Page 33 of Tempting Kat (Lust & Luxury #2)

Katarina

I 've spent three days avoiding Conrad's dick and his fucking baby-making agenda. Three days of slipping out of bed before he wakes up and taking ice-cold showers to keep my traitorous body from caving.

Because fuck him and his arrogant assumption that he can just decide when and how I get knocked up.

My birth control prescription is sitting in my purse, unfilled, like a ticking time bomb. I'm not against having his baby—which is a fucking terrifying realization on its own—but I am against him thinking he can bulldoze me into it just because he wants to plant his flag in my uterus.

This morning, I wake up early, carefully extracting myself from Conrad's possessive grip. His arm is heavy across my waist, his face buried in my hair. He looks younger when he sleeps, less like the ruthless asshole who wants to breed me like a prized mare.

“Where do you think you're going?” His voice is sleep-rough and sexy as fuck.

I freeze, caught in the act. “Bathroom.”

His eyes open, dark and knowing. “Liar.”

“I need to pee, Conrad. Unless you want me to do it right here.”

He smirks, his hand sliding down to cup my ass. “You've been avoiding me.”

“No shit,” I mutter, pulling away from his touch before I can give in to it. “I've been processing.”

“Processing what?” His hand finds my thigh, fingers tracing patterns on my skin. “That I want you to have my baby? That I'm in love with you? That I have a daughter?”

“All of the above,” I snap, finally breaking free of his grasp and sliding out of bed. “Normal people discuss these things before making unilateral decisions.”

Conrad sits up, the sheet pooling around his waist. His chest is bare, tattooed, and fucking perfect. I hate how much I want to lick it.

“We're discussing it now,” he says, his voice maddeningly reasonable.

“No, we're not.” I grab my discarded t-shirt from the floor and pull it over my head. “You told me you're going to knock me up. That's not a discussion; that's a declaration.”

His eyes darken as he watches me dress. “Would it be so terrible? Having my baby?”

“That's not the point,” I say, shaking the thought away. “The point is, you don't get to decide that for me.”

“Then decide,” he challenges, his voice dropping to that dangerously seductive register that makes my pussy clench involuntarily.

“I have work to do today,” I say, grabbing my phone from the nightstand.

Conrad's jaw tightens as he watches me move around the room. I can feel his eyes burning into my back as I pull on a pair of shorts.

“We're not done with this conversation,” he says, his voice that low, dangerous rumble that usually makes me wet. Today, it just pisses me off more.

“I am.” I head for the door without looking back at him. “For now.”

I hear the sheets rustle as he gets out of bed, but I'm already halfway down the hall. I need space. I need to think. I need to get my fucking birth control before his super sperm actually does knock me up.

Three hours later, Conrad is finally gone for his meetings downtown. I've been hiding in my office, pretending to work while actually just staring at my prescription notification. The pharmacy closes at six. It's already two. I need to move my ass.

Instead of calling for a ride or asking Henry to take me, I head straight for the garage. Conrad's collection of ridiculously expensive cars gleams under the recessed lighting like a fucking showroom. My fingers itch with the need to touch them all.

On the wall near the door hangs a sleek wooden box with a glass front. Inside, keys dangle from tiny hooks, each one labeled with the corresponding car. It's like a candy store for speed demons.

“Eeny, meeny, miny...” I tap my finger against the glass, scanning the options. My eyes land on the key to the matte black Lamborghini. “Fuck yes.”

I grab the key, the metal cool against my palm. The car chirps when I press the unlock button, headlights flashing like it's happy to see me.

“Hello, gorgeous,” I murmur, running my hand over the hood. “Let's go for a ride.”

The engine roars to life, vibrating through my body like foreplay. I've never driven anything this expensive or powerful before. The thought of Conrad's face when he realizes I've taken his car makes me grin like a fucking lunatic.

The garage door opens with the push of a button, and I ease the car forward, trying to get used to the sensitivity of the gas pedal. It lurches slightly, and I wince. If I wreck this thing, Conrad will probably spank me until I can't sit for a week.

Which doesn't sound entirely awful, but still.

Once I hit the open road, the car handles like a dream. I push it faster than I should; the speedometer climbing as I take the curves of the canyon road. The pharmacy is only fifteen minutes away, but I take the long route, enjoying the freedom and the subtle fuck-you to Conrad's controlling ass.

My phone buzzes in the cup holder.

I glance down at the screen. My stomach does that stupid little flip it always does when he texts. Damn traitorous body.

Enjoy the car. Wear your seatbelt. And for fuck's sake, spend my money for once.

I nearly swerve off the road. What the actual fuck? I was expecting him to be furious, to demand I bring his precious Lamborghini back immediately. Not…this.

“Motherfucker,” I mutter, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

Why does he have to be sweet right now? It's so much easier to be mad at him when he's being an arrogant, controlling asshole. This considerate shit is throwing me off my game.

I pull into the pharmacy parking lot, still fuming. How dare he tell me to spend his money? Like I'm some kept woman who needs his permission to use his credit card. The fact that I actually do have his credit card in my wallet is completely beside the point.

I slam the car door harder than necessary, earning a worried look from an old lady loading groceries into her Honda. Whatever. Let her judge. I'm having a crisis here.

The pharmacy is blissfully empty except for a bored-looking cashier scrolling through her phone. I march straight to the prescription counter, where a middle-aged pharmacist with kind eyes greets me.

“Picking up?” she asks.

“Yes, Katarina DeLuca.”

She nods and disappears into the back. My phone buzzes again.

Get something nice for yourself while you're out.

I roll my eyes so hard I nearly strain something. I type back furiously:

Stop telling me what to do with your money. I don't need your permission to spend it or not spend it.

His reply comes almost instantly.

Not permission. Encouragement. There's a difference, brat.

The pharmacist returns before I can respond, holding a small white bag. “That'll be $35.99.”

I dig through my wallet, purposely bypassing Conrad's black card to pull out my own debit card. It's petty, I know, but it feels like a tiny victory.

The pharmacist swipes it and hands me the bag with a smile. “All set! Have a nice day.”

Oh, I will because I’m about to take this car on a coastal drive now that I’ve secured the goods.