King of the South

by Calia Read

  Abruptly, I pull away just enough so there’s an inch or two between our bodies. Panting, I try to gather my breath, and instead, I’m pulled back into Rainey’s web. “If I keep goin’ I’ll spill inside my pants like a schoolboy.”

  Rainey smiles, her cheeks rosy, and reaches blindly behind her in search of my hands. She finds them almost immediately and links her fingers with mine. In this position, her breasts thrust out to me like an offering.

  “You behavin’ like a schoolboy?” Rainey’s lips wickedly curve up. “Whatever would your loyal subjects say about their king now?”

  “They would make me abdicate,” I say and kiss my way up her neck.

  “Doubtful. You’d charm your way back to your position.”

  Right now, the only position I’m interested in is being on top of Rainey, surging inside her. She would be wild, like she always is. I just know it. The very thought makes me thrust faster against Rainey. I capture her lips to mine so unexpectedly she breathes through her nose.

  “Dites-moi que vous avez besoin de moi. S’il vous plaît,” I murmur.

  Rainey’s eyes meet mine, and her mouth opens. Then something behind me catches her attention. “I think I hear your brother.”

  I’m in such a daze, it takes me a moment to fully understand her words. But when I do, I stand straight. Rainey begins to smooth her clothes and fix her hair as best as she can. Before she can slip away, my hand meets the table, blocking her path. We stand hip to hip, and even though I’m supposed to be clearing my mind of Rainey, I can feel a fresh wave of desire coming through me. “I’ll see you tonight?”

  “Absolutely,” Rainey replies without a second thought. My hand falls back to my side. She quickly walks away without giving me a second look.

  I’ve seen business transactions take longer than our conversation, but I received the answer I wanted. What more should we speak of? Moreover, if we’re spotted having a cordial conversation that doesn’t have Rainey vowing to get even with me, people would become suspicious.

  It’s difficult to walk away from her.

  Rainey takes the first step, dipping her head slightly. “It was nice speakin’ with you, Mr. Lacroix,” she says loudly for anyone listening to hear.

  I follow her movements, the corner of my mouth lifting upward. “You too, Miss Pleasonton.”

  Swallowing, she gives me one last look before she walks away. I watch her, making sure I keep a lighthearted smile on my face.

  Discreetly, I adjust myself, but my efforts are ineffective because the silhouette of Rainey is toward the end of the hall. Her hips sway with each step, and her heels echo on the marble floors. My fingers flex involuntarily to feel her hips.

  Something that should never and can never happen. Remember?

  Who am I trying to kid? I will go to Rainey tonight. I will go to her every night if I have to.

  It’s almost a relief when she rounds the corner out of my sight. I start to walk down the hall toward the sound of the voices. By the time I reach everyone, no one should notice my … condition. At least that’s what I tell myself.

  “That was quite a friendly interaction between the two of you.”

  At the sound of my brother’s voice, I turn and see him round the corner. I forgot all about him. His hands are behind his back as though he’s taking a leisurely stroll down the driveway.

  “My God, Étienne. When did voyeurism become a hobby of yours?”

  “When you became so secretive.” He steps out of the doorway and moves closer. “I know you said earlier that you do not love Rainey, and I’m tryin’ hard to believe you, but it’s apparent the two of you have become less … bothersome to one another.”

  I sigh and try my hardest not to look in the direction of Rainey. Is one of the bachelors speaking to her? My God, I’ve become unhinged. “Where are you goin’ with this, Étienne?” I ask impatiently.

  My brother looks me in the eye. “You can run your hand through her and feel the warmth, but don’t hold still. Rainey will light you on fire. That girl will singe what’s left of your soul.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you don’t care for Rainey.”

  “Quite the contrary. I care very much for her. I’ve watched her grow up. And that’s why I can say confidently that the man for Rainey needs to be strong enough to stand by her.”

  I’m not that man. I don’t want to be that man. But having someone, especially my own twin, place such little doubt in me makes me want to prove I could be that man.

  “I’m not strong enough?”

  “After the war?” Étienne pauses and shakes his head. “No. You’re not. You both need to be careful.”

  All I can do is nod because it’s too late for that. I could’ve used his warning the day I kissed Rainey in the ballroom. But I’ve become a cautionary tale of what happens when you kiss your best friend’s sister, and for the first time in months, you start to feel alive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Rainey

  The lunch at Belgrave was intended to meet the bachelor’s families and better get to know them. And to a certain degree, that happened, but only on a surface level because everything that was said to me, I replied with a perfunctory smile. I can’t remember the conversations I had or who I laughed with, but I know where Livingston Lacroix was throughout the meal, who he spoke to, and each time he laughed. I remembered every moment my heart sped up, trying my best to remain indifferent to the man across the table from me.

  A man who spent the night with me and was now coming back for the third night in a row.

  This wasn’t a routine. Routines and habits take time to develop. No, this was a ...learning experience. I know I’m not skilled in the bedroom, and our time in the dark is simply bolstering my confidence for when I’m married.

  I’ll know what to expect. The hand of a man securely wrapped around my waist will feel safe instead of shocking. Just thinking about how I woke up in Livingston’s arms causes my blood to warm.

