“Kiss me, sunshine.”
What was that? I’d never heard those words before. I fell forward, bracing myself against the white tile. I closed my eyes, but it wasn’t enough to lift the spell. More words came crashing in, fuzzy images warring behind my eyelids.
“Kiss me like there’s no tomorrow for us.”
The voice was a little rough. The touch on my skin was a lot gentle. Lips dragged across mine, then kissed me deeply, devouring me.
It was then that the scent registered—vanilla, musky, and clean.
Like him. Like Kingston Ashford.
Chapter 20Kingston
Icarded a hand through my hair and pinched the bridge of my nose.
What the fuck was with me lately? It was stupid to bring Liana back into my penthouse. Reckless. Out of character for me.
I never brought anyone to this condo, yet here I was playing knight-in-fucking-armor for my enemy’s daughter.
Promise.
Yes, that had to be it. I was just fulfilling my promise to Louisa.
I poured myself a glass of whiskey and gulped it in one go, then slammed the glass on the countertop of the bar. How fucking long would my pain hover around me?
I closed my eyes, images of Louisa flickering through my mind on a reel. Her face. Her smile. Her eyes.
Fuck!
The images of Liana and Louisa were starting to intertwine, confusing me. The same face. The same smile. Why didn’t the memories hurt now that Liana was in my vicinity?
I heard the shower turn on, and I pictured Liana stripping her dress off. I couldn’t help but wonder how soft her skin was… Goddammit! I had to get a grip.
Maybe I was weak.
Or maybe I was desperate to feel normal again, like I had with Louisa. I was her first and last. She was supposed to be my first and last.
Yet here I was thinking about her twin in my guest room. I wanted to touch her, lick her, bite her. First fucking temptation in years, and I was failing miserably.
I wasn’t a good man, and I worked for many who were even worse. After my father fucked me over, I’d learned that the world wasn’t about good and evil. There were so many shades in between, and I had to do what I needed in order to survive.
Louisa never held any of it against me—not the blood on my hands, not the number of deaths I’d been responsible for, not the darkness that consumed me.
Irritation flickered in my chest while a fire burned deeper, licking at my soul. Or whatever was left of it after Ivan Petrov and Sofia Volkov. For the first time in forever, I felt edgy. Irrational. Impulsive. I couldn’t—shouldn’t—jeopardize my peace of mind.
My phone rang and I answered it without checking the caller ID. “Yes.”
“Where in the fuck are you?”
I groaned, cursing myself silently. The last person I needed to deal with right now was Dante Leone. His brand of crazy only made me crazier.
“On vacation.”
An echo of silence. “Vacation?”
“Yeah.”
“Vacation,” he said again. Jesus, did he train a parrot to repeat my words?
“Yes, you should give it a try.”
He snickered. “I don’t like that idea or your tone.”
I scoffed. “Ask me if I care.”
“I need your help finding someone.” Obviously, Dante’s selective hearing was in full force because it went over his head.
“I’m busy.”
“With?”
My heart beat faster, a vision of thick blonde hair and smooth porcelain skin and everything forbidden flashed before my eyes. My teeth clenched at this nauseating need for the wrong fucking twin.
“I’m busy being on vacation.”
“Did you… Did you finally find yourself a woman?” The disbelief in his tone was evident. Not that I’d ever grant him an answer. “You did, didn’t you?” I grumbled my annoyance, and he laughed. Loud and slightly crazy. “Why didn’t you say so, amico?”
My mood soured and a sardonic feeling pulled in my chest.
“Good luck with Phoenix, Dante,” I said, alluding to his obsession with Romero’s daughter. The guy went as far as getting engaged with her sister to get to Phoenix.
I ended the call, the irony and similarities of our situations not escaping me—with one notable exception: both Romero sisters were alive.
I gave my head a subtle shake, then blinked, realizing I was standing in front of the guest room. I ran my tongue across my teeth, attempting to quell all these feelings bubbling inside me and failing.
I lost my first battle since running into Liana Volkov.
Chapter 21Liana
Istaggered back and sat on the ledge of the tub, the memory that slammed into me with the force of a transport truck still lurking in my periphery. Closing my eyes, I tipped my head back, relishing in the soothing sound of the water running and trying to make sense of it all.
The magnetic pull that emanated from Kingston had awakened something deep inside me—that had to be it. A shiver ran down my spine as the hot water slid down my skin, my sex aching and throbbing.
Why was my usually comatose pussy coming to life now, of all times?
Rather than doing something stupid, I closed my eyes and slid a hand between my legs to find the skin sensitive and hot with my arousal. I imagined it was his big hand touching me, and my heart sped up. My nipples tightened.
Shaking my head, I couldn’t understand my body’s betrayal, yet I couldn’t stop myself from picturing him. Owning me. Thrusting inside me. Touching me.
The realization slammed into my brain, driving my mind into havoc.
Touching me?
I yanked my hand away as if burned. I didn’t want him to touch me. Why would I even want Kingston at all? I don’t, I told myself. I didn’t need or want any man. The scars made me self-conscious, despite the fact that reconstructive surgery had all but erased them.
A single tear rolled down my cheek, only to be swiftly washed away by the shower water. Like my scars. Like my broken heart.
“Kiss me, sunshine.” The voice I kept hearing terrified a little part of me. Who were those words spoken to? “I want to be your first, your only, your last.”
My mouth started to fill with saliva and I pressed my lips together, forcing my heart and mind to settle. What was happening to me?
I lifted my hand, tugging at my wet strands. I wished I could pull all my hair out and find the hole that had to be in my skull, letting everything that was wrong spill out. I was tired of the dreams I didn’t understand.
I forced a lungful of air into my chest. Breathe in. Then breathe out. Again. Each inhale and exhale slowly soothed my mind and body back under control.
Ignoring the wretched commotion beneath my skin, I quickly washed my hair and rest of my body, before stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around myself and exiting the bathroom.
My bare feet froze, and I stilled at the doorway.
Kingston Ashford was in my—okay, the guest—bedroom, leaning against the wall casually and watching me with the dark eyes of a predator. His torso was bare, and I couldn’t help admiring the ink on his chest. I couldn’t quite make out the design, but it extended from his chest down his right arm, all of it connected with a complicated mashup of symbols.
I didn’t like that he was here. Especially not now, after the memory that left me feeling raw.
Vulnerable. Scared of the unknown.
“Ever heard of privacy?” My voice trembled, my heart drumming in my throat and my ears. He didn’t answer, but for some reason, my body hummed with anticipation. My nipples pebbled, aching for something. Or someone. My gaze traveled down his jeans to his bare feet. It made sense, he was home, yet something about him half naked had me reeling. Did he expect something?