“Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?”
I groan around the rim of my cup of tequila—it’s useless to call it coffee anymore—and turn around to face Nate.
We’re in the conference room at Weaver & Shaw. Massive, sterile, and soulless. Its main use, aside from the partners’ meetings, is for strategizing how to extract more money from the rich and influential.
Only minutes ago, we concluded a meeting with a large corporation that’s trying to get out of the IRS’s clutches. The CEO left with a promise of a seamless process and a wide grin on his face.
The associate lawyers left with tasks to perform and I was hoping to do the same before Nate closed the door and blocked my way.
He leans against the large desk, arms crossed with apparent nonchalance, but his dark eyes pin me down with a demand of an answer to his question.
An answer I don’t have unless I blurt out that I fucked his best friend, partner, and father-in-law.
That was yesterday—or early this morning. Since then, I’m surprised I can walk—albeit slowly, so as not to trigger the feeling of Kingsley inside me. I’ve been sorer than a warrior out of the battlefield, with bites, hickeys and handprints that should be enough to press charges for assault.
Though an assault is the last thing it felt like. That was pure claiming, intense and unbearably ruthless.
I had no chance to walk away unscathed, and it’s not only because of what he did. It’s the fact that I lost myself and took pleasure in every moment of it.
And I know that if I don’t stay away, there’s more of that to come. Next time, I probably won’t even be able to walk.
Next time? Why the hell are you thinking about the next time? That won’t be happening.
I massage my temple, trying to force myself back into the moment. “What do you mean?”
Nate raises a brow, which translates to, “I’m not the person you can bullshit,” then starts counting on one hand. “First, I find out you were assaulted, then I learn King is back to being Nicolo Luciano’s side bitch, and as if that’s not enough, you coincidentally are getting into bed with the mafia, too. I leave for one second and you switch sides to the underground world? I expected this from King, but not from you, Aspen.”
I sip a long drag of my coffee-tequila because I’m apparently too sober for this conversation. “It’s just business.”
“And life is just a simulation.” He stares, utterly unamused. “What’s going on?”
“I needed a favor, okay?”
“What type of favor?”
“The type you shouldn’t worry about.”
“If it concerns you, then it has all the conditions to make me worry. You’re my friend and my wife’s mother, Aspen. So if there’s anything I need to know, now is the time to say it.”
“It’s really nothing, Nate. I’ll take care of it and I promise that the firm will stay out of this.”
“How about Gwyneth? Will she be out of your business with the mafia, too? I thought you wanted a chance with her. Spoiler alert, this isn’t how to go about it.”
I fill my stomach with more alcohol. “I’d never hurt her.”
“Not you, but your new best friends might.”
“It won’t happen.” I sigh, massaging my other temple. “Just drop it, Nate. Some skeletons are better left in the closet.”
Nate knows I come from a rough childhood and lost my parents as a kid. He’s also aware that I was abused by my foster parents and eventually ran away. However, he doesn’t know the details and he certainly has no clue about who my father is.
I might’ve considered telling him under different circumstances, but now that he’s my daughter’s husband, it’s out of the question.
He’s protective to a fault when it comes to Gwyneth and this would just create unnecessary problems. He might become the one who actively distances me from her to shield her from my mess.
“Then riddle me this, Aspen. What does King have to do with your skeletons? Aside from the fact that you once conceived Gwyneth together, the only thing you share is a passionate mutual disregard.”
My chest clenches and I have to pause before I speak. What the hell? It’s only his name, why am I feeling like a preteen with a hormone-infused crush?
“He has nothing to do with me.” I sound so convincing that even I would believe myself if I were less sober.
“Let’s see.” He counts on his hand again. “He so coincidentally got back by Nicolo’s side at the same time you went to him. He now calls you by your given name that I genuinely thought he didn’t know. Oh, and he’s been so out of control that he fucked it all up with Gwyneth by showing his ugly side. So excuse me if I think there’s something more to this tale.”
Shit.
My hand starts to become unsteady, so I clutch the mug tighter.
Nate finding out about our sex session—or sessions—is nothing more than an unneeded complication.
Not if it’s over.
Keep telling yourself that.
“You, of all people, are well aware of how unpredictably volatile Kingsley is. So I should be the one to ask you what’s wrong with him after his coma. Maybe he hit his head too hard?”
“Yeah, no. You’re not using a reverse questioning tactic on me, Aspen. You’re hiding something, I can feel it, taste it, and smell it in the air.”
I wave him off, opting to disappear in my office for the rest of the day and potentially indefinitely.
Before I can take a step, the door flings open without so much as a knock.
Only one person in this building would dare to barge in on the managing partner of the firm.
And the strangest part is that I feel him before I even see him. As if there’s a stupid connection between us or something.
When I lift my head and my eyes clash with Kingsley’s stormy ones, I’m struck by that scary feeling I had when he actually paused the sex marathon and we talked.
A feeling that goes beyond the physical and dabbles in much more obscure territory.
He slams the door shut, proving to lack a gentle bone in his body, and marches toward us with sure determination and knitted brows.
