Dark Horse: The Kingmaker Saga #5

by Miller, London

  “Have you missed me?”

  Karina chewed on her lip, knowing there was no right answer to that question. “I don’t believe you understand what’s at stake here, Uilleam. You’re gambling with your life.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “I gamble with everyone’s lives. I quite like my odds, even if they are unfavorable.”

  Brushing her fingers through her hair, she tried not to let her frustration show. For once, she couldn’t anticipate what he was doing because the Uilleam she knew would have done the complete opposite.

  Instead of being afraid of his fate—or at the very least, issuing threats of harm to anyone who stood in his way—he was doing ... this.

  Being far too casual and seemed more interested in her than the fact that he was on trial for murder, and as it stood, things weren’t looking great for him.

  “Surely you understand what’s at stake?” Karina asked, but of course he did.

  He had to. Just for whatever reason, he didn’t seem to care.

  “It’s a conversation better had in person, no?”

  Okay, now she was starting to think he’d had some sort of psychotic break. That the pressures of the trial had finally gotten to him and he’d cracked.

  “It’s a risk just calling you,” she whispered, even as she ignored the temptation to give in.

  “And what if this is my last chance to see you, would you deny me my last moments with you?”

  No, she couldn’t.

  She should.

  But whether she liked it or not, Karina had never been good at denying him what he wanted, even if it was at her own expense.

  Five minutes, she told herself as she eyed her keys across the room. She’d give him five minutes and nothing more.

  * * *

  She hardly had a chance to knock before the door was opening and Uilleam stood on the other side wearing a pair of loose pajama pants that should have been illegal.

  Even as she drank in every inch of exposed skin and sinewy muscle, she still managed to frown. “You really aren’t afraid of prison, are you?”

  Uilleam shrugged as he gestured for her to come in. “I’m too much of an asset to lock away.”

  “You can’t possibly believe that.”

  But she could tell just by looking at him that he meant every word.

  “No one would be willing to risk my incarceration. I know too much about far too many people.”

  Karina slipped out of her coat, contemplating what he said. He wasn’t wrong, she knew, but it felt weird hearing him say as much because despite who they were, they rarely spoke about his work during their time together.

  Now that she thought about it, in the last week or so, this was the most honest they had ever been with each other.

  It was almost a relief knowing as much because at least no, she didn’t have to watch every word she said or remember what white lies she had told.

  They were both able to speak freely.

  Uilleam walked over to the bar cart where a decanter of whiskey and a bottle of wine in a bucket of ice were waiting.

  “Care for a drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  His smile was impossibly charming as he glanced over at her. “Gentlemen don’t take advantage, poppet.”

  “They don’t,” she readily agreed. “But you’re no gentleman.”

  He pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

  Everything about this situation felt surreal. The fact that she was there at all—that they were so comfortable around each other despite the reason she had come in the first place.

  It was as if they had been transported back in time, and not just to the moment before everything as fallen to hell, even before that.

  It felt like the very beginning again, when she had been a lowly reporter working on a story, but instead of a relationship built on secrecy and well kept truths, there was nothing to hide between them.

  And call her naive, but she was ready to chase this feeling for as long as she possibly could. Consequences be damned because there was no guarantee she would ever get this chance again.

  Carefully removing her heels, she padded barefoot across the floor, mindful of the way he stared, wishing it didn’t affect her nearly as much as it did.

  A part of her had wondered whether her conflicted feelings where he was concerned were one-sided—whether she was the only one still carrying a torch for their doomed relationship, but now she knew better.

  Either he was very good at pretending, or he felt it too.

  That spark.

  That undeniable itch beneath his skin that was just begging to be scratched.

  If there was ever a time for her not to be weak around him, now would be that time.

  But the closer she came to him, the more she wondered why she had bothered to stay away for so long.

  Denying him was like denying herself.

  “One drink,” she said once she got close, ignoring the way his victorious grin made her feel.

  As she picked up a glass, he went about opening the wine bottle, the veins in his arms standing out as he pulled the cork free.

  It didn’t seem remotely possible, but it felt as if the air around them was becoming thicker—the space between them not as wide.

  She could practically feel the energy he was giving off. He tipped the bottle forward, pouring a good amount into her glass.

  By the time she was actually putting it to her lips, her mouth felt impossibly dry.

  Not for the first time, she wished things hadn’t been so complicated between them.

  “Tell me something about you,” he said, breaking the silence between them. “Something I don’t already know.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “Anywhere you’d like.”

  His request was so simple, but she hadn’t the slightest idea what to share with him.

  “When I was seven, I attempted to give myself bangs,” she blurted out, knowing that despite how good he was at getting information on people, he wouldn’t have been able to learn about that. “Except, I wasn’t very good, as you’d imagine. And when they came out rubbish, I took it upon myself to try to fix everything instead of cutting my losses. It took ages for it all to grow back.”

