by Skylar West
Pam's Norwegian and, therefore, fairer than I, with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. The thought had crossed my mind many times that perhaps Ethan had gone looking for a woman who reminded him of me. That would explain his always choosing women who got him into trouble or had issues with self-control. I was hoping their relationship had grown since I'd seen them. When last we spoke, Ethan surprised me when he'd said they were still together. Yesterday, when we talked, he didn't sound happy but perked up when I said I was coming to town with a mystery man and invited the two of them to dinner.
I sighed and burrowed deeper into Kingsley. He removed me and got up to retrieve a blanket then wrapped me in the ultra-soft material. I fell asleep snuggled in tightly to his chest. In my dream, Kingsley was leaning over me, repeating my name, until I felt a shake. That was when I realized that both Kingsleys—dream and real—were saying my name. I smiled at the thought of having two Kingsleys. When I opened my eyes, I stretched like a kitten and looked out the window. I could see the Manhattan skyline basking in the aftermath of sunset, still glowing as the last of the rays disappeared.
It was so beautiful, I couldn't wait to go exploring. It had been two years since my last visit to the city, and the vibrancy it offered was like no other. Thoroughly gratified and rested, I was ready to take on New York, hoping to take advantage of the next forty-eight hours before flying home to Los Angeles.
When we arrived at the Plaza, we were led in through a staff entrance from the parkade garage level that was for employees only then up a service elevator and to our suite. I was immediately distracted by the treasure trove that lay before me. The entire city was lit up and looked like a treasure chest filled with precious jewels.
I heard Kingsley on the phone behind me. I dragged my eyes away from the view and wandered through the suite, giving myself a tour. In the master bedroom, I opened the first closet I came to and found several outfits for me. I wasn't stupid; I surmised that Kingsley kept clothing in all his suites in case he had a guest, which he must have had plenty throughout the years.
He had told me that by the time he was eighteen years old, he had known what he wanted with regards to women. At thirty-six years old, he'd had eighteen years to play and do what he wanted. No wonder he was so good. I certainly felt like a well-played instrument whenever we had sex.
Sex with King was like a fantasy. Every single time, his dark eyes went black. Beyond the sex, I found him dominant but not in a way that made me feel inferior, quite the opposite. He never tried to control me, only my actions. In that way, King allowed me to see things in a different light. I had lived my life in a constant state of reaction—to my parents, to my situation, and to how I'd been raised.
In comparison, Kingsley had been given everything possible to become successful, including doting parents. He became what he was on his own terms, despite the potential they saw in him and their attempts at trying to control him.
According to Kingsley, they would still try from time to time, which is why he only saw his family at Christmas. His family was large and conservative, and the only relative he got on well with was his cousin, Devon. I was looking forward to meeting him for lunch the next day.
It would be my first glimpse into the Deveraux family, and I hoped his cousin was a sharer. I wanted to know everything I could about Kingsley, especially if he planned on keeping me around for a while, which it sounded like he wanted to.
His family sounded utterly different than mine. Kingsley's family, being old money, would support one another through all the thick and thin situations, making them trustworthy.
I could not trust either of my parents, as I knew their primary goal in life was money. They couldn't be trusted to make any decisions concerning my welfare, because I would become merely a bargaining chip. They had been decent, loving people once, but that had changed with their status. I remembered a time when they loved me, when I'd been their pride and joy, and they'd doted on me. When I was seven years old, they separated, in marriage only. In business, they were still seen as a power couple, despite having separate residences.
Kingsley's family was united, but he also said he felt each of them had chosen well and was genuinely happy with their lives. My parents both dated people as young or younger than I am. I wondered if they thought young meant dumb and they just didn't want to date anyone who could challenge them.
My father wanted arm candy, and if his arm candy had a brain, he didn't want to know it. Neither he nor my mother discussed business around their playthings, which was probably for the best. I wondered for the hundredth time if my dad was in bed with the Russian mafia.
And if he was, why? Of course, I couldn't ask. If I was to be a trade or a victim in some sick plot, I needed to keep myself ignorant of that fact in their eyes until Kingsley could figure out what was going on.
I was still staring into the closet, lost in thought, when I felt his arms encircle me.
"Nice supply, Deveraux, you must have kept your women happy." I meant it to sound humorous. Instead, it came out whiney.
He chuckled in my ear. "Are you jealous, Katarina, that I've had women before you?"
I turned in his arms to face him. "Honestly? No, but it also does not inspire confidence that I will be around very long. So I guess I'm here for a good time, not a long time."
His gaze darkened. "I could see how'd you think that. How attached to your apartment are you?"
My brow furrowed as I wondered at his line of questioning "Nice try, King, but trying to distract me doesn't change reality."
"Not at all, Katarina. I think you should live with me. I can't protect you in your apartment as well as I could in my home."
I laughed. "Really? Does that line work on all the ladies? Seriously, Kingsley, if this mob thing hadn't come up, would you even be asking me?"
He gazed at me, his thoughts unreadable. "Maybe, maybe not. Does it matter? You can't be by yourself until we know what's going on. There's a good chance your parents are involved in this or spearheading it. Someone needs to look out for you."
