Chapter 20
chapter twenty
Kai
The fucking asshole who turned on the sun deserves to have his head put on a spike in the afterlife. And maybe have someone fuck the eyeholes while they're at it, every day, with the world's biggest, ugliest member.
Dramatic? Yes. But also true. And with the way my head pounds when I shift to try and run away from the sunlight streaming through the wall of windows on the far side of the room, I can't hide from it.
Not that I can move in general, considering there's something laying on me. Or someone.
Last night is hazy; I remember bringing Reese home, remember not keeping it up for her, remember her leaving in a huff—
Denali.
Denali was here, she ran into Reese, she—she brought booze and got wasted with me on the living room rug.
I force myself to open one eye, though the pain that shoots through my head is insane, and peer down at the weight on my chest. Sure enough, it's Denali, in that tiny little cocktail dress from last night, and nothing else.
I catch sight of her heels, discarded at our feet, but that's not what does me in and sends a bullet of longing straight through my heart.
No, what does it is the way her head rests on my chest, right against my heart, one hand splayed out over the middle of my sternum as she breathes slow and deep, her lips just slightly parted, breath fanning over my bare chest. I have no idea where her other hand is pinned, and I'm afraid to find out.
One of her legs is hiked over one of mine, and the way that makes her little bodycon number hikes damn near to her hip is arousing.
I have to take a deep breath, or I'll be in worse shape when she wakes up than I've ever been in front of a woman in my life.
I'm down bad for her. I can't ignore it now.
If my reaction wasn't clue enough, then the way my arm bands around her back and shoulder, fingers curled over the soft skin they lay atop, the way my whole body flushes every time her lips brush my skin, the way my dick is damn near ready to jump out of my pants at the mere sight of a fully clothed woman lying against me, all make it unavoidable.
I've gotta tell her.
I can't keep this a secret. It'll only hurt the both of us, the longer I go without revealing how I feel.
What I want. What I suspect we both want.
But it's a tenuous process. She's my fucking employee, for crying out loud.
And I dunno what her moral standing is, but even if I'm willing to set this ship aflame and go down with it to the depths of the ocean, she might not be.
She's not well-off. This job, her livelihood, it's all she has.
She needs it. And I doubt offering to pay her bills would go over well with a woman as independent as she is.
I'll have to play it careful, feel this out slowly.
She stirs in my arms, and I bite back a groan as her hand drifts down, skimming the surface of my abs as she turns me into a human body pillow.
She scoots closer against me, if that's even possible, and sighs contentedly when my free arm, which is propped behind my head to serve as a pillow, comes down and bands around her waist.
And then that searching hand stops, moves to her hip, where my second hand now rests, and she feels her way over each of my fingers in turn, mapping them out as her face contorts in confusion.
Watching her process her situation with her eyes closed in real time is honestly hilarious.
She fights the truth, chews on the inside of her cheek, licks her lips and clears her throat.
Her whole body tenses. She tries to hold herself apart from me, and fails, because I've got her wrapped up in my embrace.
Denali, my little kara, isn't going anywhere, not without 'waking' me.
She knows it, too. Those searching fingers stop mapping my hand and rise to my shoulder, the one she's not lying on, and she shoves it gently, trying to wake me.
This is the moment where I could pretend to wake up, give her what she needs, or what she's aiming for, at least. But I just lay there, pretending still, scrunching my face up a little as she re-evaluates and murmurs under her breath at my still form.
"Dammit, Kai, why do you have to sleep so heavily?"
Her voice isn't meant to wake me, it's a whispered plea, a complaint I'm not meant to hear. I almost blow my own cover and sass her right back, only catching myself at the last second before I slip up.
"Damn, damn, damn damn." Her hand reaches down and tugs at the hem of her skirt as she lifts her leg off of mine, and the cold that rushes in makes me scowl.
I miss her warmth already, and she's only taken away a fraction of it.
It's not looking good for my future down here on the rug.
"Just stay asleep, Kai, stay right there asleep while I detangle us and save my dignity and yours. "
It's too bad she doesn't know her dignity and mine left the building last night when we had a contest to see who was more drunk, involving our fingers, noses, and a straight line.
Or that it was nonexistent from the minute she and I decided to spin the bottle and start kissing inanimate objects after the drama on TV got boring.
She nudges my arm off her shoulder, and I let it fall, giving her this moment of triumph as she lifts herself gingerly off of my torso and inches away.
I don't have to open my eyes to feel her searing gaze still glued to my body, though.
The heat on my skin is enough to tell me she's drinking her fill.
So I let her, because in all the time I've known I'm attracted to her, I've been sneaking more peeks than I dare say she's had the opportunity to reciprocate.
"Jesus," she swears softly, her voice full of awe. "Where the hell does he put that thing in those pants they put him in on stage?"
My dick. She's talking about my dick.
The air leaves my lungs; breathing is a struggle. I have to force air into my body to keep from choking and passing out at the revelation that Denali is staring at my dick.
She called it big.
That brings a smile to my lips, one I'm not fast enough to prevent. And damn it all, she sees it.
And swears.
"Dammit, Kai, you're awake, aren't you?"
Oops.
"Maybe?" I peek one eye open and grin wider at the blush working its' way over her cheeks, up her throat, coating her pretty, tan skin in a flushed shade of pink. "Thanks for the compliment, by the way. And the answer to your question—tape. Special tape and a lot of prayers that it'll hold."
Her blush deepens. "You know, some trade secrets should probably stay trade secrets."
