Page 132 of LA King

“Buenas noches, Alana.”

“Does this fulfill your requirements?” She smooths her hands down her dress.

“It’s an interesting choice,” I say, refusing to let her know that she’s sexy as hell and that I’m a man on the edge here.

Smirking, she glances down at my groin, which I don’t bother to hide. “Well, I think at least some part of you thinks it’s sexy.” She settles back in her seat with a satisfied smile on her face.

She’s definitely becoming bolder, and I don’t dislike it, but I don’t know whether to laugh at her remark or throw her over my knee and spank her. I do neither. Instead, I adjust my cock and get comfortable in my seat.

We spend most of the thirty-minute drive in silence interspersed with occasional questions she asks about things we pass. It never really occurred to me that she doesn’t know LA well at all, but now I realize that she’s hardly gone anywhere except the yacht club since she moved here.

When we pull up outside the exclusive restaurant, a swarm of paparazzi awaits us. Given that I tipped them off myself, I’m not surprised. People have started to ask questions about my new wife, and answering publicly is the perfect way to address them.

If Alana’s bothered, nothing in her demeanor shows it. With her father’s career, she’s no stranger to the press, but based on how little I was able to find out about her private life, I’d guess she only ever made appearances for his sake.

The car door is opened for us, and I step out first, then reach for her hand and help her out. Once again, the warmth of her hand in mine soothes me. I can’t resist pulling her close. Her scent was noticeable in the car, but now it envelops me. Jasmine and honeysuckle and a hint of something sweet. Cherry? It catches me off guard. She smells so good I want to bundle her back into the car and make her my dinner this evening.

Instead, I bend my head low and whisper in her ear. “Best behavior, Alana. The whole world is watching.”

“Of course.” She smiles at me, her brown eyes twinkling.

I slip my arm around her waist, and we walk toward the restaurant. Cameras flash in our faces and people shout our names, but Alana doesn’t flinch. She remains professional and poised. The perfect wife.

“Mrs. Montoya.” A reporter pushes through the crowd and sticks a microphone in her face. I snarl at the intrusion, but she rests a calming hand on my chest, so I let the asshole ask his question. “This is the first time we’ve seen you and Mr. Montoya together since your surprise wedding. Can you tell us why you’ve been hiding away?”

I wait with bated breath for her answer. She plays this charade as well as I do, but this is the perfect chance for her to tell the world she hates the devil she married.

She turns her body to mine, her hand still firm on my chest. “Have you seen my husband?” she asks with a giggle. “We’re newlyweds. Why do you think we’ve been hiding away?” Then she gives them all a killer smile, and the crowd erupts with laughter as the cameras keep flashing.

She gazes adoringly up at me, and I find myself smiling at her. She might be an incredible actress, but even if it’s only that, she is playing her part perfectly, and what more can I ask for? I press my mouth over hers, taking the liberty of doing this in public, but I want to see how she’ll handle it. How she’ll handle me.

She places her hand on my cheek and kisses me right back. It’s tender and reserved, given the cameras flashing and the fact that this is likely to end up splashed all over social media. I slip my tongue inside for an instant and regret it as soon as I taste her. Now I’ll have to sit through our entire dinner knowing nothing in the Michelin-star restaurant will taste as good as she does.

I kissed her once before, but that was in front of my mother, and I was distracted. Tonight, she tastes of peppermint and strawberries and sin, and I want more of her. I want all of her. All I can think about is sliding my tongue into the other parts of her body that belong to me.

It takes effort to break the kiss, and when I do, she’s breathing heavily, one hand on my cheek and one inside my suit jacket, clutching at my shirt. Did she enjoy that as much as I did? Before I can determine the answer, the maître d’ is out of the restaurant and ushering us inside.

“I’m so sorry about this intrusion, Mr. Montoya,” he says. “I’ve reserved you your favorite table.”

With my palm flat against the bare skin of Alana’s back, I guide her into the restaurant and away from the paparazzi.

Heads turn as she passes, which is to be expected. Alana is a truly stunning woman, with curves in all the right places and a rare kind of confidence. And the dress … It’s elegant yet criminally sexy. But my wife appears to have little to no idea of the effect she has on people—another thing that doesn’t fit at all with the woman I was convinced she would be. Her own father insisted that she was a “spoiled little princess” who’d make a dutiful wife and not give me any trouble so long as I kept her in a certain lifestyle. But that is not the lifestyle of a woman who has access to an unlimited credit limit and uses it to buy candy and candles.

Alana Carmichael is not what I signed up for. I was sold a business arrangement, and I wanted nothing more than that. I didn’t want to like her or to think she’s funny, smart, or sweet. Didn’t want to spend large portions of my day thinking about her and wondering what she’s doing when she isn’t with me. To crave her so badly that I have to jerk off to thoughts of fucking her at least twice a day. And I absolutely never wanted to fall in love with her. I don’t have time for those kinds of complications in my life. That’s why I chose the spoiled little rich girl—a woman I could never fall in love with—but it seems I was duped.

Alana Montoya is proving my assumptions wrong at every single turn.

Chapter

Thirteen

Alana

Alejandro hands the menus back to our waiter and gives me his full attention. I can’t deny how intoxicating it is to be in the company of a man like him. He’s wearing a navy suit and a crisp white shirt that’s open at the collar, revealing the tiniest glimpse of one of his many tattoos. It hasn’t escaped my attention that almost every woman in the restaurant has glanced our direction at least once. He’s probably the best-looking man I’ve ever seen—but he’s still a bastard and a devil. I can never forget that, no matter how many times he does something sweet and makes me want to.

He takes a sip of his Scotch, still eyeing me over the rim. “That was quite the show you put on outside.”

Oh, the kiss. The one that made my legs feel like jelly and my panties a little damp. It stopped being a show the moment his lips met mine, but he’ll never know that. “Well, I had to make it look convincing, didn’t I? Although I’m not sure us together is that convincing.”