The amused grin I'd been wearing went hard. I tried pulling out of Kingsley's grasp, but he'd seen the change in my facial expression and pulled me tighter.
I fought to be released but finally gave in and stood still. Fine, I figured I would allow King to think he was winning me over. But being a kept princess in a tower wasn't my deal. I did my own thing, and I wouldn't just give up my freedom.
"I like my apartment, but I'm not attached to it. Regardless, I'm not moving in with you, even if you order me to. I have free will, and as long as I can, I will exercise it."
"Katarina, be reasonable, please," he hissed.
"If it makes you feel any better, I will go and stay with Danica. She works for you, so you can keep tabs on me when we're not together. She rents an apartment about five minutes from the club, so I'll be close, okay?"
He was quiet, and I almost thought he wouldn't answer when finally, he said, "I'll take it under advisement. Now, let's change. I have our security detail ready and our reservation for our next pairing at Petit Boucherie."
"Wonderful, which one of these things do you want me to wear?"
I fingered the gowns in the closet, all expensive and beautiful, but none that spoke to me.
"That is not your wardrobe."
I smirked, "Oh, I'm aware of that, King. I wouldn't wear any of those gowns, given a choice. But as my wardrobe isn't here, what would you like me to wear?"
He drew me through a large bathroom to a connecting closet which I had missed on my tour. He opened the door, and inside, it was packed with clothing for both him and me.
"I sent items ahead to each location, Katarina. I hope you can find something suitable in here. I'm going to shower; I'll leave you to it."
I flipped through the selection with a happy grin on my face. The man knew me well; everything in this closet was something I'd wear.
I chose a simple periwinkle cocktail dress with heels and a ma
tching purse. I put my hair up in a bun, with a few stray tendrils to soften my look. Then I placed a diamond comb in the top and added simple diamond studs and a matching tennis bracelet.
Next, I put on foundation, mascara, and light pink lipstick. When I was done, I checked myself out in the full-length mirror. I looked older than I was and softer than I usually did. Must be all the sex. I chuckled as I helped myself to the bar and sat on the deck with my drink, waiting for Kingsley.
Twenty minutes later, I was pouring myself a second when he exited the bedroom. I sucked in my breath. He looked hot. Although King is English, he isn't pale, like most, but a light golden bronze. Truly the golden boy.
He had chosen black slacks and a tight-fitting black cable knit sweater that hugged his bulging muscles. On his wrist, he wore a thick, gold chain. He smelled of Clive Christian #1, my favorite men's cologne that cost a whopping two thousand dollars an ounce.
I wanted to rip his clothes off and ride him all night long. I left my half-poured glass and took his extended arm.
"You are a vision of loveliness, Katarina. That color brings out the exquisite ivory tones in your lovely skin."
I blushed; no one had ever talked about the tone of my skin before. Kingsley let out a smug chuckle as we exited our room hand in hand. Outside our door, were two bodyguards. And when the elevator opened, two more. I looked quizzically at Kingsley.
"Just keeping you safe, my little heiress."
I made a slight, "Hmph" and turned my eyes away from him and straight ahead. As we were exiting the elevator, he said none too softly, "Someone wants a spanking and an ass fucking tonight."
The air expelled from my lungs in a quick burst.
"Must you say those things out loud, and in public?"
He laughed. Clearly, the man was never embarrassed. He was always just himself and never seemed to suffer from self-ridicule or condemnation, like we mere mortals did.
We stood on the threshold of the restaurant, and I was impressed by the friendly European décor both outside and inside the restaurant. We went in through the main doors and were escorted to a private corner.
The restaurant was owned by friends of Kingsley, the Boucherie family. Our security divided, with one going to the front entrance, one to the back, while the other two stood at the access to our section. Even with all the extra eyes and Kingsley's laid-back countenance, I knew he was uncomfortable being out. His eyes were moving, always roving around the restaurant. I sighed and sat back, wishing for copious amounts of alcohol.
Our waiter arrived moments later with our first pairing, seared scallops with a Chenin blanc. I downed my wine before I'd taken my first bite of the mollusk. Kingsley frowned but ordered a second glass, and that was how our evening went, me, with two glasses for every pairing. Kingsley was processing but keeping the conversation light and general, no doubt, wondering what my problem was.
What was my problem? The pressure I was feeling with our situation, and our security was stationed too close for my liking. I wanted to go outside and let my hair down, feel the breeze on my skin, and do whatever I felt like—not being a lady, not behaving myself. I was not in the mood for pairings. I was acting out, and I knew it, but I didn't care. I hadn't had a brat attack in a while, and the more I thought about the wind in my hair, the more I fidgeted.
My God, it was like being out with my parents, except Kingsley hadn't done anything; it was all me and my reaction. Something had triggered my feelings. I knew that much, but looking back over the evening, I couldn't put my finger on it.
All I knew was I felt uncomfortable in my own skin, and the desire to bolt was overwhelming. I excused myself and went to the bathroom. When I was coming out, I noticed that the guard who'd followed me and the one stationed at the back door were no longer present. I went out into the hall and down to the kitchen.
