Page 9 of Tempting Kat (Lust & Luxury #2)

I work in silence for several minutes, enjoying the way her muscles yield under my touch. The small involuntary twitches when I hit a sensitive spot.

“You know,” she says finally, her voice slightly breathless, “for a guy who paid to look at my ass, you're spending a lot of time on my legs.”

I chuckle, the sound dark and full of promise. “I'm a patient man. I like to take my time. Long hours on your feet means your body requires different things. The tension in your legs is lethal.”

“Occupational hazard,” she mutters. “You try running around a bar for six hours straight.”

“I own several bars. I know exactly what it does to the body.”

Her leg stiffens under my hands. “You own bars?”

Shit. I hadn't meant to reveal that much yet. But maybe it's time to start dropping breadcrumbs.

“Among other things,” I say vaguely, working my thumbs in small circles up her calf. “I've done well for myself.”

“Clearly,” she snorts. “Most people don't drop six figures on a glorified peep show.”

I dig my thumb into a pressure point that makes her whole leg twitch. “This is hardly a peep show, Katarina. This is...an investment.”

“In what? My ass?”

“In you,” I correct, my hands sliding higher, just below the hem of her shorts. “All of you.”

Her breath catches audibly. “That wasn't part of the deal.”

“I'm not proposing anything beyond what we've agreed to,” I assure her, though my cock throbs painfully at the thought of sliding those shorts down her legs. “Just explaining my perspective.”

My hands continue their work, massaging up to where her thighs meet the edge of her cutoffs. The muscles here are equally tense, quivering slightly under my touch.

“Your perspective is that I'm what, an acquisition?” Her voice has that edge again.

“You're an experience I intend to savor,” I tell her, my thumbs working the tension from her thighs. I can feel her melting under my touch despite her prickly words. “Anything worth having requires patience and investment.”

Her breath hitches, but she doesn't respond. I can feel the subtle tremors in her muscles as I continue the massage, working my way back down her legs. The tension in her calves has eased considerably, her body yielding to my touch despite her verbal resistance.

I work my way down to her ankles again, feeling the delicate bones beneath my rough fingers. The contrast between my calloused hands and her soft skin is intoxicating. I could touch her for hours and never get enough.

But it's time to leave her wanting more.

I lower my head and press my lips against the inside of her ankle just once. An invisible brand.

“That will be all for tonight,” I say, releasing her leg and sitting back. “Thank you for your time, Katarina. Your company has been stimulating.”

There's a brief silence before the intercom crackles. “Wait, what? That's it?”

“Yes,” I reply simply, standing up. “But I'd like to see you again. Same time next Saturday?”

There's a pause, and I can almost see her frowning, those full lips pursed in irritation. I want her strung out on my voice alone. Before she ever really has my touch, my mouth, or my dick. Let her understand who owns that pretty ache between her thighs.

“Uh…okay, I guess.”

“Excellent.” I move my chair back to its original position against the far wall, taking my time. “Until next week, then.”

I walk to the door, open it deliberately, then close it with a firm click. But I don't leave. Instead, I stand silently beside the door, waiting.

I have someone waiting to escort Katarina home. Black sedan, my most trusted driver.

Vivi

I will inform her now. Hopefully, it was everything and more for you, Connie.

I lean against the wall, listening as Katarina mutters a string of curses on the other side of the partition. I hear her moving, the rustle of fabric as she pulls her legs back through the opening. The soft thud of her feet hitting the floor.

“Fucking tease,” she grumbles, loud enough that I can hear it through the wall. “Asshole pays six figures just to rub my legs and bail? What the actual fuck? First, Mr. Mysterious and his bullshit peach ass napkin, and now this?”

I bite back a smile, imagining the indignant expression on her face.

Her phone chimes, no doubt Vivian delivering the news.

“A car?” I hear her mutter to herself. “Fucking bougie ass mystery man with his fucking massages and his fucking cars.”

I bite back a laugh, picturing her getting ready to stomp around the room. She’s so goddamn perfect if physically hurts.

I slip out of the room while Kat's still muttering to herself on the other side of the wall, moving silently down the hallway toward the service elevator.

The entire floor is designed for discretion—separate entrances, exits, and elevators to ensure clients never have to see each other.

I reach the main floor just as the elevator doors open and Katarina steps out, phone in hand, still muttering to herself.

I hang back, watching as she stalks across the lobby, those cutoff shorts hugging every curve of her perfect ass. My hands still tingle from touching her, and I flex my fingers, already craving more.

She pushes through the revolving doors, and I follow at a distance, slipping into the shadows of the hotel's exterior. The black sedan idles at the curb, exactly as instructed. Henry, my most trusted driver, stands beside it in his usual pristine uniform, cap tucked under his arm.

Katarina hesitates on the sidewalk, glancing from her phone to the car and back again. I can practically see her debating whether to accept the ride or tell this whole arrangement to go fuck itself.

Henry spots her, straightening his already perfect posture. “Miss DeLuca?” he calls, his British accent crisp in the night air.

She startles slightly, then squares her shoulders. “That's me.”

“Your car, miss.” Henry opens the rear door with a slight bow. “Mr. Gallo asked me to see you safely home.”

“Of course he did,” she mutters, but she approaches the car, anyway. “Because, God forbid, I take the fucking bus like a normal person.”

Henry doesn't react to her language, maintaining his professional demeanor. “Where shall I take you this evening, miss?”

“You don't already know my address?” She arches an eyebrow. “I figured Mr. Money Bags would have a full dossier on me by now.”

“I was instructed to take you wherever you wish to go.”

I watch as the car pulls away and grab my phone.

Let me know when she’s safely inside.

My driver is discreet, professional, and loyal. He'll make sure my Kat gets home without incident, then report back without asking questions. It's why I pay him triple what most drivers make.

I slip back into the hotel and head for the private elevator that will take me to my penthouse suite. As the doors close, I finally allow myself to adjust my cock, hissing at the contact. Just that brief touch through my pants has me on edge.

The suite is dark when I enter, just how I left it. I shed my jacket, tossing it over a chair.

Walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, I picture Katarina somewhere out there, pacing her apartment, cursing my name.

Or maybe she’s lying in bed, thinking about my hands on her legs, wondering what they’d feel like elsewhere.

Is she touching herself right now? Sliding her fingers between her thighs, imagining they're mine?

Soon enough they will be.

So very fucking soon, as I mark every part of her with me.