  Maybe this is why people get married. Maybe they don’t want to feel alone in life. The protection and warmth I felt this morning was something I’ve never experienced before but wanted to again. In my mind, I think of this morning and keep substituting Livingston’s face with one of the bachelor’s, but it’s wrong and unnatural. Ultimately, Livingston’s features returned.

  It was unsettling how appeased my heart felt. Unsettling how desire gripped me every time we were alone. We could have been caught in the hallway at Belgrave today, but all I could concern myself with was the man who held me tightly.

  Don’t allow him into your room, my heart warns.

  Yes, routines may take time to form, but the memories between Livingston and I had been constructed several years ago. And each night Livingston comes to me, each night we build upon those memories.

  I’m growing increasingly fond of him. It extends past a fluttering of my heart or butterflies when I see him. Something deeper and more powerful.

  “If you know I’m comin’, can’t you at least create a makeshift rope to throw down every night?”

  Whirling around, I find Livingston standing in front of the open window dusting off his pants as though it’s perfectly normal to be entering through the window.

  I take a deep breath and give him a faint smile. “I left the window open,” I point out.

  “I’m also not a child anymore. The branch almost cracked underneath my weight. I feared for my life,” Livingston says.

  “Well, I’m pleased to see you made it inside without a scratch. We wouldn’t want a king like you to get a tear in one of his shirts,” I say dryly.

  Slowly, I edge my way toward him. We had to be careful at Belgrave. There seemed eyes were everywhere, and when we did speak it was barely two words. Several times, I saw Étienne look at us suspiciously, and I swear he knew something was occurring between Livingston and me.

  I don’t want tonight to come to an end abruptly like the nights before. His presence was almost uncover
ed by my maid. Yet that brush with danger didn’t stop him from coming back or me from leaving the window unlocked.

  And I knew it was only a matter of time before one of us came to our senses and called off these late-night meetings. There was an expiration on my dowry and debts that needed to be paid.

  “Speakin’ of kings, where’s that chessboard of yours?”

  My God, this man has a sharp memory. I thought the subject of chess was put to rest last night. Evidently, I was mistaken. “I put it away because I’m not playin’ it right now.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because our games go on for hours! And you cheat.”

  “I believe you’ve confused me with yourself.”

  My eyes narrow into slits. Stepping closer, I jab my finger at his chest. “I don’t cheat. Perhaps, you are a sore loser. Ever think of that?”

  Livingston smirks, and one of his dimples appears. “You cheat.”

  My temper flares. “I do not.”

  “Play a game with me, and I’ll be more than happy to prove it.”

  Apprehensively, I scratch the side of my neck and look away.

  “No more than five minutes.”

  What will one game hurt? It’s a simple chess game.

  I regard him once more. “Five minutes?”

  Livingston’s smile broadens. He knows he’s won this challenge. “Five minutes,” he agrees.

  “Very well. Even though it’s late, I can beat you at any hour, but let’s speed this along, shall we?” I toss over my shoulder as I walk over to my armoire where I stored the chess set.

  “Do you have somewhere to be?”

  With the set in my hands, I close the armoire doors and studiously avoid Livingston’s gaze. “No. But I am quite familiar with your strategies.” I straighten and walk to the bed. Before I place the set on the mattress, I stare at him cautiously. “The time remains five minutes?”

  “If I say five minutes, five minutes it shall be.”

  I finish arranging the board, my lack of certainty clear. “All right then. Let’s play.”

  Livingston doesn’t bound for the bed like I expect him to. He gazes at the chessboard pensively, and then his eyes slowly widen. I’ve seen that expression on his face many times before.

  At once, apprehension fills me.

  With his arms crossed he meanders over. “You want to make this game a bit more … interestin’?”

  Wary, I watch him. “How so?”

  He stops right beside my bed and cocks a brow. “Ever played strip chess?”

  “Of course. Every night with my maid.”

  Livingston leans in and waggles his brows. “Really now? Is this the same maid that knocked on your door last time?”

  I nudge his knee with my foot. “You’re impossible.”

  “So do you want to?”

  “What are the rules?”

  Livingston smiles. “Whenever a bishop, rook, or knight is captured by the opposin’ player, that would be me, then the angry, sore loser, that would be you, has to remove a piece of clothin’.” His light eyes glint wickedly. “Of my choosin’.”

  I lift a brow. “But if I capture your bishop, rook, or knight, which will undoubtedly happen, then that means you will have to remove a piece of your clothin’. Of my choosin’.”

  “Ah, you’re a very quick student. What do you say?”

  I chew on my bottom lip. There’s a part of me that’s more than intrigued and fascinated by how risqué this game sounds. That means I should probably say no.

  “I’ll play,” I say. “But only for five minutes.”

  “Of course,” he agrees.

  The two of us take our places on my bed. We sit with our legs crossed and the chessboard between us. For several minutes, he adjusts some pieces and gets comfortable. Livingston rolls his neck and pops his knuckles as though he’s preparing for the fight of his life. “Ready?”

  “Ready to watch you lose. You?”

