Whimpering noises dragged me from my slumber.
I blinked, adjusting my eyes to the dim room, and spotted the sun barely below the horizon. A crick in my neck and the stiffness of my spine told me I fell asleep in a chair. Again. My head groggy, I leaned back into the seat and adjusted so I was on my side, closing my eyes once more. It was when another whimper sounded that I jolted my eyes open.
At first, I couldn’t find her. The bed was empty, but I could hear her sharp breaths. My eyes darted around, and I made out a body curled up in a ball on the floor. I sprung into action, taking the five steps to close the distance, then crouched over her.
Another whimper.
Her body shivered and her shoulders spasmed, her delicate hands wrapped around herself for protection. Her blonde mane blocked her face from my view.
“Please… No…” she whimpered. I pushed her hair aside to find her eyes screwed tightly shut. “N-not again.”
“Liana.” She didn’t even stir. “Liana, wake up.”
Her eyes fluttered open, but it was almost as if she looked through me. She was stuck in a trance, unseeing.
“Please,” she whimpered. “Stop… Please stop.”
“Shhh…” I whispered as my protective instincts shifted into place. “You’re safe.” I ran my fingers through her hair, combing her soft, golden strands. Her eyes found mine, but they were still glassy. “Shhh, I got you. No one’s going to hurt you.”
The startling realization of how sincere those words were hit me square in the chest. I slid my arms around her back and scooped her up. She snuggled into my hold, her body shaking as she continued to murmur her pleas.
I tucked her beneath the covers, and as I went to move, a whimper tore from her lips, her hand grabbing mine.
“Don’t leave me.” I froze. “Please.”
“I won’t,” I promised. Her body relaxed and a reassuring sigh left her lips as she fell back asleep.
I climbed onto the other side of bed, resting atop of the covers, and laced my hands behind my head.
The more I got to know this woman, the more puzzled I became. It felt so natural and effortless to be in her company.
Don’t leave me.
Those were the very same words I’d whispered to Louisa once upon a time. Unaware, Liana had struck a nerve, her words etching into my mind like the scars her mother had etched into my skin. Such a simple phrase, but it cracked my already broken chest.
I shouldn’t get close to her, no matter how hard she pulled me into her orbit. It was a betrayal to Louisa, to myself… and to Liana. She deserved better.
So then why did my numb heart bleed at the thought of giving her up?
Chapter 42Liana
Something smelled delicious, like warm spiced vanilla. I wanted to nuzzle into it and never wake up.
I opened my eyes and yawned when my gaze landed on the body next to me. I looked up, up, up and straight into a pair of dark eyes. I scrambled back from him, my heart racing in my chest, and fell right off the bed and onto my ass.
“You alright?”
“Why are you here?”
“You asked me to stay.” He sounded offended, although I couldn’t fathom why. He was in my bed.
“Why would I ask you to stay?” He shrugged. “We didn’t—” I gestured frantically between us, sick with the thought that I might have had sex with him and not remember it. “Oh my God, please tell me we—”
I pushed my hands into my hair, nails scratching at my scalp. A set of bare feet appeared in front of me as Kingston slid out of bed and joined me on the hardwood. He took my chin between his slim fingers.
“You had a bad dream and asked me to stay,” he repeated. “Nothing more; nothing less.”
Finding the truth in his eyes, I let out a relieved breath, then shifted to stand. I got to my knees and froze, eye level with his crotch area, where an obvious tent had sprung in his sweatpants. The images of us fooling around in his penthouse danced through my memory—his spiced-vanilla scent, his hard and uneven breathing, his mouth on my pussy.
A shuddering breath left me and goosebumps broke over my skin.
My pulse throbbed between my legs, aching to feel a human touch shaking me to my core. This man was the only one I wanted to touch me, and now, I craved to feel his hands and lips on my skin.
“Eyes up here. And get up off your knees.” I startled at the sound of his voice, jumping to attention like an Olympic gymnast. “Whoa there, easy,” he rushed to say as I almost lost my balance, his eyes coasting over my legs and hips like he was thinking of ways to steady me. “I’ve never seen you move that fast outside of killing men.”
Turmoil restarted in my chest. He knew me, but I didn’t know him. And if everything he’d told me so far was true—which I suspected it was—then I should.
It was really too early for all this. “Don’t give me any ideas.”
Maybe he’s scared of me, I thought proudly, then released an exasperated breath at the notion, mentally berating myself. Kingston—the Ghost—was one of the most lethal trackers and killers in the underworld.
He let out a derisive snort. “Touché.”
Our eyes locked, and the roaring in my ears intensified. In his dark depths, I glimpsed a spark of something that sent heat curling through me. My nipples hardened and my skin flushed with arousal.
“Thank you,” I murmured, the words leaving my lips without my permission. He stared at me but didn’t move, and I shifted my weight from foot to foot, restless in the silence. It was a novelty to have someone not take advantage of me when vulnerable, especially after the weeks I’d spent waiting for the auction and Cortez. “Thanks for staying with me through my nightmare.”
Dammit, I sounded vulnerable, but also husky and breathless. He felt like a physical force drawing me in, and the sensation had me taking a half step back on wobbly legs. His jaw flexed as he watched me retreat.
“How about some breakfast?” he offered, his voice soft despite something dark and savage lurking underneath his stony front.
“That’d be great, thank you.”
He nodded. “Meet me on the terrace, ice princess.”
My shoulders slumped, and I felt all the energy that had just been coursing through me trickle out. I was exhausted. He exhausted me. “Stop calling me that,” I muttered as I turned away, not sure why that nickname bothered me.
I felt him hover by the door, his gaze hot on my back, before he walked out without another word.
Twenty minutes later, I appeared on the terrace, feeling fresh after my shower and wearing a thin-strapped dress—pink, again—with a white cardigan draped over my shoulders. Kingston already had breakfast cooked and the table set. He pulled out a chair for me, and I couldn’t help but feel like a girl on a date. Not that I’d ever been on one.
“Do you always cook?” I asked curiously as he removed the dome-shaped cover from my plate.
He stood over me, waiting for me to take a seat, his crisp black shirt molding to his toned body. All he had to do now was flex those ink-stained biceps and I’d be a goner.
“I do.”
The birds chirped, the sound of the waves in the distance soothed, and the breeze calmed as he sat opposite of me. The man had to be the epitome of efficiency because he managed to shower, change, and cook all while I was getting ready.
“Do you enjoy it?” I was impressed my voice was even, hiding this attraction I felt toward him. I blamed it on that fucking scent of his. Vanilla and spice.
“I do.”
“Why?” Supposedly I’d known this man for at least a decade, yet I knew absolutely nothing about him. Maybe he could help me fill these gaps in my memory—without realizing it, of course.
He shrugged. “I like food.”
“So do I,” I remarked. “You don’t see me slaving over the stove.”