Page 73 of Royal Desire

I doom scroll the internet as much as the next woman while I drink my box wine. I have never seen a workout plan for cocks. If they existed, every male on the planet would pay hand over fist.

But apparently, cocks can ... mature.

He’s beautiful. I can’t tear my eyes away.

And all of a sudden, I’m worried I haven’t aged like him. Sure, I’m curvier. My love of wine, sourdough bread, and good butter will do that to a woman. Those are the finer things in life I can afford, so hell if I’m not going to enjoy them. I don’t even need fine wine. A box will do when I’m in between work.

But there’s no replacing good butter. That’s a hard stop.

Thoughts of my own body evaporate into the purified air when Payne starts to wrap a fluffy towel around his waist. He freezes mid wrap. He covers his beautiful cock, but I can still see half of his V muscle that points to his groin along with his narrow hip and thick thigh.

My eyes jump to his.

The moment he smirks at me through the mirror, my face falls.

“Fuck,” I mutter aloud.

His smirk swells into a smile so satisfied, I consider turning the shower back on to cold just to settle down.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he says and knots the towel low on his hips.

I force myself to look away and focus on stuffing the clothes back into the tote bags. The sooner I can escape his room, the better. My brother is across the suite. I planned to crash on the sofa again, but I might force myself into Blake’s room and sleep on his floor just to put another barrier between me and the Adonis sleeping in this room.

My fingers tremble as I stuff the posh, pricey clothes back into the totes, so it’s no surprise I jump when I hear his voice. “You found something to wear. Great.”

I spin on a dime and have to catch myself from toppling over. “Yeah. I mean, yes. Clothes are great.”

That’s a lie. I’d rather they not be on him right now.

I’m not sure I could be more of an idiot, but I also can’t tear my eyes away, because Payne is yanking a T-shirt over his head. The last thing I see are his defined abs before the hem of his shirt falls past the band of his gym shorts.

With that, the show is officially over.

I drop the half-packed tote to the bed and leave the rest of the mess for him. “I’m going to the sofa. Goodnight.”

He double-times it to the door to tag my arm. “Wait. We need to talk.”

I try to pull away, but I’m powerless from the sight of his cock. “No, I’m tired from the tequila last night and losing everything I own in the world other than the dress on my back tonight. It’s not even my favorite, so it’s more upsetting. I’m going to call it a day.”

He flips me around, and my hands land on his pecs, a place they’re getting comfortable lately. He wraps his arms around me, and there’s a seriousness in his eyes I can’t ignore. “We’re putting all the naked thoughts behind us. And don’t lie, I caught you through the mirror with your hand in the cookie jar ... visually speaking. As much as I want to do other things, we have more important things to discuss.”

I shake my head like a cartoon character. “No. Nothing is more important than sleep. I need sleep. Now. I needed sleep two hours ago. And there will be no time for a nap tomorrow, so I’m already behind.”

His hand slides into my damp hair. His hold on me firms into cement, binding me to him through our clothes.

Damn clothes.

But what he says next takes my breath away. I forget about him naked, his muscled-up cock, and him becoming an Adonis to my crock of butter. “The fire wasn’t an accident.”

I gasp. “What?”

Hurt bleeds through his features. “Dean will deliver the news officially tomorrow, but you should prepare. You need to be strong for Blake and Alice. But really, I’d rather you hear it from me than anyone else. The fire was arson, and whoever started it wanted to make a statement by killing someone.”

I sink into him. “Who would do that?”

“I think we both know who would do that. Or would pay someone else to do that. And since my client Ansel Reid is nowhere to be found, he’s the number one suspect. Enzo Caruso might be sitting pretty on the east coast, but he has people to do his dirty work.”

I don’t know why I ask, because I’m the last person who will ever defend Enzo, but I have to know. “Do you have proof?”