  “I’m ready to watch you cheat.”

  I fling an impatient hand toward the board. “Start, will you?”

  Years ago, we played a chess match of all chess matches. The privilege to be able to go first indefinitely. The game was bloodthirsty, lasting for twelve hours. We took breaks only to go to the washroom and did without food. When all was said and done, Livingston won that game. He relished in his win for the weeks to come.

  He stares at his white pieces with something close to reverence before he sharply scans the pawns. I watch him closely.

  This isn’t going to be a five-minute game.

  And I’m right. Our pawns move forward, and rooks in lines, but neither of us goes in for an attack. We’re both waiting for the other to let their guard down and building our own defenses.

  “What were you discussin’ with Elijah?” Livingston asks, his voice indifferent.

  I’m in the process of moving my rook. I freeze and lift my head. “Hmm?”

  “At Belgrave. You were speakin’ with Elijah, no? Or perhaps I’ve mixed up your bachelors?” Livingston keeps his tone neutral, but there’s an intensity in his eyes that’s not typically there. He wants an answer to his question. I want to keep my mind on the chess game.

  “Do you see a future with him?” he persists.

  I hesitate to answer the question because the future is impossible to predict. “I’m unsure,” I finally reply and make my move, swiftly taking one of his pawns. “Now would you be so kind as to give me your shoe, good sir?”

  Looking less than pleased, Livingston does as he says. I catch the boot with one hand and gently place it on the floor. Serves him right for asking me that question.

  With a look of pure concentration, Livingston focuses on the chessboard. “What I meant to ask was, do you want a future with him?” he asks several seconds later.

  I swallow. “Right at this moment? No.”

  Without warning, his rook captures my knight. Livingston wickedly grins. “You’re lookin’ flushed there, darlin’. You can remove your dressin’ gown.”

  I look down at my body, and the lack of clothing cover me. “This isn’t fair. I have fewer clothes.”

  Livingston shrugs. “Le savauge, I don’t make the rules. Now don’t be a spoilsport. Hand over the gown.”

  Muttering words under my breath, I sit up straight and untie the belt. The material at my waist immediately gives.

  Livingston’s shit-eating grin briefly fades as he hungrily watches every move I make.

  “Happy?” I ask as I wad the silky material into a ball and shove it toward him.

  “It’s just a dressin’ gown,” he replies, although gruffly and takes it.

  With my fingers steepled in front of me, I think of the fastest, smartest attack to Livingston’s king because I will not lose this game.

  An hour later, we remain across from each other. Livingston is without his shirt, and the top button of his pants undone. We came to a compromise for the lack of clothes I had. My nightgown remains on, but every time my pieces are captured, I have to slip free a button. There’s only one button remaining, and all that will be left to remove is the nightgown itself.

  I stare at the chessboard and shake my head. I know I’m going to lose, but I hold Livingston responsible. He hasn’t stopped staring. He distracted me, particularly when he removed his shirt. I think my mind went dark for a moment, and I forgot my name.

  And now he’s going to win. I can foresee the opportunity, his future checkmate. Sighing with defeat, I briefly close my eyes and tip over my king.

  I look at Livingston. He has a predatory glint in his eyes as he waits for my next move.

  All that is left is my nightgown. My nerves are about to take over, and I can barely breathe. The only person to ever see me naked is myself when I’m changing for bed. I’ve never revealed myself to another person. But a game is a game, and I lost fair and square.

  Taking a deep breath, I push myself onto my knees. As if he’s in a trance, Livingston follows suit. The chessboa
rd remains between us, but he feels so close. I’m aware of every shift his body makes, every hitch in his breath as though they’re mine.

  “Nightgown, Raina,” he says.

  My thumb hooks beneath the material of one sleeve. I drag it down my arm. Even though my heart is racing the entire time, my eyes remain on Livingston’s. I slip my arm free, feeling the air exposed to my breast. When I move to the next sleeve, my fingers are shaking. The sleeve snags on my elbow. One tug and it’s down and now my upper body is free. My nipples pucker. I shudder as the nightgown falls down my body, leaving a trail of goose bumps.

  It lands at my knees.

  There’s a pregnant silence in the room. Livingston breathes deep through his nose and flexes his fingers.

  I jut my chin out as though it’s common for me to stand before Livingston naked every night. In truth, I think I’m going to be sick.

  Livingston remains unmovable. He’s so still, he looks like a statue. The only thing that moves are his eyes. Up and down, they trail across my body, never lingering for long.

  “Game over,” I say, breaking the silence.

  Livingston’s eyes flash as though this moment is about to be over. “Like hell,” he mutters as he pushes the chessboard onto the floor and lunges for me. I land flat on my back with him on top. He leans into me and gives me an open-mouthed kiss. The seconds that pass by are filled with the sound of rustling as we both hurry to remove the rest of his clothing.

  I regard him with wide eyes. His skin is olive everywhere. His cock juts out from his body, and for a moment, I hesitate.

  He joins me on the bed. His knee brushes against my outer thigh as he moves above me. Once he’s comfortable, I nearly groan at the feel of his naked body pressed against mine. So warm and solid.