23. Gabe
23
GABE
Something wakes me from the best dream ever. The images are hazy, lingering as I blink into the darkness. The four of us were on a yacht, sprawled across a large sun pad and stripping each other bare. Touching, exploring, not a care in the world.
Soft breath and a dead weight on my shoulder draw my attention back to the present as I swipe a hand across my eyes.
What time is it?
I roll my head to the right and find Kingston passed out. I can’t make that good of a pillow, but he doesn’t seem to care. There’s just enough light to see the popcorn bowl next to him.
Which means there’s just enough light to notice how gorgeous he is with his relaxed expression, lips slightly parted and golden hair tumbling across his forehead. His impressive chest rises and falls with each breath.
My heart squeezes inside my ribs.
We’re all in with Katherine. That fact is irrefutable.
So why do my fingers itch to brush his hair back and press a kiss to his forehead? Why do I enjoy his heat and the hard planes of his body?
I should slip away and go to my own bed. Right? I could offer him the guest room. That would be the safe option. The smart thing to do.
So why am I hesitating?
Because this is nice.
Because I slept peacefully. I dreamed. I don’t remember the last time I dreamed. And I want more. Sleep. Dreams. Everything.
I grab a blanket from the back of the sofa and drape it over us the best I can with one arm. He doesn’t wake, just shifts closer, burrowing deeper into my side. A fresh sense of tranquility washes through me, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s different from when Katherine looks at me with that prim little pout and calls me by my full name, drawing me to her so effortlessly. And it’s different from when I’m with Alex, who anchors me, keeping me calm and grounded.
Closing my eyes, I let myself drift off again. Wouldn’t it be amazing if I could have all three?
???
I take back all the generous thoughts I had about Kingston in the middle of the night.
He’s not beautiful with an amazing body. He’s a freaking monster.
“You’re killing me,” I grumble, sweat pouring from my brow. The sun is barely up and rather than address the cozy way we woke up, I immediately agreed to his suggestion to go for a run.
Burning off some steam had sounded good. Forty-five minutes ago.
“You’ve got this. One more mile.”
He said that a mile back. My hammies have protested every step since then. I thought I was getting plenty of running in on the court with Alex, but that’s obviously not true.
“How did I let you,” I suck in a much-needed breath, “talk me into this?”
He’s barely winded.
What the actual fuck?
Neither is my bodyguard, for that matter. We don’t pay them enough. He hadn’t been the least bit phased by Kingston’s casual “We’re going for a run. Just a few miles.” He simply asked for a few minutes to change. And that was that.
A few turned out to be five.
And we’re not done yet.
“Tomorrow,” I say, trying not to gasp, “I’m picking the work out.”
Kingston slaps me on the shoulder. “Okay, old man.”
Then he speeds up.
The buzz of competition floods my veins, giving me a second breath and a bit of righteous outrage.
I match him step for step because I’m not old, and he’s not going to win.
As if sensing me pulling abreast, he lengthens his stride. Shit.
It’s okay. I’ve got this. I’m taller. I work out regularly. Though, obviously not as much as Mr. Parkour King.
I give him a shove. He trots around a tree, laughing, and joins me back on the path as if nothing happened.
Just like we didn’t discuss waking up on my sectional sofa this morning, wrapped around each other like pretzels.
He slows his speed, thank goodness.
I have just enough brain power to admit that it was nice to wake up next to a man and even nicer that he obviously didn’t care that he was waking up next to me . But that’s as far as I’m going with that line of thinking. My life is complicated enough without adding another relationship.
Using my t-shirt, I wipe the sweat from my eyes.
The trail narrows, and Kingston zips in front of me, legs eating up the distance. Instead of watching where I’m putting my feet, my eyes are drawn to the slope of his shoulders and his sculpted arms. Fuck, he’s so fit.
I shouldn’t be ogling my running buddy, but I can’t keep my eyes off the muscles rippling down his back. Or the curve of his ass that’s partially hidden by his running shorts.
An errant limb slaps me across the chest, like a sign from the universe to get my head back into the game.
Which is easier said than done.
“See, almost there,” he calls over his shoulder.
A perverse part of me wants to grab his chin and kiss him until he’s breathing as heavily as I am.
But I shake the thought off just in time because we make it to the edge of the park and out onto the sidewalk. A minute later, his watch beeps and he slows to a walk.
My body cries out in relief. Rest. Maybe an ice bath.
