Page 81 of King of Temptation

How the hell was she supposed to resist that simple, earnest plea? “All right.”

“Good girl.” Leaning down, he feathered a kiss across her lips. “I’ll be back in thirty to check on you if you don’t come find me before then.”

“Okay.”

It took half the thirty he gave her to finish the scene, so she went to hunt him down and let her know she’d done as she was told. Not, she tried to convince herself, because she needed the praise she knew was coming, but simply because it was the polite thing to do.

She found him in his own office, frowning at something on his computer. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the doorframe and smirked. “Oh, so you can spend all day working but I can’t? Seems like a bit of a double standard.”

At the sound of her voice, his head snapped up, and those pale, piercing eyes locked on her. “I haven’t spent the last ten hours straight working. Come here.”

It was like someone had attached an invisible string to her waist, and that simple command was all the incentive she needed to allow herself to be pulled across the room to stand in front of him. “You’re very bossy today.”

“Mmm.” Wrapping his hands around the backs of her thighs, he tugged once, compelling her forward to straddle his lap. “Seems you bring it out in me. Especially when you’re killing yourself over a damn book.”

Old wounds split open at his words. “Fuck you, O’Rourke.”

Eyes narrowing, he tilted his head to the side, studying her with that unnervingly knowing gaze. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

“No.” Maybe. “It just pisses me off when you say stuff like I’m killing myself over a book. You make it sound like it’s something silly and not my whole fucking livelihood.”

“Ah.” His expression softened. “I’m sorry, baby. I know how important it is for you to meet your deadlines. But I also can’t sit back and watch while you’re not eating or sleeping enough and generally running yourself ragged. I’m just not built that way.”

“In my defense I’ve been writing books this way for nearly a decade and it hasn’t killed me yet.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped, and his grip on her thighs tightened. “Yet being the operative word.”

He looked so adorably concerned, she couldn’t help but give in—at least a little. “Why don’t we compromise?”

“I’m listening.”

Sliding her arms around his neck, she threaded her fingers into his hair, holding tight as she dipped her head, her lips hovering so close to his she could taste him already. “I let you take me upstairs and do whatever you want with me for an hour, and then I get another couple hours of writing time. But I promise to stop every half hour and move around for at least five minutes and I promise to eat whatever gross health food you put in front of me at dinner without complaint. Deal?”

Rising from his chair with an ease that stole her breath, he grinned. “We’re going to need more than an hour, menace.”

Goldie

* * *

The break—which ended up being closer to two hours by the time he’d finished with her and she’d taken a short nap—did help a lot.

Not that she planned to tell him that, of course. But her focus was sharper after several orgasms, some sleep, and the dinner he’d forced on her about an hour ago, and she was so close to the end of this damn book it was like an itch under her skin.

Glancing at the clock on her computer, she debated whether she could talk him into letting her pull an all-nighter. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d done that to finish a book, but she had a feeling Daddy wasn’t going to be thrilled by the suggestion.

But before she could decide if it was worth risking his wrath, a loud knock sounded on her office door a moment before it swung open. Aria and Reagan strode inside, wide grins stretched across their faces as they came to stand in front of her desk.

“Uhh… what’s going on?”

“An intervention,” Aria chirped happily. “Your man told us you were being a stubborn little shit and you needed someone to make you rest. So, here we are!”

Irritation warred with something much warmer and sweeter as she tried her best to glare up at her intruders. “I’m not being stubborn; I have a deadline.”

“You also have bags under your eyes I could use to pack for a week in Paris,” Reagan drawled, raising one dark brow in a move that was so eerily like her cousin’s it had Goldie’s ass flexing instinctively. “So we’re having a girls’ night and you can finish your book tomorrow.”

“But—”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Marigold.” Rounding the desk, Reagan grabbed hold of her wrists, hauling her up out of the chair. “We brought spa stuff and junk food and there’s some cheesy romance movie Aria’s been dying to watch. Come on.”