Hollywood Playboy (Hollywood Royalty 1)

“Nothing.” I try to lie because there is no way he knows me that well, no way he can tell, but I just look at him, and his eyes bore into mine. He kisses my cheek, then the side of my neck, and then the back of my ear.

“Liar,” he whispers into my ear, and I shiver under his touch. “I can think of ways to get it out of you.”

“Oh, yeah?” I moan when he nips my ear, one of his hands sneaking into the front of the robe and cupping my breast, his fingers tweaking the nipple. The knock on the door breaks the moment as I look around for places to hide. “I’m going upstairs,” I tell him as I run upstairs, going into the bathroom just in case it’s Cassie again. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, I use the time alone to regroup. “I’m going to eat and then go back to my room,” I say to the empty room. “That’s what I’m going to do. Eat and leave.” Almost like I’m trying to convince myself that I don’t want to stay here with him all day. What did Kellie tell me? You don’t shit where you eat, or eat where you shit, or however that disturbing phrase is worded.

“You can come down now!” he shouts up the steps, breaking my self-flagellation, and I get up, poking my head out. “It’s just the two of us.”

I walk down the steps, then double check the lock on the door. I take in the suite now, the carpet in a royal blue, my feet sinking into it. A desk is set up in the corner with a huge MacBook screen on the top and a vase of red roses. Next to the desk are two couches with a gold cast iron table between them and two peach-colored pillows in the middle. When you look up, you can see the cast iron railing upstairs because it’s set up like a loft. A white pillar looks like it’s holding up the second floor. To my left is fully stocked bar, and Tyler stands on my right next to the four-person table covered in all the trays of food he ordered. The tin covers are off, and two empty plates are set next to each other for us. I look over at the L-shaped couch on the far-left side, and the bottle of champagne sitting in the middle of the table in an ice bucket with a fresh bowl of strawberries next to it. “Dessert,” he says, smiling, and I just shake my head. I sit in one of the chairs at the table, and he sits next to me. “What do you want?” he asks. Picking up my empty plate, he puts some eggs on it with some turkey bacon, fresh fruit, and a pancake. “You want more?”

“No.” I shake my head. “That’s good.” I take the plate from him, then grab a napkin and put it across my lap. I pick up the crystal pitcher of fresh orange juice and pour some in my crystal glass. “You want some?” I ask him, and he nods while he fills his own plate, double the size of mine.

“Coffee?” he asks, picking up the coffeepot and pouring some for himself and then me. We don’t say anything as we eat. “This,” he says between his last bite and his sip of orange juice. “It feels like I’ve been having breakfast with you forever.”

I look at him. “I was thinking the same thing.” Honesty with him just comes easy as if we’ve woken up together for years and have breakfast with each other all the time. I grab my cup of coffee, bringing it to my lips. “I mean, obviously with you cooking for me.” I wink at him, and he just nods.

“I would if you wanted me to,” he says, grabbing his orange juice. “When we get home, I’ll cook dinner for you,” he says, and I almost stop drinking, a thoughtful look on my face as I think. “Are you done?” he asks, looking at my plate that is empty. “I think it’s time for dessert.”

“Is it?” Smirking, I set my cup down. “And what is dessert exactly?” Looking at him while he smirks, I appear to have just challenged him to something.

“Well.” He pushes from the table. “Let me show you.” He holds out his hand to me, and I take it, getting up. He unties the front of my robe and pushes it off my shoulders, doing the same to his. “This is better.” My nipples peaked at the cold that is now hitting them, so he takes his thumb and rubs one. He pulls me to the couch, gesturing for me to sit on it, then he pulls the table away from the couch, giving himself some space. He takes the bottle of champagne and pours two glasses, handing me one. “To dessert,” he says, holding the glass out, and I clink it. Bringing the glass to my mouth, I feel the cold, crisp champagne hitting my tongue. He grabs a strawberry, then holds it to my mouth. “Bite,” he says, and I do, trying to grab the juices before they drip, but I lose the battle as it falls on my chest. His eyes light up as he bends over and sucks it off me.