32. Kingsley
32
KINGSLEY
I don’t see Dante for two days. Two days in which I, ashamed to say, miss him. Because no matter what it comes down to, Dante is the only person here who I can at least have a conversation with. The only person that can even provide me with the much needed information that I seek. I miss that there is no one here who I can talk to.
I spend both days in a murderous state, bored beyond the acceptable threshold, walking the grounds and pacing my room. On the third day, I decide to pull myself out of my funk and go for a swim, fishing a tank top out of a drawer and knotting it at my navel.
Draping my towel on a sun lounge, I unbutton my jeans and let them drop to the ground, before I step out of them and dive into the pool. I lift my arms and surge through the water, swimming in continuous laps until I exhaust my body and know I’ll pay the price the next day when I wake with aching muscles. I glide through the water to the edge of the pool, lift my arms to rest my chin on them as I take a steady breath before emerging from the water.
A heavy shadow falls across the pool, blocking the sun, and my breath catches as I look up to find Dante standing there, barely inches away, looking down at me. He wears a blue grey suit, the jacket unbuttoned to reveal a white shirt underneath, the buttons at the collar loose. His hands are deep in his pockets as he watches me, his eyes fixed with dark concentration.
I don’t know how long he’s been standing there, and although I’ve missed him, the way he’s staring at me causes a thin layer of anxiety to slide into my bones. For all the poker playing I’ve done and the skill of reading people to know what their next move is, I can’t for the life of me read his expression now. There is something hard in his eyes that I can’t quite decipher. I lift my body from the pool at the same time as he turns and lifts my towel from the sun lounge and wraps me in it the moment my feet hit the tiles. He brings the edges of the towel together across my neck, holding it close as he wraps it tight and murmurs close to my ear, “You shouldn’t have gone in without a bathing suit.”
I blush at his words as I take stock of all the soldiers littering the gardens. I hadn’t even stopped to consider my actions before stripping and throwing myself into the water. I now find myself flushing in embarrassment, realizing that only Dante could put me in my place with so little words and so delicate a tone. I raise my hands up to replace his, pulling the towel tighter as I turn to walk away. No matter how much I want to stay and talk to him, the embarrassment is too much to bear.
* * *
The swim has left me famished. Fresh from my shower, I head down to the kitchen to fix myself a sandwich and find myself face to face with Dante and Helga speaking in hushed tones. They look up as I rather noisily enter the kitchen, both looking guilty, with Dante the first to right himself and adopt a neutral tone.
“Helga will bring us lunch in the garden,” Dante says, stopping me in my tracks as I walk toward the fridge.
“No need. I’ll just make myself a sandwich.”
He arches his eyebrows, daring me with one look to challenge him again. He has discarded the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, displaying strong muscular arms roped with dark veins running up the insides of them. This man does some serious workouts to have muscles that tight.
Dante follows my eyes to his arms, his eyebrows shooting through his forehead in surprise at the interest I’m showing in him. I choke down more embarrassment and turn to leave, mentally kicking myself for my naivety. Good girls don’t stare. At beautiful men’s arms. They just don’t.
“The garden in fifteen,” he calls after me, as I walk briskly out of the kitchen.
* * *
Dante rises when I approach him at the wrought iron table in the middle of the rose garden. He has changed into slacks and a black t-shirt. With short sleeves. That show off more of his muscles. Like he is deliberately trying to tempt me. This is so not going to work in my favor. I gulp back and swallow the involuntary lump that lodges in my throat as I walk toward the table. Dante knows exactly what he is doing.
“I hope you like chicken,” Dante says, as Helga wheels out a trolley and sets trays on the table.
I nod and look down at the chicken breast stuffed with cheese. I’m sure the stars in my eyes are answer enough as I start to eat. Helga really knows her way around food.
“You’ve been MIA,” I point out.
“Some work I had to take care of.”
“Any movement on who attacked us?”
“Who attacked you ,” he corrects. “And my men by extension.”
I ignore the accusation in his tone.
“So are you any closer to knowing who it was?”
“A faction of the Savages that’s broken ranks. Rogues.”
“And?”
“And I have men out looking for them. Once they’re found and dealt with, you can go home.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. Eliminating them should eliminate your problem.”