Kingsley
Bang. Bang.
That’s the sound of Rip throwing himself at the steel door like a maniac and thinking it’ll open. He’s slamming into it so hard I’m worried he will break.
“It’s got to budge at some point.” His voice echoes down the stairwell.
I’m in the corner, sitting between two boxes, twiddling my thumbs beside the faint light of my phone’s flashlight. Rip has been trying to plow through the door for at least twenty minutes, and I don’t have to see to know he’s not making a lick of progress.
“Fuck!” he shouts, and a sudden bang rattles the door. “All this money invested in this home, and no one thought of what would happen in the cellar if the power went out?”
The door has been faulty since I was a kid, but it’s never been on the list of top priorities since no one spends much time down here.
Rip stomps down the stairs and stalks toward me, his teeth clenched, and his brows knit as he looms over me. “Have you gotten through to anyone?”
I wave my phone lazily. “I still have no cell reception.”
Rip’s lips twist into a strained grin, small chuckles escaping him as he clutches his head and paces. It’s like watching a cartoon villain finally snap.
“Fuck!” he shouts again. “I’m going to freeze to death beside Kingsley Beaumont.”
Freezing to death isn’t so far-fetched. It’s at least forty-five degrees down here, and it’s steadily dropping because of the sudden power outage.
We’ve been in here for all of five minutes, and I’m already feeling like I’m borderline hypothermic.
My face is numb, my fingers are acting like sloths, and my teeth won’t stop chattering.
Meanwhile, Rip has a slight shiver, and his nose and cheeks are red.
I’m turning into an icicle while he is mildly chilly.
But freezing in the wine cellar next to Rip Wright wouldn’t be the worst way for me to go out.
“Hopefully Thomas figures out I’m missing sooner rather than later.” Rip pulls an unopened box marked fragile in front of me and sits on it. “But if not, I’m sure your family will notice their Prince Kingsley is gone.”
Prince Kingsley? Please, I’m anything but their prince.
Out of everything, how is that the impression Rip has of me?
It’s Rip’s dead stare that makes me realize I haven’t responded. “Bloody hell, Kingsley. Speak.”
I can see my breath in the cold air as I sigh. “Prince is not the word my family would use to describe me.”
“Oh, my bad. They call you King,” he snarks, then pulls his knees to his chest and hugs himself. “How cruel of me to forget your rank.”
“Holy projection,” I scoff.
“I’m not projecting. I’m calling it like it is.” Rip shrugs loosely. “It’s the only reason I can come up with for why everyone around you lets you treat them as if they’re irrelevant. Princely behavior.”
God, must we argue when we’re so cold we can’t even think straight?
He thinks I’m rude when I’m quiet, but if I straight-up told him how little I care about what others are saying, he’d call me a jerk. It’s easier to listen to people because at least then I can’t fuck things up with my words.
I roll my eyes as a sudden heat roars in my chest. It’s the warmest thing in here.
“I’ve been nothing but kind to you, Rip.
I may not talk to you like we’re friends, but we aren’t supposed to be.
We work together. That is why I say all of your issues with me come from a place of projection, darling. I’m not the jerk here.”
Rip’s gaze is piercing. His blue eyes hang on to every word I say, as if he’s trying to see into my very being.
Then, in a low, challenging tone, he says, “Roll your eyes at me again.”
I should find his threat offensive, but all it does is make me want to do it again. To see what the hell he’ll do about it.
The thought sends a pulse straight to my dick, and I shift against the floor. I haven’t gotten a reaction this easily in a while, but one threat from Rip, and here I am. Even when I can barely feel my fucking limbs. There has to be something seriously wrong with me.
I mimic Rip’s position, pulling my knees to my chest and resting my head on them. “For a social media and advertising manager, you’re pretty intimidating.”
Thomas has an inviting, child-like, happy vibe I would imagine advertisers need, but not Rip.
His intricate tattoos travel all the way up his neck, his muscles bulge through his tight shirts, and his intense eye contact is enough to put off any normal person.
And the tongue piercing? Shit, I wonder how that would feel against my tongue.
Yeah, something is definitely wrong with me.
The old Kingsley wouldn’t think this way about an employee, someone not only beneath him in the corporate world but not at all involved in his dangerous life. He struggled with impulses, so he wouldn’t even allow himself to recognize attraction to someone like that.
Rip swallows, the red on his face and nose intensifying as the room gets colder.
He still isn’t as chilled as I am, and I think I know why.
He’s bigger than me. I have a lot less mass than I once did, thanks to my year alone, but Rip’s broad torso and big muscles are still larger than mine ever were.
We’ve been sitting like this for at least thirty minutes, if I’m counting correctly. If we move closer together, we’ll be a little warmer from each other’s body heat. Maybe we should.
“You look like you’re about to keel over,” Rip says. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there’s a bit of concern in his tone.
Well, considering I’d bet Antarctica is warmer than us, he’s probably right. I nod once.
