Chapter Twenty-Two
Sadie
I t’s two days later and though I have leads, whoever has the tiara, whoever is trying to sell it, is laying low. But there’s something in the air, something buzzing everywhere I look.
Something, somewhere in this underworld is going to happen and soon. People are excited.
I’d bet my life it’s the Sinclair tiara.
Nothing gets the air sizzling like the discovery of a myth as reality. Especially in the world of the rare and unique and stolen.
But tonight I have different plans.
I stand in front of Kingston’s door on his private landing. He’s not expecting me, but here I am, ready to see the bastard who makes my heart beat a little too hard and fast.
Footsteps clatter and grow louder inside and I ring the bell again.
“I told you, I’m not in the mood.” And the door swings open.
I forget how to breathe.
He doesn’t move. “You’re not my brother.”
Oh, Lord, I don’t know how, but this is somehow more naked than if he was naked.
Kingston’s been working out, and he’s wearing shorts that sit low on narrow hips, and sweat drips down from his hair and his pecs and I’m about to lose my mind.
All that man flesh, lean, the sheen and tiny rivulet of sweat is something I want to put my mouth against and lick off him. I’ve never had the inclination to lick sweat before, but with him?
Yes. Please.
My mouth is dry and words have vanished and my body throbs. Down deep between my thighs it thrums with the urge to have him touch, to slide his hands under my coat and throw me against the wall. I want him to slide fingers along my panties, I want them inside me. I want—
Fuck.
“Go shower and get dressed.”
“And here I thought you were having a good old visual feast there.” He steps aside, just a little, and I skitter in.
Kingston closes the door behind me and rests his hand against me, trapping me in. His body heat seeps down into me.
“You stink.” He doesn’t. The man smells faintly of that spice and musk of him, along with clean sweat, the kind that makes images of sex dance through my mind. As a way to get him to go away it’s pathetic. And he knows it.
“If I do, it turns you on,” he says, gaze on my mouth. He flicks open the buttons on my coat, pushing it open, though that’s all he does. He slides his gaze over me. “Going somewhere?”
“With you, yes. Although, I want to kill you.”
“See, that’s why you’re single, Sadie. You keep offing the men. Like a black widow spider.”
“And your special blend of insulting women along with your personality is why you’re single.”
He moves in close. “If I kissed you, you’d kiss me back.”
Before I can do a thing, he steps away and walks off. “Why are you here? Dressed to the nines?”
“We’re going to your brother’s fundraiser.”
Christ, the lean, muscular shape of him is scorching even from behind.
I trail him down the hall and into the huge kitchen in white and black stone. He grabs a tea towel and wipes his face, flings it over his shoulders, around his neck. He then pours some water, sliding a glass to me and then getting one of his own. “I already donated.”
“I don’t care.”
“Those things bore me.”
They bore me, too, but he’s going. We have a lot to talk about, like why he’s keeping shit from me when I’ve been an open book about work. Things like visiting my Yia-yia.
She’s no better, but Athena let it slip she’s seen him, wrapping the reveal in the kind of words I’d have to basically say I was interested in him to get her to tell me more. Because Yia-yia is good.
The woman knows how to veil words without saying they’d spoken outright. It pisses me off.
“Why did you go to see Athena?”
His eyes widen slightly. “I’m betting she didn’t tell you.”
“Not in so many words.”
Kingston shrugs and holds onto the ends of the towel that’s lying around his neck. “Why do you think, Sadie?”
“Because you’re an asshole.”
He laughs and leans against the stone island. “Trust is delicate.” He picks up his glass and takes a swallow.
“Or in your case, non-existent.”
Kingston sighs. “You’re not explaining why you think I’m going.”
“Because it’s invitation only.”
“And since when has that stopped you?”
I consider him, then nod. “This is easier. And, it’s your family.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. Why do you want to go to a fundraiser run by my brother? It’s a small thing, big money. Not exactly a let’s find the tiara event, is it?”
I could lie outright, tell him I suspect someone there might have a connection, but that’s a dangerous game with him. Danger doesn’t bother me when it’s for a reason. Or when the person I’m playing with isn’t a threat. This man is. To me. In dark, intimate ways.
He sees more than most.
There’s tinder between us that’s been doused in a combustible that’s waiting for a match. It’s been lit before, and it wants that again. I want it, even as much as I don’t.
So I choose a half-truth. “Your mother will be there.”
“You want her to see us together?”
“I want to see her in action.”
Kingston smiles slowly. “You know that’s flimsy.”
He’s right, it is, and I deliberately breathe evenly. “Let’s just say I’m curious.”
“Okay,” he says after a small pause, “give me fifteen.”
The party is in full swing when we get to the impressive loft in TriBeCa. His brother, Ryder, opens the door and old school jazz wraps about us.
The man is most definitely Kingston’s brother, and he’s probably the most stunning man I’ve met. He’s hands-down, unobjectively beautiful.
But I prefer Kingston’s beauty and its hard edge.
