock is throbbing so hard it's painful. I watch her hips sway as she approaches them, and all I can think about is grabbing her by that hair, dragging her into the back office, and shoving my cock down her throat until she gags and calls me Daddy again.

I flip open my laptop instead, pulling up the security system I had installed when I bought this place.

The bar has sixteen cameras covering every angle.

I click through until I find the one with the best view of our college boys, their faces clearly visible as they leer at Kat while she makes their drinks.

I take screen grabs of both of them, making sure to get clean shots of their faces. I add another of the taller one sliding his hand across the bar to “accidentally” touch Kat's arm. She jerks away but keeps her professional smile plastered on.

That's the last fucking time they'll touch her.

I attach the images to an email for Santiago.

These two are banned after tonight. Make sure the door staff has their faces memorized.

I hit send just as Kat slams down their drinks, harder than necessary. Some of the liquid sloshes over the rim, but she doesn't apologize. She just holds out her hand for payment, and I can see the tight set of her shoulders even from here.

“You sure I can't get your number?” the taller one asks, holding his credit card just out of her reach.

I'm about to get up and knock his teeth down his throat when Santiago appears behind him, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Everything okay here, Kat?” he asks, his voice pleasant, but his eyes hard.

She nods, snatching the card from the asshole's hand. “Just fine, Santi. These gentlemen were just paying their tab and heading out.”

“We just got here,” the shorter one protests.

Santiago's smile doesn't reach his eyes. “And now you're leaving. Funny how that works.”

I close my laptop, satisfaction warming my chest as I watch the color drain from their faces. Santiago might look like a teddy bear, but he spent fifteen years as a bouncer before I hired him. He knows how to handle dickheads.

What I really want to do is drag them out by their necks myself. I want to throw them into the street and make them understand what happens when they disrespect what's mine.

Except she's not mine.

Not yet.

But I’m going to sink my teeth or tongue into that kitty kat one way or another.