Rip lowers himself off the box and onto the cold floor beside me, but still keeps a small distance between us. “You can’t fucking die.”
“I’m fine,” I grit out. At least the crippling cold has me feeling something for once.
Before I know it, Rip has leaned against me. His face is only an inch away from mine; the closeness between us helps tremendously with the chill. His light pink lips aren’t chapped like I’d expect in this condition.
“You piss me off,” he grumbles and shivers against me.
“You piss yourself off,” I retort, still thinking about his lips. I bite my lip, close my eyes, and lean my head on the wall before I do something incredibly stupid. As I sit there, I start nodding off, but I can’t figure out if it’s the chill or my exhaustion.
Rip must notice, because he shakes my shoulder with a gentle yet firm grip. “Kingsley, you can’t fall asleep.”
I shake my head as best I can, but I don’t know if it actually moves. If I open my eyes, I might do something deranged and impulsive, like kiss my employee. We don’t fraternize with the staff, even if he is the first to make me feel anything since Sylvie.
“Prince,” he whispers, his warm breath soothing against my ear. “Don’t go to sleep.”
I force my eyes open, and he’s right there, so close I can see his pores. The Rip that looked like he wanted to choke me out when we first got here is gone. He’s super close, but not quite hugging me, and his eyes are bouncing between my lips and my eyes like he can’t decide what to focus on.
Oh, God. This is the result of the crippling cold. Neither of us would be caught dead this close if we were in our right minds.
But then he turns his head, and his hair nuzzles against my nose. I half expect him to push me away, but he only sighs and leans firmer against me, trying to keep out as much cold as possible.
Maybe I imagined everything. I’m not in my right mind.
The crazed stare at the ground and the tension in his shoulders make me wonder if Rip is telling himself the very same thing.
It’s so warm.
I yank the blanket and burrow in. I feel like a baby caterpillar, all snug in a cocoon, completely warm and toasty.
But this is an unusual level of warmth, more than my bed has ever given me.
“King,” I recognize the voice as my sister’s.
I try to ignore her, not wanting to be disturbed from my slumber, but when I hear the sirens and other voices around me, my heart freezes. I’m not in my bedroom.
I snap awake, and my eyes go wide, taking in the scene: a fire truck, firefighters, my parents, my sister. A gray thermal blanket is wrapped around me. What in the world?
“I told you not to fall asleep.”
Rip’s right next to me, with his own warm blanket on and a mug of hot chocolate. He cracks a half-smile, then takes a sip of his drink, his nose bumping the cup.
A similar mug is being pushed into my hands before I can even register it, courtesy of my mother. “Drink. It’ll help you warm up.”
I breathe out, watching the air float, my fingers still stiff as if they’ve been submerged in ice water. Meanwhile, everyone else is staring at me like they pulled my corpse out of that cellar and not my alive body.
Mom has a cigarette between her fingers and pressed to her lips.
She only smokes when she’s really stressed out, which is usually from something related to me, my sisters, or my father.
Dad’s talking to a paramedic, brows knit tight and stance rigid.
He keeps sending glances my way as if he’s worried I’ll vanish.
Odie’s sitting in the grass right in front of me, still wearing the outfit she went out in.
Either I’ve been out for so long she’s come back from the club, or she left early for me.
Rip wipes the milk-stache on his mouth left from the hot chocolate, then hands the empty cup to Thomas. “How’d you guys find us?”
“We figured since you both didn’t show up to the dinner, you were probably somewhere together,” Thomas says. “But we had no idea where you were or what you could be doing.”
“And after an hour of wondering if you guys ditched, they finally called me. I remembered you were going to the wine cellar,” Odie finishes.
Thomas’ lips press into a line as he shakes his head at Rip. “I told you to leave the wine alone, and what do you do? Ask for it like the greedy fuck you are and get locked in a cellar.”
“It wasn’t my fault we got locked in,” he says. Then, his eyes flicker to me, and he eyes the cup in my hands. “Are you gonna drink that or babysit it?”
Now all eyes are on me.
I bite back a sigh as I bring it to my lips, the warm steam hitting my face. It smells sweet, like hot chocolate should, but it’s not doing a great job at compelling me to drink it. Too bad I need to.
It’s warm going down my throat, my insides instantly warming. Everyone moves on.
“I guess dinner won’t be happening tonight,” my dad says with a disappointed sigh. “But I’m sure you’re still wondering about our decision, yes?”
Rip and Thomas share a glance, and then Rip nods. “We’ve been dying to know all day.”
Mom and Dad turn to each other, doing that silent communication thing they have down pat. The Wright boys are still as a board, eager to know whether they got the permanent job or if they’ll be on the next flight back to England. Shit, I’m dying to know too.
“Congratulations on your full-time position at Beaumont Grand!” Mom cheers.
A look of pure delight spreads across the brothers’ faces, and they share a celebratory high-five. Their excitement is so contagious, I feel like smiling too.
Or maybe I’m just happy this won’t be the last I see of Rip.