9. Kent
Chapter Nine
KENT
“Welcome home, Darling.” I open the door to my penthouse flat, resisting the urge to pick her up and carry her over the threshold if only to loosen her up a bit. Liz has been so tense since we made our deal.
“Will you stop that?” she says playfully, suppressing that smile on her pretty, wine-stained lips. I’m relieved to see a glimpse of fun-flirty Liz again.
“Stop what?”
“Talking to me like I’m your betrothed.” The way she says the word betrothed tells me she’s as uninterested in the old tradition as I am. That’s a good thing. In this situation, it’s a very good thing. She steps inside and I follow, wheeling her luggage along the way.
“Just getting into character,” I joke.
She looks back at me with a raised eyebrow. “You know, for someone who’s only faking an engagement, you seem pretty comfortable in the role.”
I scoff. “What are you on about? I’m only guaranteeing my position at Bonnaire Capital.” It’s a position I’ve coveted since I was young. When I was exposed to the men in sleek suits wheeling and dealing with prestige, I wanted in. And I’ll be damned if I let it go to Collin Evans.
“I’m just saying. Maybe you’re more ready to be a family man than you realize.” Liz almost sounds disappointed as if she expects more from my bachelorhood.
“Bollocks! But I’m glad to hear how convincing I am. It’ll make a great case for Bonnaire’s board of directors.”
The truth is I’m no good at relationships.
I don’t know how to be someone’s boyfriend, let alone someone’s fiancé, and definitely not someone’s husband.
Being tied to one person for the rest of my life is unimaginable.
Though I am finding it easy to play the part when it’s only a temporary means to an end.
Liz may have her doubts but she’s here for much the same reason any other woman walks into my penthouse.
For my money.
“Nice place you got here.” Liz wanders around inside, her stiletto heels clicking and clacking along the heated wood flooring.
“Thanks.” Dragging her suitcase along, I proceed with a tour of the main room—an expansive space, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows and water views that are often described as breathtaking. Liz is drawn to the windows like a moth to the flame.
She gasps. “Oh, my gosh. Tower Bridge is like right there.”
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I walk toward her slim frame, thinking she’s the breathtaking view. If only I could wrap my hands around her waist, kiss her neck, and slip my hand beneath her hem.
But again. She isn’t here for that anymore.
“You can see the river from the guest room too,” I say.
She turns around, her amber eyes wide. “Really?”
I smile. “Yes. They don’t have views like this at the Royal Regency Hotel.”
Liz blinks as if coming out of her waterview trance and finally looks around.
What is usually sleek with a fashionably minimalist seating area is now softened and warmed with a tall Douglas fir lit with white twinkle lights and bright red ornaments.
My accent chairs are covered with fine white furs, giving the place a cozy elegance.
Though, with these tall ceiling heights, one could hardly call this place cozy.
“Come on,” I say, gesturing for her to follow me to my stainless steel-lined kitchen with a waterfall marble island in the center.
“You can help yourself to anything here.” I open the fridge and find only a few condiments, a container of eggs, and sparkling water cans.
“Though I fear there’s not much here. I eat most of my meals out. ”
“So do I,” she says. “That is if I even get a chance to eat.”
I chuckle. “Exactly.” Something the two of us have in common. “Let me show you to the guest suite.”
Liz follows me past the kitchen and down the west wing of my home. Even with my back turned, I can feel her wide eyes burning into every detail of design and decor.
“This part of the penthouse is separate from the rest, so you’ll have complete privacy.
” I step inside the guest office and flip on the recessed lights.
A velvet sofa sits opposite a stylish mid-century modern desk.
“Here’s the office. The wifi password is on the desk, and you have access to the terrace through there,” I say, pointing to the sliding glass doors in front of the desk.
“Very nice,” she says, peering around the room as if I’m an estate agent selling her the flat. Don’t get any ideas, Liz. Because, for you, it’s a very short lease. Then again, with her payout, she could purchase a beautiful San Francisco penthouse of her own.
“Through here is the bathroom.” I lead her through the door and into the white and gray tiled spa-like bathroom, complete with a steam shower and sunken tub.
For a moment, my mind wanders to Liz having a soak in a bubble bath.
I can’t help but imagine her breasts peeking through the crystalline bubbles, calling me in with that sparkle in her eyes.
“Luxurious. Just like you said,” she comments, snapping me back to reality.
“Indeed.”
We continue for the door at the other end of the jack-and-jill bathroom that connects the two rooms of the guest wing.
“And here is the bedroom.” I flip the switch, and the two tableside lamps illuminate the room in a warm hue.
With the curtains open, the vast views of the water and city are revealed once more.
I walk around the white linen-dressed bed, and my mind drifts to dirty places again.
After several very flirtatious conversations with Liz on the phone, I assumed she and I would be alone in a bedroom at some point.
Though, I didn’t imagine she would become off-limits the moment she arrived in London.
I remember the condoms Liz has in her purse.
What a shame she won’t mix business with pleasure.
If it were up to me, I would’ve had Liz in bed an hour ago.
Perhaps she’ll warm up to the idea. I get the sense Liz can use a little holiday fun.
