“Talking dirty to my curry.”
“Oh. What? No.” I laugh, my cheeks heating as the eye contact between us gets next-level intense. “That didn’t sound dirty.”
“Yes, it did.”
“No, it didn’t.” I wave a hand as I cross the room.
He grunts, but lets it drop. “So, two limes? Three?”
“Three,” I say, licking my lips and fighting the urge to moan in anticipation, not wanting to be accused of being a curry pervert again. “Or four.”
“You,” he says in a mock-scandalized tone. “You’re wild.”
“No, I’m not. I’m very boring.” The familiar words come easily, though I don’t feel boring tonight. Tonight, I stopped a fight, refrained from bursting into tears in front of my ex-boyfriend, and I’m eating dinner with a gorgeous, half-naked man.
Tonight, I might actually be one of the more interesting people I know, which is…exciting.
Or maybe it’s just the way Jeffrey looks at me as he squeezes each slice of lime over the steaming pan that makes me feel like I’m being lightly, deliciously electrocuted.
“Do you always cook with your shirt off?” I ask, leaning against the counter by the two plates he’s laid out to receive our curried bounty.
“Only when I’m feeling sexy,” he says seriously.
I smile. “So that’s a yes?” He winks, and I roll my eyes with a sigh. “What’s it like? To be so confident and gorgeous? Do you just have sex all the time?” I ask, suddenly curious about his past conquests.
“No, I don’t have sex all the time.”
“Liar,” I tease. “I bet back home you’ve got a different woman for every night of the week. Three on Saturdays.”
“I don’t,” he says, giving his concoction a stir. “I had a girlfriend for most of last year, and there hasn’t been anyone since that ended. I’ve been too busy helping Andrew prepare for the coronation.”
I arch a brow. “So how long has it been? Sorry if that’s too personal. I’m just so curious. I’ve never talked to a man about his sex life before.”
His gaze slides my way. “Should I be flattered or offended?”
“Flattered,” I say, stomach flipping as our eyes lock again. Eye contact with Jeffrey is nearly as hot as second base with Rafe. Though it’s been so long since I’ve been to second base, I might not be remembering it correctly. “I feel safe with you.”
Pleasure softens his features. “I’m glad. You’re always safe with me. I’m sorry about before. I was trying to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself, or me, but I should have found a better way to do that than pinning you to the bed.”
Pinning me to the bed…
Jesus, the words are enough to make my panties wet. I have to change the subject, fast, before I end up begging him to take my virginity on the dining table.
“It’s okay,” I say. “So, where did you learn to cook curry?”
“My first serious girlfriend was Indian. We were too young for her parents to trust us alone together. So, we hung out at her place a lot, helped her mother cook. It was nice.” He shrugs. “Until her dad found out I was part of the royal family and refused to let us see each other again.”
My jaw drops. “What? Why would he do that?”
“He was part of the Democratic Reform Party. They want elections, not more of the same.”
I chew the inside of my lip. “Well, I understand the impulse toward self -government, and obviously that’s the direction the people chose here, but…”
“But,” he prods.
“Well, nothing against my grandparents or the rest of my crazy family, but they did have a reputation for being…crazy. And unpredictable.”
“Was it your grandfather who built the giant slide through the capital?”
I roll my eyes. “My great grandfather. Blew the entire annual budget for the war widows and orphans fund on the thing. And yes, the orphans loved sliding through the center of the city, but I’m sure they also would have enjoyed eating something other than porridge that winter. He was oblivious, and grandpa was even worse. So yes, I understand why the Rindish people wanted the chance to elect someone more stable. But Gallantia’s had a good run the past few hundred years. Peace, prosperity, increased tourism and national wealth that your family has funneled into programs that benefit the people. I don’t know any country that has two years of paid leave to share between the parents after they have a new baby. That’s incredible. My nanny from California says a lot of mothers in the United States only get a few weeks and the fathers often don’t get anything at all.”
“Barbaric,” he mutters.
I hum in agreement. “And exhausting, I imagine. I haven’t spent much time around infants, but the ones I have met seem like a full-time job.”
“Agreed.” He turns off the stove and faces me, surprise writ on his features. “You’ve done your homework on my country.”