Page 11 of LA King

I take a step toward her. “That’s genetics, princesa.”

She glares at me, her eyes ablaze, and visibly bites back a retort. I’m allowing her a little more freedom, and she’s shrewd enough to know that I can take it away just as easily if she pushes me too far. But the skin on her chest and neck turns a pretty shade of pink as she struggles to keep a lid on her temper.

I try not to smile. She’s even hotter when she’s angry. Definitely something to explore at a later date.

I’m still anticipating a minor temper tantrum though. Isn’t that what spoiled little princesses do when they can’t get their way? But she takes a deep breath and leans back against the counter.

“Okay,” she says softly. Defeated. “If it has to be Hank, then so be it.”

Well that was much easier than I expected. I can hardly blame her for not wanting to spend too much time in Hank’s company. He’s a miserable bastard on his best days, but he’s good at his job, which is why he’s assigned to protect her. She drops her head, looking at the floor, the joy from only a moment ago already extinguished.

Why the fuck do I care?

I almost reach out to her, almost cup her jaw in my hand and tip her head up so I can stare at her beautiful face a little longer. Almost pick her up and carry her to my bed to make us both feel good.

“How about I pick a few of my best men and send them over here tomorrow, and you can interview them yourself?” I offer instead. “Then you can choose your own personal bodyguard.”

She looks up, her eyes shining with delight once more. “You’d do that?”

Against all odds, it seems I would. “Yes. But you will choose one of them, Alana. Or you simply don’t leave this house.”

She nods eagerly. “Agreed. But you won’t choose a load of Hank-alikes, will you?”

An unexpected laugh bursts out of me. There is only one Hank—a blessing and a curse. “No, I won’t do that.”

“Then that sounds wonderful.” She flutters those long eyelashes again. Is she flirting with me? “Thank you, Alejandro.” The way she says my name heads straight to my cock and does nothing to ease the ache in it.

She seems very grateful though, and she is my wife. How grateful would she be if I asked her to get on her knees right now? The image alone makes my cock throb uncomfortably, and it’s the smile on her face that pulls me out of that filthy fantasy. She looks so fucking … innocent. Why is she so grateful for such a small gesture? Or is she playing me?

I take a half step closer, bringing our bodies a mere few inches apart. She’s still looking up at me, her breathing fast and shallow as her eyes search my face. What if I lifted her onto this counter? Slid my hands under that curve-hugging dress and discovered what lies beneath? Would she let me? My palms twitch to touch her, and I’m unaccustomed to not taking what I want when I want it, but with her, I fucking can’t.

Her body leans closer. Her pupils dilate.

Magda walks back into the room.

Alana’s focus redirects to my housekeeper, whom she gapes at. Maybe she was thinking the same kind of filthy thoughts I was.

Or maybe she’s grateful for Magda’s untimely interruption. It’s probably better that I don’t know the answer. I’ve already yielded too much to her today, and if I touch her, if I let her get under my skin that way, who knows what other compromises I’d be willing to make.

“I’ll send the candidates here tomorrow at nine a.m.,” I say, and then I walk out of the kitchen with a raging hard-on and fuck all I can do about it.

Leaning back against the soft leather seat of my car while my driver drives Jax and me to my hotel, I brush the pad of my thumb against the platinum band on my finger. It still feels entirely alien to me, and I’m not sure if it will ever feel otherwise.

How the fuck did I end up married again?

Oh yeah, because my father presented me with a proposal three months ago, and since I’m a good son and I respect him, I agreed. Plus, an alliance with the Carmichael family is good for business. The public at large has no idea what a piece of shit Foster Carmichael actually is, and on paper at least, he’s a good ally.

The head of a powerful political family, he adds a legitimacy to the Montoya Corporation that we’ve historically lacked. We have plenty of legitimate businesses, but we made our wealth in the illegitimate kind. If only his daughter were as easy to dislike as he is.

Her being a spoiled Manhattan brat was a huge part of her appeal. Of course I didn’t miss her dangerous curves either. Despite my reluctance to become a father, I do see the necessity of continuing the Montoya name, and she seemed like the perfect choice to provide the next heir to the Montoya empire—a woman I’d be happy enough to fuck on occasion, but not one I would like. Definitely not one I’d ever fall in love with.

“You okay, amigo?” Jax knocks his shoulder against mine, the scent of his favorite cinnamon gum filling the car.

“I’ll be better once I’ve had a drink,” I tell him with a heavy sigh.

Surely a night of drinking with my best buddy is exactly what I need, and he was more than happy to oblige. I need to stop thinking about Alana and her curves and the way her ass felt in my hand today. Need to remind myself that all this emotional shit isn’t what I signed on for.

It’s a contract. A business deal that’s no different from any other. If it were anything more, I wouldn’t have had to lie to my mamá about it. But seeing her so happy today has eased my conscience.