Kingdom Come

by Terri E. Laine

  “The kind that comes with the security we have installed to protect you,” Griffin responded as he returned to his normal playful self, which included a crude once-over of my body.

  “There better not be cameras in here or I’m killing someone, starting with you.”

  He stepped forward, a smirk growing on his face. “If you let me have you, I’d die a lucky man.”

  I slapped his hands, which he’d extended as if to wrap me in his arms. “I didn’t fall for your games at lunch the other day. Don’t think anything has changed.”

  When I’d gone to give Kalen shit about being in New York and leaving Bailey overseas, he sent Griffin in to appease me and calm me down. Admittedly, Griffin was damn good to look at and fun to hang around, but he was also in the no-fly zone for me.

  Pretending to be wounded, a hand on his chest, he said, “You can’t deny the chemistry between us.”

  “Yes, it was like we were separated at birth, which would make having sex with you gross.”

  Griffin’s lips twitched. “You have it wrong, darling.” He injected a little Texas twang in that last word now that his accent wasn’t on Highlander mode. Though a hint of it was still there. “It was cruel fate that separated us, not a blood tie. We were meant to be together.”

  “As friends,” I finished for him. “We are too much alike to ever be together. We’d kill each other. Kalen and Bailey do enough of that. We don’t need to add to the drama pool.”

  The two of them were madly in love, in my opinion, but neither would admit it. They were dancing around each other, pretending neither cared.

  “How can you say that?” Griffin asked, playing the victim again.

  “You’d flirt. I’d flirt back. You’d get angry. I’d get pissed. You’d yell. I’d scream and hopefully the cops would be called before I decapitated you,” I said, all nonchalant like.

  “That’s dark. But sounds like the beginning of the best sex of my life,” he teased.

  “No, because it would start with you flirting with anything that moved. Not with me,” I said, tilting my head in game, set, match posture.

  “Ah, you know me well.”

  “Exactly. Now it’s time for you to leave. You can see I’m safe and, more importantly, sleepy.”

  “Sure I can’t join you?” he asked, making another attempt at closing the distance between us. “What if being with you was my dying wish?”

  I shoved him toward the door. “Then you’d be a dead and lonely man.” For good measure, I added a firm, “Go.”

  With his hand on the doorknob, but not yet opening it, he said, “I can be your battery-operated boyfriend. All you have to do is turn me on.” He wagged his eyebrows.

  That did it. I couldn’t hold back any longer and laughed. “Not even in your dreams.”

  Finally, he opened the door as if he’d waited for me to cave and acknowledge his silliness. “Seriously, just give me a chance.”

  He sounded so sincere, I almost believed him.

  “How about I take you to my favorite spot and I can play wingman, Robin to your Batman, and get you laid?” When his brows shot up, I added, “And not by me. We’re better friends.” Then with the seriousness he’d given me, I said, “I don’t want to lose that.”

  He tipped his head in my direction. “I can’t tonight.”

  Since it was after midnight, he was talking much later today.

  “Tomorrow night then.”

  “Tomorrow,” he acquiesced.

  When the door closed, I slid the bolt and sighed.

  Griffin would make some girl very happy. It just wasn’t me. A part of me mourned that. But the mature part of me accepted it would never work. I’d dated enough guys to know he wasn’t my person, which sucked. Though I’d had less experience with sex than some might think, my numbers were enough for me to know the man would be great in bed. That was something I sorely missed.

  I turned around, leaning my back on the door, and admired the shadowy room. Though it was dark, I’d seen enough in the light to picture the rich color of the bamboo floors, which contrasted nicely with the few pieces of furniture. An expensive modular leather couch and two armchairs flanked a glass table, which appeared floating on woven reflective legs only there to hold the glass up.

  Not much more was in the room. The kitchen, which filled most of the wall to the far left, was hidden behind simplistic cabinetry which tricked the eye into not knowing there was a refrigerator or dishwasher.

