The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(24)

This place wasn’t anywhere near as large as the King family home that Beck had inherited upon his old man’s death, but it had five bedrooms on the second floor—two master suites—and half a dozen other rooms on the main floor. At the bottom of the stairs, Frank motioned for her to precede him.

Journey shook her head. “You never cease to surprise me.” She pointed at the shining hardwood floors and then at the paintings hanging on the wall up the stairs. “The outside looks like some kind of Southern Gothic mansion that might fall down around your ears and is most definitely haunted.” She turned that finger in his direction. “Inside, it’s like a damn work of art.”

“It’s my home.” The place he came to unwind. Where he didn’t have to be on guard every second of every day. His sanctuary.

She turned in a slow circle, eyes narrowed. “Tell me the truth—you personally remodeled this place, didn’t you?”

Guilt flared, and he cursed himself for the irrational response. “It was my first real estate purchase.” At least he’d known enough at nineteen to realize he was too fucked in the head after his mother’s death to be trusted to make good financial decisions. He’d thrown the majority of the money her life insurance had paid out into a yearlong short-term investment fund, leaving just enough to buy this old house and a cushion to do what was required to make it livable.

It took him a year of nonstop work to get it where it was today, and he’d sloughed off the old Frank Evans in the process. Leaving that weak-ass kid behind was the best thing he’d ever done, and this house stood as a reminder that he’d never go back.

So many things encompassed in these four walls.

Journey shook her head. “Is there anything you can’t do? Because you’re giving me an inferiority complex.”

“Sure.” Frank shrugged. “I’m terrible at Monopoly.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Did you just…You just made a joke.”

Despite his humor, her hand still shook as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Frank fought not to reach for her. She wouldn’t accept any comfort he tried to offer, and he didn’t know shit about offering it in the first place. “I’m setting you up in the room next to mine.”

“Presumptuous.”

He snorted. “It’s a big house, Duchess. I don’t want to have to stalk the halls hollering for you.” He wanted to be close in case she needed him. How many times do you have to think it for it to sink in? Journey King is not one of your strays. Her alliance has never been and never will be to you.

His suite was situated in the corner of the house farthest from the front door. It took everything he had not to offer to let her stay with him in the truest sense of the word. Her decision-making skills were no less compromised now than they’d been the other night while she was drinking. Frank was a bastard and a half, but he had to draw the line somewhere.

When Journey King came to his bed, it would be because she had no doubts about being there.

When, not if.

Fuck.

“Here you are.” He walked into her room, dropped her bag on the floor by the bed, and turned so that he could see her reaction. The fact that he shouldn’t care about her reaction held no weight. He did. Simple as that.

Her eyes went wide. “Damn, Frank. You should give your decorator a bonus.” Journey froze and pinned him with a look. “There is no decorator, is there? You picked this—all of it. Every single thing in this house.”

Even thrown off her stride, she was far too observant for his peace of mind. He looked around the room, trying to see it from her point of view. There was nothing overtly feminine about the large dark wood bed frame or the soothing gray tones he’d chosen for this space, and he’d purposefully kept it without any personal touches that would make a guest feel uncomfortable.

Not that he had had any guests until now.

He cleared his throat. “What makes you say that?”

“One, you’re a control freak, and I just don’t see you letting some designer into your place if you’re as anal about guests as you seem to be. Two, you keep watching me for a reaction like you have a vested interest in what I think of the house. And three, I’m just magic like that.” Her grin was much closer to normal. “The grays and white feel really soothing. It was a good call.”

“Thanks…” He didn’t know how to deal with the warmth in his chest that her words brought, so he moved to the bathroom door and nudged it open. “I’m assuming this shower will suffice.”

She ducked past him, careful not to brush her body against his. “Holy shit, Frank.” Journey stepped into the tiled-in shower and grinned. “You could have an orgy in here. Two orgies.”

“Two orgies in the same room is a single orgy.” He fought to keep his expression even. “Besides, I prefer my sex with a one-to-one ratio.”

Journey ran her hand over the oversized clear tile blocks. “Don’t we all? Seriously, though, this is amazing. You did this yourself?”

It was tempting to let her drive the conversation toward relatively safer topics, especially with her curiosity about his house waylaying her fear. But giving her that luxury was dangerous. Their arrangement was temporary and, goddamn it, he’d be an idiot to forget that. “We need to talk about what happened,” he said bluntly.