Page 19 of All Hale the Queen

Antonio insists I sit while he serves me. The round table in my breakfast nook is situated in front of a set of bay windows that look out over the lush grass and colorful flower beds in the back yard. The first few leaves of autumn have fallen and scattered themselves like confetti across the fenced-in area.

“Here you go, love,” he says, setting a glass of chilled orange juice in front of me and kissing the top of my head.

Taking a bite of the perfectly crispy bacon, I eye the man across from me, still shirtless and with his tats on full display. His dark hair is mussed, and it only makes him sexier.

Hot man. Phenomenal sex. And he cooked me breakfast. The choice should be simple, except for…

“I’d like to see you again,” I blurt. “I know this is complicated since you work for Remi, and if that’s too much for you, I’ll understand.”

Antonio surveys me as he chews a bite of egg and swallows. “I like how straightforward you are. It’s refreshing.”

A small laugh escapes my lips. “I don’t have the energy to play silly games, Antonio. I’d rather just say what I’m thinking.”

His beard twitches, and I hold my breath. “I’d love to see you again too. Last night was amazing, Ophelia. You’re amazing.”

My teeth sink into my bottom lip, trying to hide how happy that makes me. “We can keep things casual if you want.”

Antonio’s fork stops halfway to his mouth, and his eyes narrow, darkening the color of pine trees. “I don’t share, love.”

I place a hand over his clenched fist on the tabletop, giving him a squeeze. “I didn’t mean we should see other people, Antonio.” The bunch of his shoulders relaxes immediately. “We didn’t use protection, and that’s not something I usually do.”

“So we’re exclusive but just seeing where things go?” he asks, and I nod.

“Exactly, and maybe we should keep things between us for now to avoid unnecessary drama. You might get tired of my cold feet and not want to continue seeing me,” I tease.

He takes a drink of his orange juice, green eyes sparkling over the rim before setting it down on the wooden table. “I think you’re right. About the drama thing, not the feet. I’m happy to serve as your foot warmer if you also let me warm that tight little pussy, darlin’.”

“So you use me, and I use you?” I ask, unable to disguise my smile anymore. I love how he just casually discusses my vagina at the breakfast table.

Antonio reaches across the table and swipes an errant strand of hair from my cheek. “It sounds like a fair trade to me.”

I dig into my eggs, my heart feeling lighter than it has in years because this man makes me inexplicably giddy. I’m just not sure how far this thing between us will go.

Chapter 8

Ophelia

Claudia stares at me with wide eyes over her Salad Niçoise. “Holy crap, Ophelia. The man is mature, has tattoos, an accent, muscles, no criminal record, and a big penis that still works?” She jabs her fork in my direction. “Honey, you’ve found yourself a unicorn.”

“He is pretty fantastic,” I sigh dreamily. It’s been a week since Antonio spent the night at my house, and since then, we’ve been together three more times. I have to admit, I’m a bit smitten with the man.

My friend nibbles on a blanched green bean. “You’re positively glowing. Does he have a brother?” she asks with a lascivious eyebrow wiggle.

“No, he’s an only child. His mom is dead, but his father is still alive and living in Ireland.”

Claudia’s eyes dart over my shoulder, and her eyes widen. “Red alert. J.P. Jenkins is walking this way.”

“Shit,” I mutter. “Do you think I can get away with hiding beneath the table?”

She winces and lowers her voice. “No can do. He’s spotted you.”

I pile a mound of cranberry chicken salad on a rosemary wheat cracker and stuff it into my mouth as the man approaches. Admittedly, J.P. is nice-looking with his perfectly styled blond hair and big smile, but like I told Phoenix a few weeks ago, the man is dull as dishwater.

“Ophelia, hi,” he says brightly.

Chewing in an overexaggerated manner, I point to my mouth apologetically and give him a little wave, hoping he’ll move on when he sees my mouth is full. But no. I can’t be that lucky. J.P. stands there like a lump on a log, waiting for me to finish chewing.

I cover my mouth with my napkin until I’ve chewed and swallowed the over-large bite. “J.P., so nice to see you,” I say politely, lowering the linen back to my lap and forcing a practiced smile onto my lips.