Ruthless King (New Orleans Malones #4)

Chapter 3

3

F uck.

Regent had only intended to scare her a little. To make her see how foolish it was to walk at night on her own. He’d been slightly annoyed when he’d arrived to find the house dark. But he hadn’t become truly concerned until he’d walked up to her door and discovered her security light really wasn’t working.

Because there was no light bulb in it.

Then when she’d breezed her way up the path to the house on foot, at night, without even bothering to take in her surroundings . . . yeah, then his concern and irritation had morphed into full-blown anger.

How dare she be so cavalier with her own safety?

What the fuck was she thinking? He’d been right the other night. She did need someone watching over her.

Although she might not like it very much.

For a moment, when he’d grabbed her, he’d felt her melt against him. Into him. He’d very nearly replaced his hand with his mouth.

He’d wanted to kiss her.

That wouldn’t have been smart.

And grabbing her is?

He wasn’t thinking clearly.

Now would be the time to step back. Give her space. Perhaps check on her foot while he scolded her for not taking care of herself.

Instead, he found himself pressing closer to her, placing his mouth by her ear.

“You’re in big trouble, Jilly,” he told her. “And when I remove my hand from your mouth, you’re going to think about how it would be in your best interests, and your bottom’s best interests, to do as you’re told. Understand me?”

He slid his fingers off her mouth and down to her pulse, which was racing. “Good girl.”

A shudder ran through her at those words.

“Regent,” she whispered.

“That’s right.” He moved his hands to rest against the side of the house on either side of her head.

He was aware that he was looming over her.

Unable to help himself, he ran his gaze over her. But even in the heat of summer, she was wearing a long skirt and full sleeves.

Denying him the sight of her beautiful body.

Which is just as well because she isn’t yours.

“You . . . you . . . what are you doing here?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “After the other night, I thought it best I come back to check on you, which is just as well since it seems that your behavior needs some adjusting.”

This time her shudder didn’t seem to be one of pleasure. The way she sucked in a breath, it had him going on high alert.

Was she scared? Of whom?

Then it hit him . . . it was him. She feared him.

“Jilly, look at me.”

“I just want to go inside. I haven’t had any dinner. I’m hot and sweaty . . . and I really wish I hadn’t just told you that I was sweaty. I need to sit down. My foot hurts. My head is throbbing. I?—”

“Shh.”

How hard had she hit her foot? Did she really need a doctor?

She probably shouldn’t be standing on it.

Reaching down, he lifted her up into his arms.

“What . . . what are you doing?” she squeaked, trying to free herself.

“Stay still, Jilly. I don’t want to drop you.”

“You’d never drop me.”

No, he wouldn’t. But that didn’t mean that it was a good idea for her to squirm around. He never wanted her at risk.

Turning to the door, he opened it.

“Wait. My door was locked,” she said.

“I know. At least you did that,” he said. “I used my key.”

“Oh. Wait. What? You have a key?” There was a note of fear in her voice.

He hated hearing her sound like that. He found the light switch, turning it on.

“You have a key . . . to my house.”

Technically, the house belonged to him, but he didn’t say that. For all intents and purposes, this house was hers and her mother’s. And if it wasn’t for the tunnel access, he’d have signed it over to them years ago.

“Jilly, you know why I have a key,” he murmured, walking into the kitchen and turning on another light.

Then he sat her at the worn table. Years ago, as a child, he sometimes sat here while her mom snuck him cookies.

Before his father dragged him into meetings with Jilly’s father.

“Right. The tunnels. And technically, I guess this is your house. I just didn’t think that you . . . um . . . ”

“I would never enter without letting you know first,” he told her.

Unless he thought she was at risk.

“Okay, I guess that’s fair.” Although she didn’t sound like she thought it was.

She glanced up at him, then away, her shoulders hunched.

She looked uncomfortable. Her cheeks were flushed.

“Are you ill?”

“What? No.”

“You appear flushed.”

“It’s warm.”

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he grumbled without thought.

“W-what?” Her mouth dropped open as she gaped up at him.

“I meant because you’re too warm.”

She appeared rumpled. Slightly messy with her brown hair escaping her ponytail and flying out at all angles while her blouse was creased and there were marks on her skirt.

“Oh, I see. I must look like a mess.”

He moved over to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a jug of water. Then he searched around until he found a glass.

She was silent until he turned back to the table. She had her head down, staring at her hands.

Regent frowned. What was going on? Why did she look so defeated?

“Jilly? Are you all right?”

Her head shot up and she blinked at him for a moment before replying. “Yes, sorry. Really long day. I should have offered you a drink. Would you like tea as well?” She stood.

“Sit down,” he barked.

Regent instantly regretted his tone as she sat with a gasp.

Fuck.

He usually had more patience than this. He didn’t let things get to him.

Or he didn’t let it show when things affected him.

He blamed it on being tired. He placed the glass of water down on the table. “The water isn’t for me, it’s for you.”

“It . . . it is? You got me water?”

Regent scowled. Why did she sound so shocked? Was it because she wasn’t used to others taking care of her?

He knew she’d lived with a boyfriend for a while. Anne had told him. How had that asshole treated her?

Okay, so he had no idea if he was an asshole. He hadn’t looked into him. Regent hadn’t wanted to know how happy they were.

That guy had been gone for months now, though. Was she dating someone else?

“Yes. For you. Now, drink it.”

Reaching out, she grasped hold of the glass and gulped the water down.

He liked how well she obeyed him. Regent was a man who didn’t suffer disobedience.

But what if she was obeying him out of fear?

That didn’t sit well at all. He didn’t want her to do as he told her out of fear. He wanted her to obey him because that’s what she desired.

“Good girl,” he murmured, trying to soften his tone. To make himself seem less scary.

He didn’t think he’d ever tried to make himself less intimidating. Perhaps when Ace and Keir were first introduced to him. Although those hellions weren’t scared of anyone.

When the women in his family were around, he tried to be . . . warmer. Mostly, he didn’t think he succeeded.

He sat in a chair across from her and picked up the foot that she’d been holding while she’d hopped around.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to pull her foot back.

“I need to check your foot. To make sure the rice pudding didn’t break anything.”

Rice pudding in a can? He hadn’t realized you could even get it in a can.

“Darn! The rice pudding! Wait! I can take off my own shoe.”

“You could. You’re not going to. Stay still.”

“Or what? Are you going to threaten to spank me again?” she sassed.

He had to stop his lips from twitching. He wasn’t used to sassiness. Especially not from Jilly.

But he liked it.

“Maybe.” He glanced up at her, staring into those blue eyes. Her lips parted.

They were pale pink. Full. Plump.

Glistening.

He should move his gaze away before he gave into the urge to kiss her. What was wrong with him?

Thankfully, she shifted her head, turning away. Had the redness in her cheeks intensified?

Had she turned away because she wanted to kiss him too?

“You can’t,” she whispered as he tugged her shoe and sock gently off.

“I can.”

“No.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because I’m a grown woman.”

“A grown woman can’t be spanked? I’d never spank a child, you know. So, I’d argue that the only people who should be spanked are adults. Naughty, sassy adults who don’t look after their own safety. They’re the ones who need correcting the most.”

She shifted on the chair. Was she turned on?

Or did she have to pee?

He turned his attention to her foot. It was small. Delicate. She’d painted her nails a soft pink that suited her.

That color was all Jilly. Sweet and delicate.

“You shouldn’t touch it,” she said.

“Touch what?” he asked, his brain returning to their conversation. “Your butt?”

“What? No! Although yes, actually. You cannot touch my bottom.”

Amusement filled him at her words. Oh, they’d see about that.