  The place was minimalistic like an art gallery. Abstract and landscape paintings by an artist I would kill to feature in my gallery were spaced on the walls. Yet no signature was anywhere to be found.

  I was certain Kalen had never lived here. Not with the way Bailey had described his place. According to her, it boasted the minimalist style as well, but with enough items that it felt homey.

  No, I was certain an artist lived here. One I very much wanted to know. My gallery could use a boost from discovering a talent such as this.

  Despite my exhaustion, the wall of windows called to me. I walked over to them, glancing over the New York skyline. Though it was beautiful here, I missed my apartment.

  Looking out into the night, I was reminded how I ended up here. After my meeting with Haven in Chicago, I’d gotten the call from Kalen that my apartment had been broken into and vandalized. According to him, someone was targeting my best friend for reasons still unknown to me. I had my suspicions the destruction in my home was somehow related to Kalen, considering the way he insisted on taking care of not only Bailey, who I was sure he was madly in love with, but me too.

  Despite knowing this, Matt had forced me back on a plane home because he thought I’d be safer in New York. I didn’t want to admit I was freaked, which was why I was staying put and not going to a hotel or my parents’ house or someplace I could be easily traced. Kalen seemed to think Bailey was the target, but what if she wasn’t? Matt had been worried about my safety. What if someone had destroyed our apartment because I’d gone to see my twin?

  I was up in the air about what to do with the apartment. Since the damage was extensive, I’d decided to also do some long overdue renovations. Updating the kitchen, bathroom, and floors had been on my to-do list for a while. But the idea of going home gave me hives. I had no idea what hidden things the vandals had done. Between Kalen, my insurance, and the contractors, the cost to me was next to nothing. I had a feeling Kalen might be pitching in more than he’d said. As it stood, it would be weeks until the apartment was finished.

  So I was in Soho, enjoying this beautiful place at no cost to me. Better than a rental or a hotel for sure. It was like taking a mini vacation.

  I held my hand up to the glass and stopped myself from touching it. The place was too pristine for me to mar the view with my fingerprints.

  Stifling a yawn, I turned and noticed the door next to the kitchen was cracked open. I was sure it had been closed. But I was too tired to make the trek across the expansive room just to close it, so I headed back to the bedroom. I removed the robe I’d borrowed from the enormous closet and slipped under the silk sheets.

  I quickly checked my phone and noticed five missed calls from Hans and sighed. He was one of the most attractive men in the world and a highly sought-after model, but he too wasn’t my person. I was such a bad person for being hung up on his penis.

  The correct medical term was micro-penis. The man could eat his way to heaven, regarding my pussy and me as the path to get there. But I’d liked dick and not the silicone kind. There was nothing wrong with a good dildo, but it wasn’t a permanent replacement for a hard cock, something Hans lacked through no fault of his own.

  As much as I wanted it to work, it wasn’t fair for either of us for me to continue pretending his problem wasn’t mine. He deserved a woman who could love him and adore him completely. I hated that couldn’t be me.

  I pushed aside my guilt and decided I’d wait until the morning to return his call. I wasn’t sure what more I coul
d say to him that would make him accept my decision.

  Tomorrow would be a new day with many challenges, including the financial viability of keeping my gallery open. But I couldn’t allow myself to ponder that if I had any hope of falling back asleep. Instead, I thought about the arrogant biker. The one who’d called me a princess a few weeks ago.

  He’d been everything bad girls dreamed about. At least, this one. Why was it I was always attracted to his type? The one who didn’t want anything to do with me. That’s why any sort of relationship never lasted for me. Once a guy got all mushy, I headed for the hills. Would I ever learn my lesson?

  At least thinking about him had the desired effect as I drifted into dream world, fantasizing what it would be like to fuck his brains out.

  Four

  Connor

  Hiding in my own apartment was a shit thing. Yet I didn’t think I could explain my presence to the blonde before she dialed 9-1-1. I waited a few minutes until the house got quiet before I exited the pantry and closed the door as quietly as I could.

