Page 23 of Tempting Kat (Lust & Luxury #2)

Katarina

I wake up with a jolt, my heart hammering against my ribs as reality crashes over me like a bucket of ice water. Holy fucking shit. I just fucked Conrad Gallo. My boss. My Mr. Mysterious.

The expensive sheets pool around my waist as reality crashes over me like I just jumped into an ice bath. Sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, casting a stripe of gold across the rumpled bedding.

Conrad's still asleep beside me, one muscular arm flung across the space where my body was moments ago. His face is softer in sleep, the perpetual scowl replaced by something almost peaceful.

My brain feels like it's short-circuiting as I try to process the last twenty-four hours. Conrad is Mr. Gloryhole from Infinity. He’s my fucking boss, owns the building I live in now, spanked me and then fucked me until I couldn't remember my own name.

And then had the audacity to wash my hair and order room service like some kind of possessive sugar daddy from hell.

Reality crashes down even harder when I remember almost everything I own is gone. My clothes, my art supplies, my bed. The only thing I managed to save was my laptop, thank fuck, but everything else? Destroyed.

I run my hands through my tangled hair, trying to breathe through the panic rising in my chest.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

What the hell am I supposed to do now? I have literally nothing but the clothes I wore to work yesterday, which are probably still damp and stinking of beer. I haven't been paid by Vivian yet, and all I have are my tips from last night.

I need to go shopping. I need underwear, clothes, a toothbrush—basic human necessities. I need to check my email and see if any of my clients have work for me. I need to?—

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Conrad's deep voice rumbles from beside me, making me jump.

I turn to find him watching me through heavy-lidded eyes, his dark gaze intense even though he's barely awake. He reaches out, his thumb smoothing over the wrinkle I didn't even realize had formed between my eyebrows.

“I'm not thinking loudly,” I snap, pulling away from his touch. “I'm having a completely justified panic attack because my entire life is in shambles.”

He props himself up on one elbow; the sheet sliding down to reveal his tattooed chest. I definitely did not notice that last night. “Explain.”

I huff out a breath, crossing my arms over my chest and belatedly realizing I'm still completely naked. I grab the sheet, yanking it up to cover myself.

“Stop huffing,” he says with a low chuckle that sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine.

“I'll huff if I want to, Conrad! My apartment is flooded, all my stuff is ruined, I haven't been paid yet, and all I have is my laptop, and I just fucking feel defeated.”

Conrad sighs, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. The movement makes his muscles flex, and I hate that I notice.

“Hold that thought,” he says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up in one fluid motion.

Holy shit. He's completely naked, and in the morning light, I can see every inch of him.

His broad shoulders taper down to a narrow waist. His ass is firm and tight, and his cock—Jesus Christ, even soft it hangs thick and heavy against his thigh.

Last night wasn't just some sex-drunk hallucination. The man is well-endowed.

I can't tear my eyes away as he walks across the room, completely comfortable in his nudity. The tattoos I glimpsed extend across his back and down one arm—intricate designs in black ink that somehow make him look even more intimidating.

He picks up his phone from the nightstand, taps at the screen for a few seconds, then tosses it back down. Without a word, he walks to the table where his discarded pants are draped over a chair. He digs in the pocket and pulls out a sleek leather wallet.

My brain is still short-circuiting at the casual display of his naked body when he turns and walks back toward me. His cock sways slightly with each step, and I force myself to look up at his face instead.

Conrad squats down next to the bed, bringing himself to my eye level. His forearms rest on the mattress, and between two fingers, he holds out a black credit card. It catches the morning light, gleaming like some kind of forbidden temptation.

“I just texted Vivian,” he says, his voice still rough with sleep. “I told her to release your money today. But you don't need it.”

I stare at the card, then back at his face. “What?”

“Take it.” He pushes the card closer to me. “Buy whatever you need. Clothes, shoes, art supplies—everything. I don't care how much you spend.”

I don't reach for the card. “I can't accept that.”

“You can, and you will.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “You need things, Katarina. I have money, you’re my girl. It’s simple.”

“Nothing about this is simple,” I mutter, but my eyes keep drifting back to the card.

“Buy anything you want. Anything you need,” he repeats, still holding the card out to me.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, my voice smaller than I intended.

His dark eyes hold mine. “Because I want to. Because I can. Because seeing you happy does something to me that I can't fucking explain.”

I tentatively reach out and take the card from his fingers.

“I'll pay you back,” I tell him, clutching the card like it might burn me. “Once I get my shit together and?—”

“Don't fucking insult me,” Conrad growls, standing up to his full height, still gloriously naked and apparently not giving a single fuck about it. “You're not paying me back. That's not how this works.”

I blink up at him, feeling small and vulnerable in the massive bed. “But?—”

“No buts. Spend the damn money, Katarina.” He crosses his arms over his chest, muscles flexing in a way that makes my mouth go dry. “And if you don't spend it, I will. Then you'll be bitching that I bought you the wrong shit anyway, so this way you at least get to pick out everything yourself.”

