Reign of a Billionaire : A Dark Mafia Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

Finding the truth in his eyes, I let out a relieved breath, then shifted to stand. I got to my knees and froze, eye level with his crotch area, where an obvious tent had sprung in his sweatpants. The images of us fooling around in his penthouse danced through my memory—his spiced-vanilla scent, his hard and uneven breathing, his mouth on my pussy.

A shuddering breath left me and goosebumps broke over my skin.

My pulse throbbed between my legs, aching to feel a human touch shaking me to my core. This man was the only one I wanted to touch me, and now, I craved to feel his hands and lips on my skin.

“Eyes up here. And get up off your knees.” I startled at the sound of his voice, jumping to attention like an Olympic gymnast. “Whoa there, easy,” he rushed to say as I almost lost my balance, his eyes coasting over my legs and hips like he was thinking of ways to steady me. “I’ve never seen you move that fast outside of killing men.”

Turmoil restarted in my chest. He knew me, but I didn’t know him. And if everything he’d told me so far was true—which I suspected it was—then I should.

It was really too early for all this. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

Maybe he’s scared of me, I thought proudly, then released an exasperated breath at the notion, mentally berating myself. Kingston—the Ghost—was one of the most lethal trackers and killers in the underworld.

He let out a derisive snort. “Touché.”

Our eyes locked, and the roaring in my ears intensified. In his dark depths, I glimpsed a spark of something that sent heat curling through me. My nipples hardened and my skin flushed with arousal.

“Thank you,” I murmured, the words leaving my lips without my permission. He stared at me but didn’t move, and I shifted my weight from foot to foot, restless in the silence. It was a novelty to have someone not take advantage of me when vulnerable, especially after the weeks I’d spent waiting for the auction and Cortez. “Thanks for staying with me through my nightmare.”

Dammit, I sounded vulnerable, but also husky and breathless. He felt like a physical force drawing me in, and the sensation had me taking a half step back on wobbly legs. His jaw flexed as he watched me retreat.

“How about some breakfast?” he offered, his voice soft despite something dark and savage lurking underneath his stony front.

“That’d be great, thank you.”

He nodded. “Meet me on the terrace, ice princess.”

My shoulders slumped, and I felt all the energy that had just been coursing through me trickle out. I was exhausted. He exhausted me. “Stop calling me that,” I muttered as I turned away, not sure why that nickname bothered me.

I felt him hover by the door, his gaze hot on my back, before he walked out without another word.

Twenty minutes later, I appeared on the terrace, feeling fresh after my shower and wearing a thin-strapped dress—pink, again—with a white cardigan draped over my shoulders. Kingston already had breakfast cooked and the table set. He pulled out a chair for me, and I couldn’t help but feel like a girl on a date. Not that I’d ever been on one.

“Do you always cook?” I asked curiously as he removed the dome-shaped cover from my plate.

He stood over me, waiting for me to take a seat, his crisp black shirt molding to his toned body. All he had to do now was flex those ink-stained biceps and I’d be a goner.

“I do.”

The birds chirped, the sound of the waves in the distance soothed, and the breeze calmed as he sat opposite of me. The man had to be the epitome of efficiency because he managed to shower, change, and cook all while I was getting ready.

“Do you enjoy it?” I was impressed my voice was even, hiding this attraction I felt toward him. I blamed it on that fucking scent of his. Vanilla and spice.

“I do.”

“Why?” Supposedly I’d known this man for at least a decade, yet I knew absolutely nothing about him. Maybe he could help me fill these gaps in my memory—without realizing it, of course.

He shrugged. “I like food.”

“So do I,” I remarked. “You don’t see me slaving over the stove.”

He snickered. “You’re too busy killing.”

“And you’re not? You’re a killer for the Omertà and you fucking collect the teeth of your victims.”

He froze, looking like a mannequin for a moment, before he resumed eating. Instant regret slammed into me. This man might look like a monster straight from my nightmares, but he wasn’t. Deep in my heart, I knew that. Considering his indoctrination by my mother and Ivan at such a young age, I was surprised he wasn’t more insane.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “That was uncalled for.”

It didn’t matter who he turned out to be or how many he killed. He was just trying to survive, just like anyone forced to endure the underworld.

He lifted his head, his eyes roving over my face before dropping to my lips. There was a look in his expression that told me he still silently suffered.

I picked up my fork and started eating. Scrambled eggs, almond croissant, blueberry pancake drenched in syrup. No bacon in sight.