  Before I left the apartment, I peeked into the bedroom to make sure Sleeping Beauty had drifted off again. The slow rise and fall of her sheet-covered chest said so. I didn’t linger and exited the room. I’d only barely stepped out of the apartment when a fist caught me squarely in the jaw.

  “So where were you hiding?” Griffin asked in a harsh whisper. His Scottish lilt was in full force tonight.

  I rubbed at the ache on the side of my face and held up a finger. “One time. That’s all you get. Next time you’ll find out what Black Irish means.”

  My mother was a dark-haired beauty, according to those I’d overheard. She had blue eyes the color of Caribbean waters, which she’d passed down to me. She’d told me all my life to be proud of our heritage, which included those often-labeled Black Irish, those with dark hair and blue eyes, and reminded me we were survivors by any means necessary.

  Griffin huffed and spoke a series of words in Gaelic that meant nothing to me. I understood some Irish Gaelic, but none of the Scottish kinds. Even if I could, he was half muttering and speaking too fast for me to make any sense of it.

  “Did you touch her?” he finally asked in English.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. We might not see eye to eye, especially now, but he knew me better. I didn’t dignify his question with an answer. Instead I said, “You missed the show. She was naked and in my bed willingly.”

  His jaw worked a second. “She didn’t know you were there.”

  “Exactly. I didn’t know she was there either. A little warning and I might not have let myself in my apartment.”

  “Stay away from her.”

  “And what say do you have over her? I think she was clear when she shut you down,” I said, patting his shoulder.

  He jerked away as I stifled a chuckle, but I couldn’t contain a grin.

  “She’ll change her mind,” Griffin said, though his statement lacked confidence.

  “When? At your little meetup tomorrow night?” When he said nothing, I tapped my chin with my index finger. “How about a wager?”

  “I’m not playing any of your games.”

  “Games? This is simple. I show up. You’re there. Let’s see who she chooses.” I knew something he didn’t.

  “She’ll never go for this.”

  “She won’t know, which will make her choice pure and unadulterated.”

  He shook his head.

  “Scared?” I mocked. “No one will force her hand.”

  “I won’t agree to this.”

  “You don’t have to. I’ll be there.” I started to walk away and stopped. “And to make things even, I suggest you don’t tell her who I am.” I winked. “That would give me an unfair advantage.”

  I wasn’t exactly sure I had an advantage, but I saw the hesitation in Griffin’s eyes before I made my way to the elevator.

  “Don’t worry, laddie,” I joked. “It’s not that bad to only be friends with a woman you’re half in love with.”

  Griffin opened his mouth to speak, but I stepped into the elevator as the doors opened on cue.

  When I got in my car, I thought over the wisdom of my bet. Griffin had goaded me into it even though he hadn’t been the one to come up with the scheme. I knew he didn’t like me and saw me as some kind of threat to his friendship with my brother.

  Kalen and I had only met when he moved to New York at our father’s request. He was Dad’s first son with his first wife. My mother was currently married to the man, but recent developments suggested that wouldn’t last long. Apparently, she’d been sleeping with Dad’s best friend, who was also his lawyer. There was a hint that maybe I wasn’t even a King. I could visualize the triumph in Griffin’s glare to see me toppled from the throne.

  That had to be the reason I’d set the game afoot, because despite the blonde’s beauty, she wasn’t my type. Yet I couldn’t ignore my cock’s reaction to her. The last time I’d gotten the thing to participate was when I’d seen her weeks before. That had pissed me off, because I never lost control. After, when my dick had ghosted me on more than one occasion, I’d worried that my past had finally caught up to me.

  I shook off the memories before they could make an appearance and focused on the road as images of the naked beauty played in my head. I longed for my canvases and would have to resort to pencil and paper when I got home. A sketch would have to do to clear my head.

