Page 25 of Tempting Kat (Lust & Luxury #2)

Conrad

T he moment the alert pings on my phone that they've passed through the main gate, I'm moving. I don't want to give her time to think.

I step out onto the wide stone porch of my home, leaning against one of the columns as the car winds up the long driveway. My pulse quickens at the thought of seeing her again, this wild thing I can't seem to control no matter how hard I try. And fuck, do I try.

The black Bentley pulls to a stop, and I can see her silhouette through the tinted windows. She's not moving. Henry gets out first, his face carefully neutral as he opens the rear passenger door.

“What the actual fuck is this?” Katarina's voice cuts through the evening air as she emerges from the car, eyes blazing as they lock onto me. “This isn't the Lovelace.”

I can't help the smirk that forms on my lips. “No, it isn’t.”

“I didn't agree to this,” she snaps, standing her ground beside the car. The setting sun catches in her hair, turning the edges to fire. “Henry, take me to the hotel. Now.”

Henry glances at me, and I give him a slight nod. “The bags, Henry. Then you're dismissed for the evening.”

“Yes, sir.” He moves to the trunk, deliberately avoiding Katarina's death glare.

“The hotel is fine, but there's not enough room,” I say, pushing off the column and walking toward her.

Katarina crosses her arms over her chest, her jaw set in that stubborn way that makes me want to bite it. “Not enough room? It’s a fucking five-star hotel, Conrad.”

I stop a few feet from her, close enough to catch her scent but not so close that she feels cornered. She's like a wild animal sometimes—push too hard and she bolts.

“You need space, Katarina. Real space.” I gesture to the house behind me—my fortress, my sanctuary that I've never invited anyone into before. “Here, you can have multiple rooms.”

Interest flickers across her face.

“Your own office,” I continue, watching her carefully. Her eyes widen slightly at that. Gotcha. “You need somewhere to work on your designs, right? Something better than a hotel desk.”

Her lips part slightly, and I know I've found my way in. She might not care about luxury, but she cares about her work.

“And a kitchen,” I add. “If you want something at three in the morning, you don't have to call room service. Just go downstairs and make it or grab it.”

I watch the struggle play out on her face. Her need for independence wrestling with the practical benefits I'm offering. Her fingers tap against her arm, and I know I've got her.

“Fine,” she finally says with a dramatic eye roll. “But just until my apartment is fixed.”

I nod, not bothering to hide my satisfaction. Let her think this is temporary. I'll change her mind soon enough.

Henry sets her bags down near the entrance and gives me a knowing look before nodding his goodbye. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No, Henry. Thank you. Take tomorrow morning off.”

As Henry drives away, I turn my attention back to Katarina. She's eyeing the house like it might bite her, and I suppress a smile.

“Come on,” I say, gesturing toward the door. “I'll show you around.”

She hesitates for just a moment before following me inside, her footsteps echoing on the marble floor of the foyer. I watch her take in the high ceilings, the artwork, and the clean lines of my home.

“Jesus,” she mutters. “This place is fucking massive.”

“It suits my needs,” I reply, leading her through the main living area. “Kitchen's through there. Living room, obviously. Guest rooms upstairs. My office is down that hall, and my bedroom is?—”

“Let me guess, the entire third floor?” she interrupts, sarcasm dripping from every word.

I smirk. “Just half of it. The rest is a gym and sauna.”

“Of course it is.” She rolls her eyes again, but I can see the curiosity in them as she takes everything in.

I lead her down a corridor, watching her reaction from the corner of my eye. She's trying so hard not to look impressed, but her widening eyes give her away.

Stopping at a closed door at the end of the hallway, I turn to face her.

“This,” I say, pushing the door open, “is for you.”

She freezes just inside the doorway, and I know I've got her.

The office is exactly what she needs—what I knew she would need.

Floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall, flooding the space with natural light.

A massive desk made of reclaimed wood, smooth and rich with character.

A high-end computer with dual monitors. Whiteboards covering another wall, empty and waiting for her ideas.

Shelves filled with art supplies—pencils, markers, sketchbooks, everything an artist could want.

“What the fuck?” she whispers, taking a tentative step further into the room. Her fingers trail over the desk almost reverently. “This is...”