  When his lips twitched, she laughed outright. The story might have been embarrassing, but thinking back on it, it still managed to make her laugh.

  “I once wanted to look more like Kit,” Uilleam said finishing off his drink. “Despite my rather obvious appeal,”—this, he said, gesturing at himself from head to toe.—“I thought I might look better with darker hair.”

  She was smiling before he even finished. “What did you do?”

  “Just know that bleach and I don’t agree.”

  A giggle slipped out at first as she thought of the absurdity of it all, but the more she tried to picture what he looked like, the easier her laughter came until she was bent over holding her middle.

  An absent smile played on Uilleam’s lips.

  “What?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you like this.”

  “Like what?” she asked, still amused. “Laughing like an idiot?”

  “Happy.”

  How was she supposed to respond to that?

  Without warning, Uilleam abandoned his drink and crossed over to her, his silence telling her more than he knew.

  Her heart thumped heavily, warmth spreading through her.

  She stood without thinking, craning her neck to look up at him and she was sure the way she felt was reflected there in his eyes.

  Fuck the doubt and everything else.

  She just wanted him.

  She didn’t give herself a chance to think about what they were doing or the ramifications of it all. Instead, she just folded herself into him and finally, finally, let him kiss the breath right out of her.

  The feel of his lips, the way his arms c
urled around her waist and the unmistakable heat of his palms through her dress was everything she remembered.

  Everything she had secretly craved over the years.

  There had only been a few times when she succumbed to the weakness that was her craving for him. Always in the middle of the night when the world was silent around her and she was alone.

  Only then had she allowed herself to fantasize that it was him touching her—that things hadn’t gotten so twisted and fucked up between them.

  But the fantasy didn’t at all compare to the real thing.

  No matter how good her memory of him, she couldn’t duplicate his toughness, or the way he held her like he wanted to break her.

  She had missed this more than she could ever admit.

  For once, it felt like she was coming up for oxygen instead of drowning:

  Their drinks were forgotten as he tugged her in, using his hold to lift her up. She took it upon herself to wrap her legs around his waist, not caring how it must have looked as her dress rode way up until the black lace she wore beneath was on proud display.

  It had been easier to pretend she had come here for any other purpose before this moment, but they both knew she had worn the lace for him.

  Some part of her had anticipated the moment when he stripped her out of her clothes.

  The thought made her shiver, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she trailed kisses along his whispered jaw and down the side of his neck as he had so often done to her.

  And right there, at his pulse point, she sank her teeth into him, glorifying in his sharp inhale as she left her mark on him.

  If there hadn’t been a line in the sand before, there certainly was now.

  And whether she liked it or not, there was no turning back.

  Uilleam’s grip on her tightened as he carried her through the suite and back through the double doors where his bed was waiting.

  She hardly had a chance to feel the cool, silk sheets beneath her touch before he was on top of her, curling his fingers around her jaw to force her up for a kiss.

  Tonight, he wasn’t asking for her permission and giving her a chance to back out.

  No, what he wanted, he simply took.

  And she gladly offered herself up to him.

  He stopped only for as long as it took to flip her over onto her stomach, his fingers nimbly pulling at the zipper’s tab and tugging it down, exposing the length of her back.

  He might have been in a rush before, lost in the heat of the moment, but as the two halves of the dress parted, his movements gradually slowed.

  Karina tried to look over her shoulder at him, but he made a low sound in the back of his throat.

  “Still,” he said a moment later, a command if she had ever heard one.

  It sent a chill racing down her spine even as her toes curled.

  The anticipation was almost her undoing, until she felt the light brush of his fingers in between her shoulder blades.

  “It feels like I’ve waited a lifetime for this,” he said almost to himself, his voice dark and husky.

  She knew the feeling well, though she had to bite her lip to stop herself from saying as much.

  “I’ve wanted you for so long, I almost don’t know where to start,” he said, but this time, some of the wonder had gone out of his voice.

  Instead, it was replaced by a carnal knowledge of exactly what she liked and he knew how to give it to her.

  It was all she wanted … but everything she couldn’t have.

  Before she could give herself over to it all, Karina pushed him away, forcing herself to sit up.

  Uilleam didn’t object, though she could tell from the obvious hardness of his jaw that he wanted to.

  “Karina—”

  “I should go.”

  “You don’t need to leave, poppet.”

  “I do,” she said quickly, climbing off the bed, straightening her dress. “This was …”

  She couldn’t bring herself to say it was a mistake because despite everything, it didn’t feel like one, but she also knew she couldn’t afford to get caught up in whatever this was with him.

  And even if it was just as hard as it had been the first time she did it, she still forced herself to walk away.

  16

  Truths

  Elsie

  The years hadn’t been kind to the woman lying with her eyes closed in the small hospital bed.

