The King (The Original Sinners: White Years, #2)(67)

“Like it?” she asked. “I’m a sexy not-French penguin.”

Kingsley walked to Sam and took a turn around her. She wore a well-tailored tuxedo. The vest was cut low and went under her breasts, drawing exquisite attention to them. The jacket was cinched in at her waist, and she wore 1940s-style black-and-white brogues on her feet.

“You aren’t a penguin,” he said.

“I was going for penguin.”

“You have failed. Instead, you are the most beautiful woman in the city.”

Sam exhaled in obvious exasperation.

“What?” he asked.

“Will you please stop telling me that you think I’m beautiful?”

“I have never told you I think you’re beautiful. I told you that you are beautiful. There’s a difference, non?”

“Non,” she said.

“Does it bother you?” He stepped back and sat on the bed. She placed the large box on the f loor and stood in front of him.

“Sort of,” she said. “Mainly because I’m not used to it. You know, from men.”

“I can’t believe that. All the lovers you have—”

“It’s different coming from women than it is coming from you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” She looked up at him through her thick long eyelashes. Her hair had more wave than usual, and he longed to capture a lock between his fingers and kiss it. “But it is.”

“Sam?” He put both hands on her shoulders and forced her to face him. “You know I want you, right?”

She said nothing at first and then slowly nodded her head.

“It won’t go away anytime soon,” he said. “So if it truly bothers you that I feel this way about you, then it might be we can’t work together. I don’t…” He squeezed her shoulders before pulling his hands away. “I don’t want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t upset me,” Sam said. “Except the thought that I’m hurting you hurts me.”

“Trust me, hurting me is not anything you have to worry about.”

“But I’ve never loved a job more than this. I love working with you. I love the work we’re doing. Especially the part of the work where we make Reverend Fuller’s life a nightmare.” “Still working on that part. But we’ll get him. Eventually.”

“I know we will. I have nothing but faith in you.” Her words made his heart soar.

“You’ll have to forgive me. I’m a man who loves both men and women. You give me a woman who dresses like a man, and it’s…” Kingsley paused. “What was the thing that crippled Superman?”

“Lois Lane’s *?”

“Kryptonite,” Kingsley said. “A woman in a suit is my Kryptonite.”

Sam grinned, and that smile of hers turned the night back into day.

“If it makes you feel any better,” she said, “I’ll tell you this. If I were going to be with any man on earth, it would be you. No one but you. Feel better?”

“Much.” He didn’t know why, but those were the words he most needed to hear from Sam. He adored her, loved her humor, her playfulness, the way she took care of his home as if it were her own, taking care of him as if he were her own. That’s all he needed to hear—if she was ever going to go to bed with a man, it would be him. He needed to be special to her, as special as she was to him.

“Good. But you really do have to stop telling me I’m beautiful all the time. I’m vain enough as it is.”

“I’ll stop saying it, then,” he promised. “But I won’t stop thinking it.”

“You’re the beautiful one.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You put anyone in a room to shame—man or woman.”

“You won’t think that when you meet le prêtre. He puts all men to shame.”

“Who? Oh, the priest? He’s that hot?”

“Even you’ll be tempted.”

Sam gave him a searching look, and he feared she was about to ask a question he didn’t want to answer.

“What’s in the box?” he asked before Sam could ask her question.

“Present for you,” she said. “A thank-you gift for this job.”

“You don’t owe me any gifts. Everything you do for me has been a gift.”

“Fine, then.” She picked up the box. “I’ll keep them.”

“I didn’t say you could do that.” He grabbed the box from her. “Mine.”

He took off the lid, and inside he found a pair of black kneehigh boots, gleaming leather, polished to the highest shine.

“You can’t dress in a suit like that without boots like these. I ran out and got you the most perfect pair I could find. You have huge feet, by the way.”

“I have normal feet for a man. If you want to see something huge you should see my—”

“Ego?”

“Exactement.”

“Have you ever worn riding boots before?” she asked, taking the boots out of the box.

“I don’t ride. Not horses anyway.”

“Well, these are like Hessians. They’re special, and they take a little getting used to. You don’t zip them or lace them or step into them like cowboy boots. You have to use boot pulls to get them on. Once you wear a pair for a few days, though, they’ll feel like a second skin.”