A Duke by Default (Reluctant Royals #2)(66)

Tav plucked the tablet out of her hands and tossed it onto the sofa across the room.

“Careful!” She leapt up and he held his forearm across the front of her, feeling the delicious press of her breasts as she dove for the tablet, which was resting safely atop a knit jumper.

He expected her to pull back, but she didn’t. Her head swiveled toward him, but the soft globes of her breasts rested against his forearm, the weight of them pure temptation. Her eyes were wide and he could feel her heart thudding where he held her. His own heart was giving hers a run for its money because his pulse rushed in his ears, drowning everything out except for the voice shouting Kiss her.

Tav swallowed.

“You’re my squire, aye?” It was a reminder to himself. She’d already said that anything more than that wasn’t on offer, even if her pupils were wide and those lovely pinky-brown lips were parted in anticipation.

“Yes,” she said. The word came out on a wary huff of breath.

“That means this isn’t a one-way street. I get to look out for you, too, remember? I think you need a break tonight and I’m going to have to insist on that.”

Her lashes fluttered. He wanted to feel them against his cheeks as she kissed him.

He couldn’t.

“Oh. Okay.” She leaned back, taking the glorious press of her bosom from his arm.

“I’ll just . . . not do anything then.” She glanced longingly at her tablet and Tav knew if he left her to get sleep she would just jump back into work as soon as the door shut, researching, sending emails, and whatever else she could do from bed.

“Can you be ready to go in half an hour?” he asked.

Her head tilted to the side and Tavish wanted to cup her face in his hands, to run his tongue over the seam of her mouth.

That wouldn’t exactly be restful for her.

“Sure,” she said. “To go where?”

“To have your mind—and your taste buds—blown.”

THE RESTAURANT WAS smaller than Tavish remembered. He hadn’t been in years—the last time had probably been that awful dinner with Greer when he’d sat searching for words that never came and the realization that it was well and truly over had settled on him. But when he’d sat on the edge of Portia’s bed, watching her rationalize how to sneak in some work, he’d had a craving for the taste of home. That he’d wanted her to taste it with him was something he’d worry about another day.

Across the table, she was biting into her fourth empanada, eyes fluttering closed and smile resting on her grease-slick lips.

“This is so good,” she murmured. Bits of the flaky pastry clung to her red-stained lips, and she licked them away.

The restaurant was small and dark and not much to look at, but the chef could make Portia smile and moan in a way Tav wasn’t able to, so it had been the right choice. He’d worried when he led her into the alley, and then down the flight of rickety stairs to the basement, that she might scoff or pull a face. He didn’t know why he kept expecting these things—Portia had never done anything to make him think she’d react in such a way.

Maybe it’s because life would be much easier for you if she did act like the annoying imaginary version of her you conjured up.

“You should taste my mum’s empanadas,” he said. “Makes these taste like deep fried dust.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” she said. She stopped and pulled out her phone with her free hand.

“Hey,” he said menacingly. “No working, remember?”

“I’m sending a picture to my friends,” she said, tapping away at the phone with a smile before tucking it away. “Evidence that I am actually taking a night off. You’re not the only one who’s been on my case. Also this deliciousness deserves to be preserved for future generations. One day I can show this picture to my grandchildren.”

Tav smiled.

“The owner of this place is friends with my mum,” he said. “We used to come here all the time when I was younger. Had birthday parties and community events here with other Chileans who’d had to come to Scotland. I thought you might like it.”

“I love it,” she said. She licked at the tip of her thumb, which he was sure wasn’t in any etiquette book, and that made it all the more alluring. When she caught him staring at her, she sheepishly picked up her napkin.

“Do you enjoy the etiquette stuff?” he asked. “I hope so because it’d be a hell of a waste to spend so much time learning and teaching something you didn’t.”

She shrugged. “I’m ambivalent. It’s what my parents thought I was good at. My sister—the smart twin—was more focused on school and I liked artsy stuff and clothes and attention. I was eager to please, while Reggie generally didn’t give a fuck about that as long as she achieved her goals.”

The paint-by-number portrait of Portia’s family situation was getting slowly filled in, but Tav couldn’t quite understand how the woman across from him could be seen as anything less than brilliant.

“So this Reggie is a genius? Because she would have to be pretty fucking intelligent to hold the title of ‘the smart twin’ between the two of you.”

“I know I’m smart. But you know how it is.” Portia shrugged. “My parents sent me for deportment lessons and entered me into local beauty contests.”