Mack (King #4)(54)

If anyone would know, it was Mack.

“Still,” he said, “I won’t ever stop trying.”

With a bond like these two brothers had, it was something I didn’t doubt.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE





Two weeks later.



I didn’t hear much from Mack after he left for Crete, except for a few text messages here and there to let me know he was with Mia, doing his best to help her come to terms with everything. I could see that he felt responsible for her Archon in his brother’s absence. Once again, I volunteered to get on a plane to ease her pain, but I think Mack and I both knew, just like King had, that some pain was meant to be felt. Sometimes it was simply a byproduct of that definitive moment when our hearts had to let go of something that could never be returned. Infidelity, death, betrayal—when these things came into our lives, we hurt because we lost someone or something we loved, leaving behind a hole. But it was also the moment our healing started. You had to feel pain in order to move forward.

But now, back at home in Santa Barbara, trying to sort out the pieces of my life—or existence, really—I needed Mack. Without him, I found it difficult to look forward. The past kept calling me, reaching its dark tentacles over thousands of years, my mind trying to cope with the blank spaces where memories once belonged. Still, I did my best to focus on how lucky I was to have Mack back. It wasn’t perfect, but life rarely is, and I could think of no better joy than “making do” with this man.

As for work, everyone assumed that Mr. Room Twenty-Five had run off on his own. They assumed I’d just had the flu. No one suspected a thing when I returned, and frankly I was happy to have the distraction of work.

I kicked off my black heels as I entered the front door of my rather blandly decorated beach house that I was in the process of now livening up. Colorful paintings, red throw pillows on my white couch, and plants. Lots of big plants.

Bentley made his way from whichever place he’d been napping, greeting me with minimal enthusiasm.

I looked down at him and smiled. “I got some treats for you today. Wanna see?”

He stared with boredom until I whipped out a paper bag filled with crunchy gourmet chicken snaps.

“Want one?” I reached inside the bag, bent over, and held one to his nose so he could get a good whiff.

Bentley wagged his tail.

“That deserves a treat!” I handed it over. He swallowed it in one gulp and then looked at me expectantly, wagging his short little spotted Jack Russell tail. “Okay. Just one more. But then I want to see more wagging and less attitude.”

He gave me a little bark.

I handed over the treat and then scratched him behind the ear. “You like that, don’t you, boy?” He pushed his nose into my hand and then rubbed his body on me. It turned out that what Bentley had been trying to tell me all along wasn’t that he hated me, but that he was afraid. Whoever had been his owner before me wasn’t nice to him. That was what I figured out the night I came home and cried, missing Mack (who was in Greece) and feeling so lost about the future. Bentley seemed nicer than a pillow, and I guess while I was holding him, I let out some of that light. From that moment on, he began to change. Some pain wasn’t meant to be held onto forever.

“You got any of those tummy rubs for me?” said a deep voice from the open front door I’d forgotten to close.

I looked up and nearly wet my navy work slacks. Short, stylishly mussed jet black hair, a manicured five o’clock shadow that matched the curtain of inky black lashes surrounding piercing, sky blue eyes. And then there was that finely tailored suit that hugged his tall, powerful frame and broad shoulders.

“King?”

He stepped inside and shut the door, straightening his cufflinks like my presence bored the hell out of him and he was thinking of ten other places he’d rather be.

“No,” he said with that masculine timbre. “But did I fool you?”

“Mack?” I jerked upright and took a small step forward. That was when I saw the devilish little smile appear.

He winked.

“Ohmygod.” I rushed forward and threw my arms around his neck, bathing his face in kisses, while standing on my tiptoes. “I missed you. I missed you. I missed you.”

Wait. Why’s he dressed like…I pulled back. “What’s going on with the uh…new look?” Mack was a rough-around-the-edges type—leather jacket, jeans, and probably only wore a suit when forced.

“Just because King is gone doesn’t mean the work has ended.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that Mia spent the week helping me perfect my King impersonation, which wasn’t easy for her, but she knows how important it is. For all of us,” he added.

I cringed. “Why?”

“Because the 10 Club still has to be dealt with and that has to be an inside job.”

“So you’re going to pose as your brother.” That sounded extremely dangerous.

He nodded. “But I need you to help me with the icing.”

“Okaaaay.”

He pulled me tightly against him, and I could smell his delicious, citrusy cologne mixed with the subtle natural musk of his skin and hair.

He smells like a sexy badass.

He continued, “And since the 10 Club members believe you’re King’s plaything, well, I thought you could help me perfect that part of my image, too.”