40. Katherine
40
KATHERINE
Kingston: guys...we have a problem.
Alex: What is it?
Gabe: why aren’t you asleep?
Kingston: because I can’t sleep when Stan is stuck in your penthouse by himself.
Gabe: he’s a he now?
Alex: who?
Kingston: Stan
Alex: who the hell is Stan?
Gabe: his plant
Kingston: do you know many women named Stan?
Alex: Can’t say I do. Isn’t Stan a succulent? Katherine said they can go a few weeks without water right?
Kingston: you think it’ll be weeks before we can get back into the apartment? astonished face emoji
Kingston: what about her other plants?
Kingston: they’re not like Stan. She babies some of them. A lot of them.
Kingston: they’re moody and temperamental and Simon comes by to care for them b/c they’re a bunch of prima donnas.
Gabe: breathe, dude
Gabe: We’ll know more tomorrow...later today.
Gabe: I’m sure Stan is fine. Probably enjoying the view.
Alex: I’ll contact her plant guy and have him on standby for when we learn more.
Kingston: Simon! Good idea. We might need a rescue mission.
Gabe: Gonna climb up the elevator shaft like you’re in Mission Impossible?
Kingston: if I need to.
Kingston: I’ve actually never done that before.
Kingston: could be fun.
???
Katherine
The SUV slows to a stop on a tree-lined street. Alex and I came straight here from the airport.
I’m eager to see Kingston and Gabe. And there might be a mixture of dread and curiosity because King and I never did get to talk about whatever it was he wanted to talk about.
Knowing him, it could be surfing off the coast of Portugal or skydiving over a glacier. But I have a feeling it’s a lot more personal than that. Which is why my stomach is in knots.
“Wait for me,” Alex says, his voice deliciously dark.
Every mile closer to New York increased his tension. Now he’s wound tight like a spring, and I hate that for him. But I love the way he takes care of me.
The driver opens the rear door, and Alex is there, hand outstretched. He looks utterly delicious in his dark jeans, and the lightweight sweater stretches across his shoulders and clings gently to his muscles.
I tuck my phone into my purse, once again pushing reality down a little longer. I missed another call from my boss and one from a journalist. I don’t know how she got my number.
Taking Alex’s hand, I step out of the black SUV and into the gloom. The drizzle is so different from the beauty we left in Paris, where it was bright and fresh and postcard-perfect. I glance around, bracing for paparazzi.
Miraculously, the sidewalks are empty.
Alex’s hand settles against the small of my back, and we march up the thick stone stairs to a stately home. The facade is a cream-colored rock with half a dozen windows. Chunky urns overflowing with cheerful light pink and white flowers flank the entrance.
The thick wooden door swings open, and King stands there, hair disheveled. There’s a twinkle in his eyes that hits me in the stomach.
My Kingston.
Remembering that we’re still very much in the public eye, I step past him into a lovely foyer. Turning, I see King give Alex a nod before he closes and locks the door.
“I’m going to look around,” Alex murmurs, disappearing into the house like he’s part of the woodwork.
I immediately miss his steady touch, but my heart aches for King.
“Destiny’s in the kitchen,” Kingston calls over his shoulder.
“Nice!” Alex waves, and if I’m not mistaken, he double-times it toward the back of the house.
“Destiny, huh?”
I grin at Kingston, looking him over with eyes that have cataloged him for years. His hair’s a bit disheveled, and he looks a little sleep-deprived, but overall, he’s his normal, handsome self.
I don’t know what I expected. Bloodshot eyes and hair standing on end like a cartoon character, perhaps.
“Their chef. Gabe says her cinnamon buns are legendary.”
I glance around, wondering if there are other staff waiting in the wings. Kingston knows me well and shoots that stomach-melting half-smile my way. “He doesn’t have a butler if that’s who you’re looking for.”
I assumed not since I hadn’t seen any sign of one before.
My heart trips over itself, and I drop my purse in my haste to hug my best friend. My lashes flutter closed as his strong arms wrap around my waist. He clings to me, face pressed into the side of my neck.
“Are you okay?” I touch him all over. Even though I know he wasn’t injured, I can’t help but check. Fill my hands with his honed muscles, the gorgeous body I’ve come to know so intimately this last week.
“I’m fine.”
I lean back, not because he’d lie to me, but because he’d lie to himself. “Are you sure?”
He grins, knowing that I know his tricks. I love the happy crinkles around his eyes.
“Promise,” he says. “Glad you’re home, though.”
Home.
Has there ever been a sweeter word? Not in any language I know.
I throw myself at him again as pleasure and relief rush through me in equal parts.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur over and over, kissing every inch I can reach.
His hands circle my waist, and he laughs. “What are you sorry for?”
“Leaving right after you got here. Leaving at all.”
He slides a hand up my back and sinks it into the hair at my nape. My body relaxes against his, and I let out a happy sigh. “You’re allowed to go on vacation, Wildfire.”
“I know, but?—”
“No buts.” He bends his knees so he can look me right in the eye. “I could get stuck in an elevator any day of the week. And it could’ve happened while you were in New York. No more guilt.”
He says that like it’s not his kryptonite. His worst nightmare. The monster in the shadows, always taunting him. “I hate that it happened at all, but especially when I was half a world away.”
And he’s right. Guilt burns through me like acid reflux.
“I missed you.” His grip tightens in my hair.
“I missed you, too,” I whisper.
“I missed doing this.” He slants his lips across mine.
I moan, my fingers squeezing his muscles, then loosening as I sink into our kiss. He tastes like coffee and smells like sin.
I missed this, too. But I can’t say the words when he’s stealing all the oxygen from my lungs.
Clinging to his shoulders, I return kiss for kiss. Pouring everything I’m feeling into it. The longing, the relief, the happiness. I want to climb into his shirt and stay there, snuggled against him. I want to feel his heart beating against mine, crave the warmth of his skin. I want everything.
He nibbles his way down my jaw to the tender spot below my right ear. Chills ripple through me, not entirely unpleasant. He makes an appraising sound low in his throat like he understands just what he’s doing to me. How weak he’s making my knees.
And knowing King, he likes it.
He has a quiet competitive streak. It shows itself at the strangest times. Sometimes, he’s competing with himself, and sometimes it’s with others.
But until this moment, it didn’t occur to me that he might end up competing with Alex and Gabe. That this euphoric first week might turn into a dick-measuring contest.
Smart, Katherine. Real smart.
But as quickly as the thought forms, he chases it away with strategic kisses down my neck. And then I lose all thought when he sucks at my tender skin, ramping up my already accelerating need.
“King,” I whimper, not recognizing my own voice.
He lets out a dark chuckle and goes back to leaving his mark on me.
Holy smokes.
Electricity zaps through me, and my toes curl. He pulls me tighter to his hips, leaving nothing to the imagination. His cock grows, pressing against me, needing me as badly as I need him.
There’s a faint ping sound, which I ignore. We’re totally making out in the foyer of this incredible house, and I don’t even care if someone catches us.
I widen my stance, feeling lightheaded and wobbly. It’s all his fault. And again, he chuckles. Lifts his head. Stares at me with suddenly stormy eyes.
Then he lifts his wrist and glances at his watch. I hear the soft vibration as it buzzes against his skin.
“What is it?”