  I pulled my Dodge Viper into my Manhattan apartment’s garage. Though I wasn’t into cars like my brother was, I’d had to have the concept car I’d seen when Kalen and I went to an auto show. I slid my fingers along the hood, one of its kind for now, as I walked toward the private elevator.

  Tomorrow would be a new day. Tonight, I would sketch, and I did so until dawn.

  It was then and only then I was able to find sleep, something that eluded me on a daily basis. But even in dreams, I couldn’t escape the princess. Sleeping Beauty, I’d dubbed her. Golden hair and peaceful in sleep, yet she haunted my dreams.

  I woke hard and had to rub one out in the shower while thinking of her to find release. That was the fucked-up situation I was in. The last time I’d jerked off—when it wasn’t part of a scene—I’d been a teenager.

  “Christ,” I muttered, disgusted with myself.

  Before I could towel off, my phone rang. Eliza. My manager at the club, and former sub, didn’t call me in the morning. Though it was after two in the afternoon, so it wasn’t truly morning.

  “What,” I said.

  “What’s got your panties in a bunch?” she joked. When I said nothing, she continued. “Yeah, sorry. You should know we had a request.”

  “And that is?”

  She rattled off a name, and I scrubbed a hand down my face, knowing what she would say next. “He ordered a private room and wants us to arrange a partner for a scene he has in mind.”

  “Did you tell him we don’t do that?” Not that she should have to. That was explained in the membership contract.

  “I did, and he said—” She rattled off another name that had been in the news recently. “He did that kind of thing at his private island, what makes us better.”

  “We aren’t a prostitution ring.” I growled out the words. “Fucking pedophiles and sadists ruin everything.” When Eliza remained quiet, I said, “Shit. I didn’t mean that… I mean, I did about pedophiles. But not about sadists.”

  Eliza was a bit of a masochist. It was part of the reason we hadn’t lasted, because I was far from a sadist. The reason people like him shouldn’t pay for sex was because they then believed they owned the experience and safe words meant nothing.

  “I know what you meant,” she said quietly.

  Eliza wasn’t one to back down, and I knew I’d hurt her. “Fuck, you know I didn’t mean it. It’s him that pisses me off. I could rescind his membership. On the other hand, if he doesn’t have a safe outlet for his needs, he may harm an unwilling participant.”

  “I know,” she sai
d more firmly.

  “I trust you can handle it.” I had plans for the evening that didn’t include going to the club.

  When she spoke, I visualized her lifting her chin. “I can and I will. I just wanted you to know.”

  “Good girl,” I said, knowing she liked to hear it.

  We all had our kinks, including me. Suddenly, I was back to thinking of the blonde, wondering just what she liked in bed and out.

  Five

  Lizzy

  The bright sunshine crept in like a thief, jolting me awake. The clock told another story. I was late. My shower might have been called a dance in the rain as I rushed to scrub all the vitals. Picking out an outfit cost a little more time. Image was important and couldn’t be overlooked.

  Hence though I noticed the door to the pantry was closed when I swore it had been open last night, it didn’t make the impact it might have if I hadn’t been rushing to get my coffee before diving into the sea of New Yorkers headed to work. When I got to my gallery, my assistant, Anderson, was already waiting for me—with an espresso cup from our in-store machine.

  “Good Morning, princess,” Anderson said.

  “Don’t call me that,” I said, taking the shot of espresso from him. The label reminded me of the one man who’d called me that. I lifted the cup. “How’d you know?”

  “Honey, you’re late and it shows on your face.”

  I swallowed the drink before reaching in my purse to find my compact mirror. My reflection revealed a smoky eye look not on my lids but under my eye. I’d only have used makeup to get that effect if I’d been going for the “four hours or less of sleep” look.

  “Ugh,” I whined.

  “A little concealer and you’ll be fine. Your meeting is in fifteen minutes, so let’s get started.” Before diving into our agenda, he left my office. A second later, he was back with a bouquet.