Ruthless King

“How to say thank you for relocating Clive for me,” she finally said.

Something in his eyes changed. They warmed. What was he thinking?

Crap. Now, she had to come up with a way of thanking him.

“You want to thank me?”

“Of course. Um, would you like to come to dinner?”

Shoot.

She was supposed to be keeping a distance from him. It was dangerous for her to become close to him.

And she wasn’t talking about who he was or what he did.

She was talking about her feelings for him. Jilly was worried that the more time she spent with him . . . well, the more obvious it would become that she had a teensy-tiny crush.

Urgh.

At your age, you should no longer have crushes, Jilly.

That was true.

But tell that to the sixteen-year-old still living inside her who wanted this man to come in and sweep her off her feet. To tell her that life was going to be okay because he had her now.

And that she’d never have to attempt a spider eviction again because he’d be around to do that.

But Jilly knew how unreliable a man could be. She’d never had one who had stuck by her, who had even tried to protect her.

Protecting her heart from getting hurt should be her priority.

Yet, all of that logic seemed to fly out of her head when she was around him.

All she wanted was . . . him.

And she was worried that, too, would become evident.

Her shoulders hunched. It didn’t matter that she had invited him to dinner, he was hardly going to accept. Right?

Why would he? He was a busy, important man.

And she was nobody.

“I accept. When?”

“I, um, well . . .” Her brain short-circuited.

Sunday. You have Sundays off.

“Sunday night,” she blurted out.

“What time and what can I bring?”

Bring?

He wanted to bring something . . . to her dinner. That she had to cook.

Oh God! She’d just remembered something!