The Kingmaker (All the King's Men, #1)(34)

“Made ya look,” she whispers, tipping up to kiss the nape of my neck. I turn off the stove and face her, linking my fingers at the small of her back.

“You were staring, too,” I mumble into our first kiss of the day.

“Was not.” Her smile against my lips calls her a liar. “I was minding my own business, reading that newspaper.”

“Oh, did you learn Dutch overnight then?” I ask, eyeing her abandoned copy of de Volkskrant with its distinctly non-English headlines.

Laughter shakes her shoulders beneath the robe, and I slide my hands over the slick fabric clinging to her body. She’s healthy. Fit. Tight bends and lush curves. I caress one of my favorite curves, her ass, and kiss down her neck, breathing in my shampoo in her soft hair. Me on her.

We may part ways next week—no, we will part ways next week. We have to—but I’ll remember this night and any more she gives me for the rest of my life. She’s that special. My body knows it. My heart, which I don’t consult in any of my decisions, won’t be far behind if I’m not careful.

“Spend the day with me,” I say.

I don’t want to sound needy, clingy, pathetic, but it only took one night for me to know I won’t be able to get enough of this woman.

“I’m here with my friends, remember?”

“They have you all the time. I only get a few days with you before you go back to the States.”

I lower until my mouth is level with her breast, and suck the curve and nipple through the silk robe. She groans and plunges her fingers into my hair, scraping my scalp.

“Please.” I nudge the lapel aside to find clean-scented, soft flesh beneath the robe. I slide the sleeves down her arms until the belt loses its fragile hold on her waist and falls open, catching at her elbows. She’s nearly naked in my kitchen, and I want to bend her over the table and take her from the back. Hard.

“I can’t just forget about them,” she says, sounding husky and unconvinced.

“Tell them good dick is hard to find. Surely they’ll understand.”

My fingers delve between her legs, searching for the nirvana I found last night.

“Are you sore?” I hope I don’t sound as desperate as touching her makes me feel.

“A little.” Her fingers tighten at my neck. “But I’ll be ready by tonight, if you want me again.”

Tonight. Damn. Not as persuasive as I thought I was. “So you won’t spend the day with me?”

“I have plans with Kimba and Viv,” she says, apology and regret in her eyes. “I promise tonight is yours.”

“Will you spend the night again?” I’m asking too much too soon. I know that, but everything feels compacted. Seeing her again randomly after four years, making love our second night together, whatever we get this week—it’s all shoved through a tiny window I want to toss a rock at and shatter.

“I’ll spend the night, yeah.” She draws the robe back and up and around her, tying it at the waist. She reaches past me to grab a slice of burnt toast. “But I have to go now.”

My arms and my kitchen are empty. She starts up the steps, and I take off after her. Her eyes widen over her shoulder when she sees me on her heels.

“No!” She laughs and speeds up, zigzagging down the hall like that will deter me. She makes the amateur mistake of running into my bedroom and trying to close the door. I push until it opens and stumble into the room. She’s giggling and spread out on my bed, the robe gaping to show me her supple curves and lean lines and pretty pussy.

“Come catch me,” she says, her arms extended to me.

I fall into the disarray of sheets scented with last night’s sex and pin her beneath me.

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” I ask, one last plea.

“No, my friends are waiting for me.” She reaches down between us to grip my cock, squeezing. “But I’m not that sore, and they can wait.”





16





Lennix





“Your dad or your boyfriend?” Kimba asks, dipping a trio of French fries into a dollop of mayo nestled in the red-and-white-checkered paper cone.

I glance at my phone.

“Maxim’s not my boyfriend,” I answer, giving her half my attention and the remainder to the call. “And it’s not him or Daddy. It’s Mena. Better see what she needs.”

“If you say so, Miss I Popped My Cherry by Spending the Night with a Stranger.” Vivienne laughs and takes a sip of her ginger beer. “We’ll just be here eating our weight in fries and rubbing our feet.”

We visited the Anne Frank House today and did a walking tour of the major sites. We’re sucking this city dry of every experience possible.

I leave them and their ribbing at the sidewalk café, and walk toward a low wall a few yards away.

“Hey, Auntie,” I greet Mena. “How goes it?”

“Fine,” she returns, a smile in her voice. “Enjoying Amsterdam?”

“Very much.” An unrepentant grin spreads across my face. I’ll share all the details with her when I get back. “Everything okay? Did my father put you up to this? I’ve got him down to one call a day, but if he—”

“No, I haven’t spoken to Rand, but it doesn’t surprise me he’s calling so much. You know how hard it is for him when you’re away.”