I shrug and sit up, which puts me at eye level with her thighs, a dangerous place to be.
"Yeah, well, you're not going to go telling anyone, are you?
" When she shakes her head, I nod mine back and stand up, dusting my pants off with a wince as I brush the front of my dick and it jumps in response.
"Besides—it's a totally normal question to have.
I used to ask the same one. And I'm sure you've seen a dick at least once in your life, right? "
She hesitates. And now I'm worried that I may have hired a virgin.
"Denali? Right?"
Please tell me she's seen a dick in her life. And then please maybe tell me she hasn't, so I don't have to think about her touching or looking at or playing with another man like I want her to do to me—
"Of course I've seen a dick, Kai, I'm in my late twenties, after all," she huffs, like it was an insult to her character to assume she might be a blushing virgin. "I have the internet, too, in case you've forgotten. I see more than I want to on there."
I nod, dragging a hand over my face to try and regain my composure. "Right. Ah, yeah, right, of course." My eyes flick to the kitchenette area, searching the wall for the clock. "Is noon too late in the day for coffee?"
"Noon?" Her gaze joins mine, and then she squints, like that's going to change a thing. "Noon, noon, was there something I needed to do at noon today? What was it . . . "
I watch her scramble for her phone on the rug, and damn, but when she bends over on her knees in that dress, I can see clean up the back.
Hot pink. Her fucking panties are hot pink.
I wonder if her bra matches them.
Things I should not be wondering about my assistant. Who I inappropriately passed out on a fur rug with after we got shit-faced wasted together.
"So, you never did tell me how your date with that guy from last night went," I say casually, spotting the lipstick on the side of my expensive end table lamp. My grin widens. "Must not have been too much to speak of, if you ended up with your boss drinking the night away."
"It went about as well as your own date last night," she huffs from the kitchen, her hands flying on the fancy coffee machine as it hisses and smokes. "And mine wasn't a date. He offered, I declined. It's not what I'm looking for."
I look around some more, piecing together our night as I pluck her heels from the floor and set them by the door.
"So what are you looking for?" I spot her phone, which she'd abandoned looking for to pivot to coffee, which sounds divine right about now.
"From a curious outsider's perspective, strictly speaking. "
"Nothing," she mutters, letting me know there is something she's looking for, she just doesn't want to tell me. "I just wasn't interested, so I told him to bugger off, and went home."
My fingers trail over the clean countertop as I take a seat at the breakfast bar and wait patiently for her to set the coffee I know she's making for me in front of my waiting hands.
She doesn't put that much cream in hers, so I know it's not herself she's making it for.
"Ah. Interesting. You went home." I think about what she's not saying, wondering how far I can push before it's too far to come back from.
I don't want to spook her. I like Denali, as a woman, and as my assistant.
I'd hate to lose her as either. "And yet, here you are. "
"And yet, here I am," she echoes, setting my coffee down in front of me. Those hands of hers are quick, and she snatches her phone from my grip, grinning wickedly at her victory. "Now, what the hell was it that I needed to do this afternoon?"
Those long, manicured nails fly over her screen and she stares hard at it for a second. Then, her face contorts into one of frustration and confusion.
"Something wrong?"
I get a phone in my face for my trouble, damn near taking my coffee out in the process. "It says Gala RSVP. But you did that for me already, didn't you?"
"I did. So what the hell is this in here for?"
The phone falls to the counter as I cover her hand with mine and force her to look away. "Don't worry about it. We've already had my tuxedo fitting, the RSVP is in, all that needs done is my tux needs picked up from the shop tomorrow, so I can put it on and show up."
"Oh shit, the gala really is tomorrow." She perks up, heading for my bedroom, her own coffee long forgotten. "Did you pick out a pair of shoes yet? What about your tie? And shit, you've gotta get accessories ready, too—"
"That's what I have a stylist for, Denali," I say with a smile, taking my cup to follow her into my room, watching her fly around the walk-in closet as she searches the drawers where she's got my pieces all sorted out—rings, watches, ties, pins, all the bells and whistles. "They're paid to make me look good."
"Yeah, well sometimes they don't know what they're doing," she says with a huff of annoyance, dancing around the comment, the insinuation.
I think she's just looking for something to keep her busy.
"Like that time they tried to put you in pants that looked like they had three waistlines. Seriously, who the fuck—"
"Okay, I'll give you that, they were horrible," I agree, sipping the hot concoction she made me. It's always divine, whatever she does to make it like it is, and I never have a single complaint. Hell, it's better than what I usually get at the cafe most days. "But seriously, Denali, we—"
"Here," she says confidently, yanking a watch from my nearest drawer, "this one, I think.
" She flits to the next drawer, rummaging through my necklaces before settling on a chain link number that looks sharp but classy.
It'll pop against the open-button collar thing I've been rocking lately, and she knows it.
"It shines against your skin, since it's so dark, and it'll balance the white tux nicely.
" Her look at me when she says white tux tells me exactly how she feels about my choice in color for that.
I let her spiral, because it's not something she needs to do, styling my look for tomorrow, but it's something she's comfortable with, and honestly, if she's so nervous that she needs to keep herself busy to prevent a fallout, I'm more than willing to enable her.
And okay, so maybe I enjoy the sight of her in my closet, her hands on my clothes, picking out what I'll wear, like she's my wife or something, a little too much.
"And we have to tell your plus one that she'll need to match you, not the other way around. You're the star, it's only fair."
I don't bother telling her that the woman on my arm tomorrow isn't going to have to worry about matching me. Because that woman is already my perfect match.