But he doesn’t let me stop. Or catch my breath.
“Come on. Keep walking.”
I know what he’s after. A cool down. A proper stretch. Because Kingston Saint is nothing if not proper when it comes to his exercise regimen. Which is fucking hot, not going to lie. I love anyone who’s at the top of their game and dedicated to their craft.
He cozies up to the side of a building and props the toe of his shoe against the wall.
I lean over and clamp my hands over my knees, sucking in a deep breath.
“You gonna be okay?” he asks, genuine concern lacing his tone.
“I see your game plan, Saint.”
“Oh yeah?” He switches feet, stretching his other calf.
“Kill me so you have less competition with Katherine.”
He barks a laugh and turns toward me, kicking a foot up behind him and holding onto it. Pretty fucking flamingo .
Tension cranks up another notch between us as our eyes lock.
“That’s not a terrible idea,” he says, then switches legs. The jerk doesn’t even lose his balance. Doesn’t he have any flaws?
That’s it. I’m hiring a personal trainer.
I straighten, hands on my hips, staring down at him. He really doesn’t have any flaws. At least not from where I’m standing.
“Mr. Rothburn!” I glance over my shoulder just as a man with a microphone starts running toward me.
“Fuck—”
My bodyguard intercepts the reporter, but he shouts his questions anyway.
“Are you worried your actions with Katherine Montgomery will hurt your company?”
Who the hell are these guys? They’re like cockroaches coming out of the woodwork. And every one that gets smashed turns into another.
“Come on,” King says, jerking me forward. We jog to our building, bursting through the door and across the lobby.
It’s our lucky day. The elevator is waiting for us and swoops skyward, leaving the craziness at the street level.
We lean back against opposite walls.
“I feel like a goldfish,” I murmur to the ceiling.
“In a really expensive fish tank,” he adds, eyes closed.
No kidding.
God. At the rate things are going, someone’s bound to start poking around and find out Alex lives with me. And while I don’t care if the world knows, he might. He’s far more private.
I don’t want the rumors to hurt him. The press can be ruthless.
The elevator levels out with a welcoming ding . Kingston lets out a small sigh, stepping forward before the doors open, revealing the elegant foyer of Katherine’s apartment.
“Come on. Katherine will kick my ass if I break you.” He strides off like he owns the place, completely comfortable in his own skin. And there’s so much of it on display that I look everywhere but at him as I follow him through the apartment.
“Kick off your shoes and lay face down,” he says, snapping his fingers and pointing at her sleek sectional.
Why?
What the hell is he talking about?
He strides around to the TV console, opens a drawer, and pulls out a zippered case. “You don’t take orders very well, do you?”
It’s an innocent comment. An aside really. But it hits a target inside me that I haven’t addressed in a long time.
“Depends on who’s giving them.” I roll my shoulders, hating the uneasy feeling in my stomach. I spent too many years living by everyone else’s rules. I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend the rest of my life living for anyone but me.
King holds up a massage gun and works a head onto it. He lifts a brow, jerking his chin toward the sofa.
Frowning, I toe out of my shoes.
“Fine.” I sigh and lay down, trying to hide my relief. Wasn’t I a young buck yesterday?
Young nerd , a little voice whispers in my ear.
“Your legs will thank me.”
The first touch of vibration to my calf makes me question his statement. I suck in a sharp breath, using all my willpower to stay still when everything in me wants to move away from the pressure.
It doesn’t get any easier as he moves up and down my leg. The rounded head drills into my muscles with shocking precision. A firm, warm hand follows the progression, kneading the aches away.
Fuck. This should not be a turn-on.
“Breathe, Gabriel.”
I let out the breath I’ve been holding and reach for a throw pillow, curling around it. My childhood was full of hard manual labor and plenty of beatings from my older brothers. A little pain is nothing new. A thing of the past, blessedly, but this is something else entirely.
King clamps a hand behind my left knee.
My brain skitters, imagining his palm rubbing higher. Those strong fingers teasing me.
I suck in a breath and mentally recount the alphabet backward. Z, Y, X...
Seriously, I’m a sweaty, writhing mass of humanity on Katherine’s couch. X-rated thoughts should not be flitting through my brain right now.
“Are we gonna talk about it?” he asks, digging into my thigh.
“About how I’m not gonna be able to walk later?”
The dull pain mingles with the pleasure of his touch. Oh hell, is this a new kink being unlocked?