“Normally this is Mag’s thing, but sometimes you gotta do your duty. And I thought you weren’t coming, King,” he says by way of greeting. Then his gaze lights on me and he grins. “Your taste has improved.”
“If you’re going to be doorman…” Kingston takes off his coat and hands it to his brother, who dumps it.
“Ryder.” A tall redhead who reminds me of a film star from yesteryear approaches and collects the coat, hanging it up on a stand. There are staff, I can see them and no doubt there’s a set up for coat check, but this is family and the party isn’t huge. It’s big enough and yet, not at all the kind of thing I’m expecting, though, taking in the man with the coal-black curls in his dark purple suit, it all fits.
These two are as different as I could have imagined, but it’s clear they’re brothers and not just from looks. There’s steel beneath that layer of natural flirt and charm of Ryder, and his gaze smokes for the redhead. No jewels on her except a ring on her left hand.
Ryder slides a hand about her waist. “What? I’m allowed. He’s my asshole brother.”
“I’m not the only one who sees it,” I say to Kingston.
He doesn’t look insulted. “He projects. And you…”
“Me?”
“Have other reasons.”
He’s got me there. Kingston is an asshole, but his words have an undercurrent of heat and sexuality that dive deep into me.
“I’m Elliot,” the woman says, holding out her hand.
“Sadie.”
“Shall we?” says Kingston after he removes and hangs up my coat.
“Let’s.” Ryder grins at his brother. “It’s been boring so far. Maybe this will spice it up.”
I meet his family and his mother is also there. I exchange pleasantries with them all and the conversation is polite and nothing is given away from his mother—not that I expected it.
“Well?” Kingston appears, his mouth at my ear, hand light on my waist. Heat spreads through me from his touch and his scent. I want to lean back into him because having sex with him was a mistake.
The moment I let my guard down, all I want to do is give over to the lust that unfurls in my veins.
“Well what?”
“Learn anything? Because I haven’t.”
“Your mother is good.” I’m fighting the urge to lean against him, aware his brothers watch, all with small smiles. I like his family from our short and polite conversations, and their partners.
None of them fit the mold of the other rich I’ve rubbed shoulders with. The other rich here who are oblivious to the undercurrents in the room.
His lips brush my earlobe. “Or she’s innocent and you’re pushing me to think Mother’s up to something when she isn’t.”
Pulling away I turn to face him. This gives me a moment to catch hold of my equilibrium. “But you don’t think that, do you?”
“No,” he says, glancing past me a moment, “I don’t. But that doesn’t equate to me trusting you.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I take in a breath. “I’m getting some wine.”
With that flimsy excuse, I pull free and get one, shifting back as much as I can into the shadows, and then I get directions to the bathroom.
I’m not about to use the one on this floor. I don’t even want the bathroom. I’m here on a little mission.
Scarlett and Zoey are wearing their jewels and I can’t examine them without things getting awkward. But Elliot isn’t wearing hers, so I want to find their bedroom.
Athena said something to me about the photos and the way they’re made. The touch is lighter, more delicate than other Mininchi pieces.
I’ve seen some of those, up close and in person. Held them, studied. I haven’t seen a Sinclair Mininchi in person. I want to. I need to.
The bedroom is the fifth room I go into on the third floor. I know instantly it’s their private floor, and this is their bedroom. It’s a mix of art deco and modern. All class, and with beautiful plants, too. But I want her jewels. Not them specifically, just one.
There’s a chance, of course, they keep them in a safe, but I don’t think so.
This family isn’t over the top even though they drip more money than normal people can dream about.
Elliot would wear jewels, but they would always be a deliberate thought and I’m thinking the engagement is new, so that’s her jewelry of the evening. And her dress is simple, elegant and with the kind of lines that don’t demand adornment.
I rarely wear jewelry, but that’s me. Maybe she’s similar, I don’t know her. But I like getting in the heads of the people whose homes I’m in. Whether it’s for robbing or protecting, it’s all a puzzle that begs to be solved.
Elliot isn’t used to being center of attention, but she’s not precious. Her jewels will be away, but I’m betting her necklace—the Sinclair piece—won’t be. It’ll be something to see, to admire, to touch because it was given to her by Ryder. She’ll wear it, but on special occasions and this isn’t special to her.
On an old art deco desk is a mirror, old and exquisite, and in front of it is an ornate box and a beautiful carved blackwood dish.
In that is the necklace.
I smile as I pick it up and turn it over in my hands.
There’s no doubt in my mind this is a Mininchi. Or meant to be.
It glows with a delicate touch, and its beauty can’t be captured in full from photos.
But Yia-yia is right.
Still, I’d love to have these. I covet them in a way I’ve never coveted jewels before. I’d keep them, and it would be so easy to slide this into the hidden pocket of my full skirt.
The air shifts around me and my heart starts to beat fast as I close my hand around the necklace.
I look in the mirror.
And meet Kingston’s gaze.
He isn’t smiling.
“What the fuck are you doing, Sadie?”