If he could be less dashing in his black suit and groomed appearance, it would be much better.
Though the last time I saw him, he was out of the suit and looked a great deal more lethal with that weapon between his legs.
My thighs shake in remembrance and the ache I took a bath to erase springs back to life.
I internally curse myself for thinking about him naked and reacting violently to it.
Nate is here, for God’s sake.
Stay calm.
Stay calm…
Kingsley stops a hair’s breadth away from me, but not before he douses me with his all-male cedarwood scent. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
My mouth opens, then closes before I snap back, “What the hell is wrong with you first thing in the morning? Didn’t get a coffee?”
“You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here when your vacation isn’t over?”
“Because I actually have work to do, and oh, check the calendar. It’s an age where women don’t get told what to do.”
“Check your contract. It’s a piece of paper that says I’m your boss and, therefore, will tell you what to do, how to do it, and when. Which is right now. Get the fuck out of here before I call security to throw you out.”
“I’ll record the whole thing and report you to the board for abuse of power and if I’m in the mood, I might sue you for compensation, too.”
“Tough shit, witch. Suits that are based on pure spite are my specialty. Good fucking luck winning against me in court.”
“This is popcorn-worthy and all, but why do you look like you’re on the verge of kissing or tearing each other’s clothes off? Maybe both and not in that particular order?” Nate speaks from my right.
Kingsley and I jerk backward. Or I do, anyway, heat rising to my neck. The fucking asshole who’s able to provoke me with his mere presence simply steps back. His expression doesn’t even change, still pissed and closed off and all other negative emotions that he excels at displaying.
“Not in this lifetime,” I say in answer to Nate’s question.
Kingsley narrows his eyes on me in pure disapproval before his rigid façade returns. I know I won’t like what he’ll say before he opens his mouth. “Then you would be a liar.”
I pause, Nate pauses, and the whole world seems to tilt into silence.
What the…
The fucking—
“We made Gwen, remember? There was a lot of fucking involved,” he says with collected cool and I nearly don’t hear him over the pounding in my ears.
“Huh.” Nate scratches his chin. “For the record, if one of you kills the other, whether it’s first-degree or manslaughter, I won’t represent the other party.” He gives us a suspicious look and mutters, “You’re parents and are old enough to rise above bickering like children. Pull it together.”
Then he’s out the door, leaving me with the nightmare in the form of a man.
I jam a finger against his chest. “What the hell is wrong with you? Nate’s already suspecting something and you nearly revealed everything.”
“Aside from your horror movie-worthy expression, I don’t see why Nate shouldn’t know. Afraid your ex-fuck buddy will be jealous?”
“More like I don’t want complications. And for the last damn time, Nate and I were never fuck buddies, not that it concerns you.”
He grabs me by the waist and I shiver when he traps me between his chest and the conference table. My ass burns when it hits the edge, courtesy of the man who squashes all distance between us until only my cup of coffee separates us.
His voice drops to a sexy ramble when he says, “The taste of your cunt is still on my lips, so I say it very much concerns me.”
“We’re at work,” I whisper-yell, surveying our surroundings.
“So? I own the work.”
“Well, I don’t. So excuse me so I can go make a living, Your Royal Highness.”
“Stop provoking me for sport unless you fancy a fuck on the top of this very table.”
My hold falters on the cup due to two facts. One, I know this crazy man will go through with his promise. Two, I’m inexplicably buzzing with nauseating excitement at the possibility.
When I say nothing, he takes it as a sign that his threat went through. “Now, are you or are you not going to stop being stubborn and resume your vacation?”
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“Hiding the bruises with makeup doesn’t make you fine. It makes you a con artist.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Which bruises are we talking about? The ones from the thugs or the ones you savagely gave me like some barbarian? I can’t even move without feeling them.”
A wide, impossibly proud grin curves his lips. “Mission accomplished. Brace yourself, sweetheart, there will be more marks before those disappear.”
“You…”
“Pervert? You’re starting to sound like a broken record.”
“And you’re starting to get too comfortable touching me.” I swat his hand away. “I’m not your toy for the week, Kingsley.”
“It can be a month or two. I don’t mind.”
“Well, I do.”
He frowns. “What’s the duration you’re thinking of?”
“None. It was a one-time thing. We fucked each other out of our systems and it’s over.”
“That might be true for you, but I haven’t even started yet, sweetheart.” He grabs my chin, spreads his fingers on my skin with domineering command, and tilts my head back. “My place tonight?”
“No.”
“Your place then? Though you’ll have to kick Caroline Luciano back to her mansion. I don’t appreciate an audience.”
“No.”
“My, witch. I didn’t know you were into exhibitionism.”
“No, as in, it won’t be happening, asshole. Besides, I have to attend an event with one of my overseas clients tonight.”
“I’ll take a rain check then.”
“Take no for an answer instead.”
“Allow me to decline.” He snatches my cup of coffee. “And quit drinking while on the clock, or outside of it, for that matter.”
Then he goes out, carrying my drink and leaving me with mountain-sized frustrations.