I know I can. Especially after tonight.
“I gotta hand it to you, Kent. This is much nicer than my hotel,” she says, almost reluctantly.
“Yes, but no room service, I’m afraid.”
“Damn, I knew there was a catch.” She snaps her fingers in that goshdarnit way, seeming to let her defenses down a little more. In my experience, a view of the bridge can do that to a woman.
“Well, I’m sure you’re exhausted, so I’ll leave you to rest. If you need anything, my wing is at the other end of the penthouse,” I say.
“Thanks but I think I can take it from here.”
“Well, then, have a good night.” I leave her luggage and proceed toward the door.
“Kent?” she calls softly, and I turn back. “Thanks for giving me a place to stay tonight. I thought I was going to end up at a Motel 6.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
She chuckles. “Never mind.”
I wish her goodnight one last time, hoping she’ll stop me again and ask me to stay a while. Instead, she lets me go and promptly shuts the door behind me.
Well, at least she hasn’t backed out of the most important deal.
On the way to my bedroom, I pass the kitchen and stop short when I spot the wine on the counter.
I pick it up. It’s a vintage 1986 Cabernet from the Sonoma Valley, the bottle of wine I used to entice Liz to go out with me.
Or should I say in? I pulled it for us to enjoy during our date tomorrow.
Seeing as that’s not happening, I might as well put it back in the cellar.
With the wine in hand, I head for the stairs into my lower-level cellar but then think better of it. You know what? I’ve been looking forward to this bottle for weeks now. It’s my wine. Why shouldn’t I enjoy a glass just because Liz had a change of heart?
I pull an electric bottle opener from the drawer and place it over the cork. It hums as it pulls the plug from the bottle with a tiny pop. I set the bottle aside to breathe and head to my bedroom suite for a quick rinse and change of clothes.
As I’m soaping myself in the shower, I can’t help but think of Liz’s impromptu kiss—the taste of her wine-stained lips, the smell of her crimson hair, and the touch of her silky skin.
And how could I forget that little wrinkle that forms across her forehead when she wields her fiery temper?
Blood rushes up my shaft at the thought of her, and I give myself a little stroke.
A bit of pleasure spills throughout my body, and I can only imagine what it would be like if it were Liz’s dainty hands wrapped around me.
My mind drifts more. This time to a fantasy of her sneaking into my bathroom wearing a sexy white satin robe.
She pulls at the sash and lets the slick fabric cascade off her shoulders and puddle at her feet.
Mmm. I can hardly make out her silhouette behind my steamed shower walls, leaving me with a heightened sense of anticipation.
I imagine her slowly walking toward me, opening the shower door with absolutely nothing but a smile on those soft lips. And she says, “Need a hand?”
I let out a low growl as I rub my hands over myself in the slippery, steaming water.
While I know this is but a daydream, something in me holds back, and I release my grip.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be wanking off in here while she’s sleeping across the flat.
While I might get some temporary relief, it might make things worse in this situation.
So I turn the shower knob and blast cold water over my skin, icing out all my thoughts of her.
I suck in a deep breath and shut the water off.
After toweling my dark hair dry, I change into a pair of trackies and a white T-shirt.
The wine still needs another fifteen minutes on the counter before it’s perfect, so I head to my office where my safe lives.
I tap in the code, and the lock breaks loose.
Past the stacks of cash, gold bars, and important leather-bound documents, I reach for a small, emerald velvet box and pop it open.
Inside sits a glittering, twenty-carat diamond ring accented by bright emeralds.
Legend has it this was given to one of my ancestors by Prince Edward, Duke of Kent, whom I was named for.
These jewels have been passed down through my family line since the early 1800s, finally arriving to my grandmother Bonnaire in its ring incarnation.
She then gave it to my mother to pass down to one of us. That’s how I came to its possession.
I’m not entirely sure why my mother decided it best to pass this family heirloom along to me and not my older brother, Mick.
Though he ended up with my mother’s wedding ring.
Still, this diamond is much finer and extremely rare with its royal roots.
Drew says Mum gave it to me because I’m the baby of the family and, therefore, her favorite. I can’t argue with that logic.
Of my brothers, I had the closest relationship to our mother. Perhaps it was because she had the same brown freckle in her blue eye or because we had the same sense of wit. Whatever the reason, she loved me dearly and never let me forget it. Which is a lot more than I can say for my father.
I remember thinking it was odd when she presented me with this ring, seeing as I not only had no prospects but more importantly, no interest in ever having one.
When I expressed this, as best as a son can to his mother, she said to me—“You don’t know it now but one day you’ll find someone fit to wear this ring.
And when you do, trust your instincts, and don’t hesitate.
Love is the greatest risk worth taking.”
I had no idea that this ring would eventually aid in my greatest risk worth taking—faking an engagement to become the President of Bonnaire Capital.
The fact that the ring is a size four and a half, the exact size as Liz’s left ring finger, is quite eerie if you ask me.
I’ll take it as a sign that my mother would want me to use it for this purpose.
It’s not as if I’d get any other use out of it.
Besides, it saves me and my personal shopper a trip to the jeweler.
Now I just need to get it on her finger.