I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. The man has a point.

“Fine,” I mutter, finally pocketing the card. “But I'm not going overboard.”

Conrad snorts. “Buy whatever the fuck you want. I don't care if you max it out.”

I roll my eyes. “What's the limit on this thing anyway?”

His lips quirk up in a smirk. “There isn't one.”

“I guess it's the least you could do since you've been obsessively stalking me for six months,” I mutter, turning the black card over in my hands.

“I prefer to call it ' observation,'” he says, not even trying to deny it.

“Right. Because that's so much better.” I snort, a sudden thought hitting me that makes me laugh. “You know, it's almost like we've been casually dating for six months without me even knowing it.”

Conrad's eyes gleam. “Well, consider our casual dating now over,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “It's full-on dating or whatever the fuck you want to call it.”

My mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He doesn't even have the decency to look uncertain. “This is happening. You and me.”

I clutch the sheet tighter around me, suddenly feeling exposed despite having this man's cum inside me just hours ago. “You can't just decide that.”

“I just did.” He checks his watch—because of course he's still wearing a watch while being completely naked. “Now, Henry should be here soon with a few things for you to wear so we can go to breakfast and then we'll go shopping.”

“Why the fuck does Henry have women's clothes?” I ask because that man hasn’t said more than ten words to me the few times he’s driven me home.

“Because I told him to pick some things up for you,” Conrad says it like it's the most reasonable thing in the world. “Something to get you through breakfast until we can get your clothes replaced.”

I narrow my eyes. “If Henry brings me tweed or tartan, I'm knocking all of the shit in this suite over.”

Conrad actually laughs at that, a deep rumble that does something weird to my insides. “Duly noted,” he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “But I'm not concerned. Henry has excellent taste.”

I roll my eyes, but I'm secretly relieved. The thought of having to put on my beer-soaked clothes from last night is enough to make me consider Conrad's offer seriously.

“Fine,” I concede, sliding out of bed and wrapping the sheet around me toga-style. “I'll go to breakfast, but I absolutely do not need you breathing down my neck as I shop.” I toss my hair over my shoulder. “So you can go do whatever you do to make money for black cards, and you'll leave me alone.”

The amusement fades from Conrad's face, replaced by something I can't read. He steps closer, his naked body just inches from my sheet-covered one, and searches my face with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, his voice low. “To be left alone?”

There's something in his tone that makes me hesitate. A vulnerability I didn't expect from a man who spanked me and then ordered me around like he owned me just hours ago.

“I—” I start, then stop, not sure what I want to say.

Conrad's eyes never leave mine, and I feel like he's seeing straight through all my bullshit. The silence stretches between us, heavy with something I'm not ready to name.

A sharp knock at the door saves me from having to answer.

“That’s Henry,” Conrad says, finally breaking eye contact and striding across the room, butt-ass naked. I know he’s not about to answer this door with his dick swinging.

“Jesus Christ, put some pants on!” I hiss, clutching my sheet tighter.

He shoots me an amused look over his shoulder. “He's seen worse.”

I duck into the bathroom as Conrad opens the door, not wanting to know what “worse” things Henry has witnessed.

Five minutes later, I hear him through the door that Henry is gone and I can come out now. Conrad says he checked, and there’s not a single piece of tweed or tartan, so all the tables in the room are safe from my wrath.

I roll my eyes as I open the door and walk out because he didn’t need to call me out like that, and he also doesn’t need to be so funny. I need to maintain my distance, and I don’t need him to make me laugh.

“Henry says good morning.”

“I'm sure he does,” I mutter, clutching my sheet tighter as I approach the bag. “Did you at least tip him for having to see your dick at eight am?”

Conrad snorts. “Henry gets paid enough to see whatever the fuck I want him to see.”

A shopping bag is placed in my outstretched hand, and I quickly shut the door again. Inside the bag, I find a black sundress, a matching bra and panty set, and—thank fuck—a toothbrush and travel-sized toiletries.

“That man is a fucking saint,” I mutter to myself as I drop the sheet and start getting dressed.

The dress fits surprisingly well, hugging my curves without being too tight. The underwear is plain but comfortable, and I silently thank Henry for not picking out anything too frilly or revealing. I brush my teeth and attempt to tame my hair, finally giving up and pulling it into a messy bun.

When I look up, Conrad is dressed in dark jeans and a gray t-shirt, and he looks good. Too good.

“How did Henry know my size?”

I hear the humor in his voice before I look up at him, “I told him.”

“And how do you know my size?” I challenge, narrowing my eyes at him.

He shrugs, completely unapologetic. “I pay attention.”

The idea that Conrad has been cataloging details about my body makes heat pool low in my belly, which is fucked up. I should be creeped out, not turned on.

“You are never beating those stalker allegations.”