“I had it done how I thought you might like it,” I say, leaning against the doorframe, watching her. “But if there's something you need, and it's not here, tell me. If there's something you don’t want in here, tell me I’ll have it taken out.”

She turns to me, her green eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait, what? You had this done for me? This isn't just…how your office normally looks?”

I chuckle, watching her face as she processes what I've done. The confusion there, the struggle between being impressed and wanting to maintain her stubborn independence. It's fucking delicious.

“No, Katarina, it is not.” I push off from the doorframe and step further into the room. “While you were off running around town with Henry making me insanely jealous, I was here putting this all together.”

Her mouth drops open slightly. “You were jealous? Of Henry?”

“Of anyone who gets to spend time with you when I can't,” I admit, moving closer to her. “The thought of you with him all day, shopping, laughing...it drove me fucking crazy.”

She swallows hard, her eyes darting around the room before landing back on me. “So you just...created an entire art studio for me?”

“Office,” I correct her, though we both know it's more than that. “I had this room gutted and redone. Called in some favors to get it done quickly.”

“But why?” Her voice is softer now, uncertain. I can see her walls starting to crack.

I close the distance between us, standing close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her body. “Because I want you here. With me. And I want you to have what you need.”

She stares up at me, those green eyes searching my face like she's trying to solve a puzzle. “I don't understand you.”

“What's to understand?” I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her skin is warm under my fingers. “I see something I want, I make it happen.”

She's staring at me like she doesn't quite believe me, and it twists something deep in my chest. I've spent my entire fucking life taking what I want, never apologizing for it, never second-guessing myself. But with Katarina, I find myself wanting to explain, to make her understand.

“You're not used to people doing things for you, are you?” I ask, watching her face carefully. There's a flicker of vulnerability she quickly masks.

“I don't need people to do things for me,” she says, but there's less bite in her words than usual. “I take care of myself. It’s just always been me and my sister.”

“I know you do.” I take her hand, half-expecting her to pull away. She doesn't. “That's what makes you so fucking incredible, Katarina. You've been fighting your whole life, haven't you?”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “What's your point?”

“My point is that you don't have to fight me.” I lift her hand and press my lips to her knuckles, watching her pupils dilate. “You can let someone take care of you without losing who you are.”

She snorts, but I feel the slight tremor in her fingers. “Is that what this is? Taking care of me?”

“It's what I want to do.” I don't release her hand, instead using it to pull her closer. “You deserve good things, Katarina. You deserve to be treated like the goddamn queen you are.”

“I'm not?—”

“You are,” I cut her off, my voice dropping lower. “And I want to be the man who shows you that. Who gives you everything you've never let yourself have.”

She shifts uncomfortably, her eyes darting away from mine. I recognize the look. I’ve had it myself before. She's not used to kindness without strings attached. Not used to someone giving without demanding something in return.

“Come on,” I say, taking a step back to give her space. “I'll show you where Henry put your things.”

Relief flashes across her face at the change of subject. She follows me out of the office and up the stairs, her footsteps light behind me.

“This place is like a fucking museum,” she mutters as we pass an original Basquiat on the wall. “Do you actually live here or just store expensive shit?”

I chuckle. “I live here. And yes, I like expensive shit.”

We head down the hallway to the main suite, pushing open the double doors. Her steps falter as she takes in the king-sized bed, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sitting area with leather chairs.

“This looks awfully a lot like your room,” she says, suspicion creeping into her voice.

“It is.” I watch her face, enjoying the way her eyebrows draw together when she's irritated.

“All this damn house and there's not a guest bedroom?” She plants her hands on her hips, glaring at me.

“Oh, don't be so obtuse, Katarina.” I smirk, pointing toward the walk-in closet. “Your stuff is in there.”

She narrows her eyes at me before stalking toward the closet door. I count down in my head—three, two, one...

“CONRAD GALLO, WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS?” Her voice echoes through the bedroom, making me laugh.

I follow her into the closet, leaning against the doorframe as she stands amid rows of designer clothes, shoes, and accessories—all in her size, all carefully selected to match her style but with quality she'd never buy for herself.

“You donated all the things you bought,” I say with a shrug. “So I decided to go ahead and take over replacing all your lost clothes.”