  Elsie wasn’t sure what disease was currently ravaging her thin frame, but it was quite obvious that the woman didn’t have much time left despite how young she was. Lines bracketed out beside her closed eyes, and despite the IV in her hand that was supplying a steady dose of morphine, her mouth was still pinched as if she were in pain.

  Despite the reason she was there, Elsie still felt a touch of sympathy for the woman—she wasn’t completely closed off to emotion, after all. But while she might have left a person to their fate, she couldn’t afford to walk away now.

  Shellie was the last one living, and Elsie knew despite all evidence pointing to the doctor’s death being an accident, that that wasn’t quite true. There was more to the story, and now, hopefully, she would finally get the answer to her question.

  Elsie quietly closed the door behind her, pulling the curtain around for more privacy as she approached the woman’s bedside. It was late in the day which gave her just enough time to speak with her before the new nurse that came in would do her rounds.

  It wasn’t until Elsie pulled a chair around, the legs scraping across the floor, that she startled the woman into awakening. Gray eyes turned in her direction, sightless at first before they glazed over in pain.

  She allowed the woman a moment to settle before asking, “Is there anything I can get you?”

  “Water,” Shellie croaked, gesturing vaguely to the plastic pitcher at her bedside. “Please, thank you.”

  Elsie didn’t hesitate in turning over her cup and pouring in until it was halfway full, then helped the woman sit up just far enough to drink it down. She struggled, coughed a bit when she tried to drink too much too fast, but she didn’t rush the woman.

  She was already dying anyway.

  Once Shellie had drank her fill, Elsie set the cup aside before reclaiming her chair, crossing her legs as she waited for the woman to finish fussing with the thin blanket covering her legs.

  “Who are you?” the woman asked, sounding resigned and tired. “You’re not a nurse, and you’re dressed too nice to be from the insurance company.”

  “My name is Elsie Runehart. Who I am is inconsequential.”

  Her brows pinched as a look of alarm crossed her face. “That an accent I hear.”

  Elsie nodded. “Welsh.”

  “That mean British?”

  Ah, Americans. At the very least, she knew she was in the right place if the woman thought she was affiliated in any way with the Ashworths. “It means whatever you want it to mean.”

  “Okay ... what do you want?”

  “Information about an emergency cesarean surgery you had to perform years ago.”

  Shellie already looked as if she hadn’t seen immediate sunlight in ages, but at the mention of the surgery, she managed to grow even paler. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Considering I’m here despite all of your best efforts to remain hidden, let’s both agree that I know far more than you think I do. While I would prefer if you made things easy for me by just telling me the truth, I’m willing to do whatever is necessary to get what I came for.”

  Shellie attempted to laugh, but the sound cut off as she started to cough, the fluid in her lungs sounding impossible to clear. Elsie waited in silence.

  “Yeah? I don’t see what threatening me is going to get you. Look at me,” she said, holding her hands out, her eyes seeming more tired now than they had a few moments prior. “It’s only a matter of time before I leave this earth. There isn’t a threat in the world that’s worse than what I’m already suffering. Hell, I’d proba
bly thank you for putting me out of my misery.”

  Unfortunately, the woman wasn’t wrong. The point of threatening a person was because of their desire to live, and as far as Elsie could find, the woman’s illness was fatal and there was no known cure. Since she had no family, and not even a fucking puppy, the woman had nothing to live for.

  “I’ve not come to make this harder on you,” Elsie said softly, leaning forward. “I can’t imagine the pain you must be feeling and the hopelessness of all of this. My little cousin had leukemia and though he was the bravest boy I’ve ever known, I still had to watch as that disease not only festered and ate away at him, but in his parents as well.”

  Shellie’s eyes glittered with tears as she rested her head back against the small pillow, undoubtedly reminded of her own fate. She was a proud woman, Elsie could guess, but that didn’t mean she lacked empathy.

  “My aunt loved that little boy more than anything, from the second he came into the world—probably longer, I imagine, since she carried him inside her body for nine months. I can’t imagine there’s ever a love quite like that between a mother and their child.” Elsie searched the woman’s face as she picked at a piece of loose thread. “I understand you might not have had a child of your own, but you know what it means to feel loss, don’t you?”

  Shellie looked up in surprise, her mouth agape—the question she wanted to ask so clearly written in the lines of her face.

  How did you know?

  More importantly, however, was the raw anguish that said this subject was the last thing Shellie wanted to talk about. Elsie knew all about opening up old wounds—picking and scraping at them until they oozed like new all over again.

  It was time to get back to the matter at hand. “You don’t have to tell me why you did it,” Elsie said, reaching over to rest her hand on top of Shellie’s clammy one. “I just need to know what happened that day.”

  For a moment, she wasn’t sure if Shellie would actually answer her, or if she would continue to maintain her silence. Elsie was prepared for either decision, but she did breathe a sigh of relief when the woman finally broke her silence.

  “It’s not just about what happened that day,” she said, sounding utterly defeated, “but what happened in the weeks prior ...”