One of the kitchen staff was giving the two missing guards a bite of something. This was my chance. If I wanted to rebel, now was the time. I felt laughter bubble up inside as I headed out the back door and down the alley, around the corner, and into the heart of the west village.
I was free. I felt fantastic. The first bar I entered was Small's; they had live jazz playing. I made my way to the crowded bar and downed three shots in succession. I took my time with the next three as I peopled watched.
They were excellent, but I wanted to dance, and this place was way too small for that. I stumbled out of the bar. I'd had eight glasses of wine at dinner and now six shooters. With the air hitting me, I found myself keeping a straight line impossible.
I stumbled toward Sixth, where the Oppa Bar was located. The music was great, the bar was busy, and people were already dancing. I didn't even go to the bar this time. Instead, I headed straight to the dance floor and got in the center. That way, if Kingsley or his goons looked in, they wouldn't see me.
I felt guilty for about thirty seconds, then I felt nothing but naughty goodness. This was who I was, and if Kingsley Deveraux thought he could change me, well, he had another thing coming. After a few songs, I made my way through the crush of people to the bar. I'd burned off a bit of the alcohol I'd consumed and was ready for stage two.
The bartender handed me a glass of water and two shots when I heard a voice behind me. "You know, Katarina, if you wanted to dance, that's all you had to say."
I froze my shooter halfway to my mouth. I quickly put it down as if I had been scalded and turned to look at the towering inferno before me. Kingsley was positively vibrating with tension, his calm words belying the intense emotions that were evident in his expression and body language. I almost wanted to taunt him to see what he'd do, but survival instincts prevailed.
"I could have, King, but then I would have missed out on being naughty, which is who I am, not some submissive doormat."
I turned and downed both shots. I turned back to him with a smile of victory plastered to my face. His look darkened, his eyes going black. I should have been terrified, but instead, a bubble of laughter burst forth.
His carnivorous grin lengthened as he watched me in my fit of mirth. He waved the bartender over and ordered me two more. When those were gone, he ordered two more, and he kept ordering me two more until I was so drunk that when I tried to weave my way to the dance floor, I fell and couldn't get up.
Kingsley strode over and picked me up, tossed me over his shoulder, and carried me out to the waiting limousine. My head was lolling on my shoulders, and we hadn't gone a block before I started puking out the window.
I puked all the way to the hotel. Once we arrived, Kingsley walked me straight into the shower and turned on the cold water. I squealed at the shock but didn't have much strength to resist him. It wasn't until I started shivering that he took mercy and turned off the cold water. I was surprised when I stepped out that, although I was freezing, I felt better.
Next, he stripped me of my clothing and handed me a towel. He left the bathroom then and returned a moment later with ibuprofen and water. I took the water and downed the pills.
Then he marched me to the guest room and pulled back the covers. "In."
Those were the first words he'd spoken to me since the bar. I got in, and he pulled up the covers, tucking me in. "Goodnight, Katarina." He turned out the light and left.
I was shocked—no lecture, no spanking, no sex, just put to bed. I was mad, but every time I wanted to get up and give King a piece of my mind, the warmth of the bed pulled me back until, finally, sleep claimed me.
Chapter 14
Kingsley
Katarina's trip to the ladies' room was taking far too long. I rose from my seat and headed toward the restrooms. I was surprised when I saw that there were no guards stationed outside the door. I frowned. What was going on, where was everyone?
I entered the bathroom and found the stalls empty. I started to panic, exiting the restroom in a hurry, I almost walked right into one of the security team who was magically back at his post. "Where the hell have you two been?" I asked, tryin
g to keep the fear out of my voice. "Ms. Wallington is gone. Do either of you have any idea how that could have happened?"
They both shook their heads. "Idiots, let's go!" I barked. I prayed she hadn't been kidnapped. When I saw the lack of disturbance in the bathroom and that she had her purse with her, I remembered the look she had in her eye before excusing herself; it was a little wild. My guess was she decided to get drunk and dance. At least, that was my fervent hope. I could deal with a brat; the alternative I didn't want to contemplate.
I assumed she had stumbled to the closest bar. I found out later, I should have turned left instead of right when I left the restaurant. If I had, I would have caught up to her at bar number one. Instead, she got a head start and was hammered when I found her.
My body was screaming with cortisol overload. I wanted to take Kate over my knee. It was so tempting, but two things stopped me, her alcohol consumption and the fact that this wasn't my club.
I didn't feel like having a public spanking go viral. I hoped, for safety purposes, that Kate hadn't been recognized already and a video uploaded to Twitter. Once she was relatively cleaned up, I sent her to bed and went out to the sitting area of the penthouse to calm myself down. If I'd taken her to my room, things would have gotten out of hand. She needed to sleep it off, and I needed to calm down.
What had been the trigger that had set her off? The only thing I could think of was when I asked her to live with me. Why would that be upsetting? I pondered my offer, replaying it. She got angry when I said it was for her protection. I wondered if her father had done things to her, in the name of security. I can't imagine Katarina's father's idea of keeping her in line had anything to do with what was best for her.
