His usual table, unsurprisingly, was nestled in a corner where he could sit with his back to the wall, his alert gaze roving over the crowded restaurant as they settled into their seats. Seemingly satisfied they weren’t in any immediate danger, his focus once more settled solely on her, and the sheer potency of his gaze threatened to knock the air from her lungs.
Needing a distraction from all that male energy, she picked up her menu. “So, um, what’s good here?”
“Everything.” Was it just her imagination, or did he sound particularly smug about that fact? “What are you in the mood for?”
“Something greasy and fried and wholly unhealthy.”
His low, rich chuckle teased her senses, washing over her like a physical caress. Which did nothing to help the throbbing ache between her thighs that had been present ever since he’d growled at her to look at him.
Eyes on me, princess.
She shouldn’t like that. Shouldn’t enjoy being bossed around, especially outside the bedroom. But fuck if those four words weren’t living rent-free in her head while her body all but sat up and begged for more.
“If you’re looking for deep-fried and void of all nutritional value, might I suggest the Pub Chips or the Banger Bombs?”
Interest piqued, she scanned the menu. “Banger bombs sound… bangin’.”
Across from her, he groaned, his expression turning pained. “That was truly awful, princess.”
Delighted by his response, she grinned. “No way. It was the bomb.”
His brows furrowed, but the twist of his lips told her he was holding back a smile. “I should put you over my knee and spank your ass red for that one.”
Need flared to life between her thighs. “Maybe you should.”
Leaning in, he dropped his voice, the low rumble of it seeming to echo through her veins with every word. “Would you like that, princess? For Daddy to take down those pretty satin panties and spank your naughty bottom until you’re a whining, whimpering mess over my knee, begging me to fuck you with your bottom burning red-hot?”
Again, she had the fleeting thought that she shouldn’t want any of that. And yet… “Maybe.”
Now he let the smile come, full of wicked intent. “I’m sure we can make that particular fantasy come true. And more, if you’re a very good girl.”
“Killian?”
The blood in Aria’s veins froze at the familiar voice. Jerking her head up, she stared up at the stunning blonde with the impossibly blue eyes.
Portia Williams. Daughter of the infamous Richard Williams.
And Killian’s former fiancée.
Fuck.
“Portia.” Like the blood in Aria’s veins, Killian’s tone was cold as ice. “What are you doing here?”
If Portia heard the cold fury in his words, she did a damn good job of hiding it. A sly smile curved her full lips. “Can’t a girl come congratulate her ex-fiancé on knocking up another woman?”
A muscle in Killian’s jaw jumped. But before he could respond, guilt welled in Aria’s chest and burst out of her. “I’m so sorry.”
They both turned to blink at her, but then Portia did the absolute last thing Aria had expected.
She laughed.
Head thrown back, her loud, delighted laughter seemed to fill the restaurant. “Oh, honey. You have nothing to apologize for. Even if I’d been madly in love with our boy here, it wouldn’t have been your fault. But as it is, you did me a favor.”
“A favor?” What the hell was she talking about?
“Yes. You think I really wanted to be married to the mob?” Portia let out an indelicate snort that was so unlike her that Aria could only stare. “I was only going along with it because my father insisted and he was holding my trust fund hostage. Hell, I didn’t even tell any of my friends about the wedding because I was desperately hoping it would get called off.”
“Your father is an asshole.” Whoops. She probably shouldn’t have said that, but all things considered…
