He’s looking at me again.

Not looking. That’s not the right word. He’s practically groping me with his eyes, running them down my body, and he’s not shy about it.

I almost drop the coffee pot as I walk toward their table.

It’s not that I never get lecherous looks. Plenty of dirty old men come in here, and I catch them staring at me all the time. It stopped bothering me a long time ago.

But he’s not a dirty old man. He’s hot as sin, muscled and cocky and clearly used to getting what he wants. He’s disheveled in exactly the right way, in a way that makes me want to let him dishevel me.

Not that I know much about getting disheveled. I’m a virgin, after all — I’ve never gotten further than some experimental kisses with a boy back in high school.

Right now, I wish I was thinking about anything but straddling his lap, sliding my hips against his. Putting my hands underneath his half-unbuttoned shirt as he groans, taking my breasts in both hands...

“Doesn’t look half bad,” that rough, gritty voice says as I pour coffee into his mug.

“You did say strong,” I say, as sweetly as I can muster.

“Think you got it right?” he asks, smirking.

What an asshole.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me if I didn’t,” I say, still smiling as I pour the other three men coffee. They’re all good-looking despite their hangovers, but none of them makes my breath catch in my throat quite the way he does.

The jerk. Of course.

Just get them breakfast and be done with it, Ella.

He takes a sip as I place the carafe on the table. There’s something sensual about even that, the way his lips move, the way his eyes linger on mine.

“It needs sugar,” he finally says. “Got any?”

I point at the sugar container on the table, in plain sight. He looks at it, then takes another sip.

“Got any other sugar?” he asks, his eyes raking down my body. His three friends all smirk, and I feel my face heating up again.

“We’ve got Sweet & Low, Equal, stevia, and I think there’s some—”

He just laughs.

“Nevermind,” he says. “I’ll have the pancakes.”

They all order, and I practically sprint back to the kitchen. We’re finally getting busy with the breakfast rush, so Flynn’s just cooking, flipping things, and shouting questions at me. Thank God he doesn’t notice that I’m red-faced and flustered, because I’m absolutely positive there would be questions about it.

He was hitting on me, right? Asking me for sugar? It’s not the first time I’ve been asked that, in that way, but it’s the first time I’ve kind of considered it.

Not that I was really considering it. What exactly am I supposed to do, follow him into the men’s room and let him bend me over the sink? Let him pull my hair as he pushes my shorts down, sliding his fingers through my dripping wet—

“Excuse me, miss,” one of the old ladies calls, and I realize I was just staring at the wall, my panties slowing soaking through thinking about the things this total stranger could do to me in the bathroom.

“Could we please get the check?”

“Of course!” I chirp, and grab it out of my apron.

When the food comes up for the jerk’s table, I pretend I’m busy with my three other tables and beg the other waitress, Chloe, to give it to them.

She comes back wide-eyed.

“Jerks, right?” I whisper, checking an order against the ticket.

Chloe grabs me by the shoulder and turns me around.

“You could have told me that Prince Grayson was here,” she hisses.

I’m stunned. My mouth drops open.

“What?” I squeak out.

Chloe just makes an are you kidding me right now face, and Flynn comes over.

“Did you just say Prince Grayson is here?” he asks, spatula still in hand.

Chloe nods wordlessly.

“You gave them menus!” I whisper at Flynn. “You didn’t know either!”

“It was dark! They weren’t looking at me! I was in a hurry because your ass was late, girl!” he says, rolling his eyes. “Besides, Prince Grayson is one hot-ass hunk of man, and those boys over there are hungover wrecks.”

I disagree, having already thought several times this morning about that hungover wreck between my thighs, but I don’t say anything.

“Do we give them a discount?” Chloe whispers.

“Hell no!” Flynn says, darting his eyes at the table. “He’s richer than God, he doesn’t get a discount.”

“What do we do?” I whisper.

We all look at each other. Chloe and Flynn shrug.

“Make sure they get lots of refills?” she says. Flynn nods in agreement.

For the rest of the time they’re there, I’m super awkward. I don’t know if they’re here because they don’t want to be recognized, so I don’t say anything, but I know I’m acting weird and not just because looking at the guy makes me wet as a waterfall.

Instead of asking for the check, Prince Grayson just hands me an all-black credit card. I’m almost nervous to run it through our machine, because just this card looks like something way too fancy for me to touch.

When they’re finally leaving, I heave a sigh of relief. I just want to have a regular morning at work, not a morning where all I can think about is the incredibly sexy crown prince and the things I want him to do to me. Even though he’s a jerk.

I’m wiping down a table when I turn around, and he’s right behind me, that stupid smirk on his handsome face, that cocky look in his eyes. My breath catches in my throat, and I don’t say anything, just stand there like an idiot.

“What do you say to taking a well-deserved break?” he says, his voice low and growly. “You’ve been on your feet all morning, might be nice to be on your knees for a few minutes.”

I open my mouth, then shut it, turning bright red.

“I’d return the favor, naturally,” he says, still smirking. “Ever wondered why they call me His Royal Hardness? The rumors are true. Think of how you could brag to your friends.”

I look down. I can’t help it. I try not to read the tabloids, because ew, but everyone in the kingdom knows that Prince Grayson is legendarily well-endowed. Hell, he got photographed drunk and naked a few months ago, and Flynn waxed rhapsodical about his magnificent cock.

I didn’t look at the pictures. It felt wrong and weird, but right now I’m staring at the enormous bulge in his tuxedo pants, and even though I’m not exactly an expert on penises — okay, fine, I’ve never seen one in person — it seems like they can’t possibly be that big.

“What do you say?” he asks, putting one hand on the table behind me and leaning in. “Fancy a quick fuck before you get back to work?”

I duck to one side, heart hammering because I can’t believe he’s propositioning me like this. I’m a nice girl, a virgin, not some coked-up partier who’d say yes to having sex in the bathroom while I’m at work.

No matter how sexy this guy is. Even though he’s the Prince. I’m not swiping my v-card like this.

“No!” I manage to squeak out.

He just laughs.

“You just mean not here,” he says, still cocky as ever. “How about I pay off your boss for the rest of your shift, call my limousine, and you can find out what it feels like to come for royalty?”

I’m the color of a tomato, I just know it. My face is hotter than a furnace, my heart thumping in my chest.

“I have tables!” I say, then finally manage to duck around him.

I practically run into the kitchen, and I don’t come out until I’m completely certain he’s gone.