Page 28 of King of War

I don’t often eat at home, and I definitely wasn’t planning on having an annoying houseguest this week. However I also remember how grumpy she gets with no access to bread or sugar. So for my own sanity, I had Micah’s assistant order me an extra grocery shop, complete with carbs and sugary treats—the perfect antidote to a grumpy Rayne.

The elevator doors open, and Vanessa steps out in a cloud of that cloying vanilla perfume. I make a note to have a scent that’s much more to my taste couriered to her before our next date.

She bats her eyelashes, gives me a twirl that shows off her curves. “Are we having a drink here before we leave?” she asks hopefully. That’s how we started our last date, and then I fucked her on my couch before we left, and she spent dinner with her cum soaking through her panties.

Damn, that would be a good way to spend the next half hour. “Sorry, sweetheart. Tonight’s not a good time.”

Vanessa’s face falls, and then her attention is drawn to something, or someone, to the right of me. In my peripheral vision, I see Rayne saunter into the hallway, dressed in a flimsy pair of pajamas.

Vanessa trains her icy blue eyes on her. “Who the hell is this bitch, King?”

Oh, there’s that jealous streak she usually hides so well. I take hold of her hand, squeezing gently. “That’s my annoying cousin. She’s staying here for a few days.”

Her eyes flicker back to me, still dripping with ice, much like her demeanor. “So why can’t we go out on our date?”

“Because while she’s my cousin, she’s also a lying snake and I don’t trust her here alone.”

“We could stay in?” she offers.

We could. I could fuck her senseless and make her scream my name all over this goddamn house. Remind Rayne what she’s missing. Except that stone-cold bitch probably wouldn’t give a damn, and having her here is also a huge fucking mood killer. I can’t think about her while I fuck another woman, not when she’s actually in my damn house. I shake my head and wince. “I don’t think that’s gonna work. But we can take a raincheck.”

Vanessa doesn’t entirely buy it; she’s not stupid. She’s eyeing me with unguarded suspicion, but she’s shrewd enough to know that dating a guy like me is never going to be plain sailing. Despite how cool she tries to play it, she’s the kind of woman who thinks the payoff could ultimately be worth it. She has her eyes on becoming Mrs. Enzo Medici, just like they all do, even if she hasn’t admitted it.

She glances at Rayne again, who’s still hovering in the damn hallway like an unwanted spectator. “Your cousin?”

“Not by blood. More like her mom and my mom were friends, you know?”

“King,” she angry whispers.

“Babe.” I grab her hip and tug her closer. “She is not my fucking type. I would rather wrestle a grizzly than go anywhere near her. I promise this is just an unexpected dent in our plans. Okay?”

Predictably, she pouts. I brush my lips over hers. “We’ll reschedule, and I’ll book us the best table at the Monroe.”

That appeases her a little—as I had known it would. Being seen in the most exclusive restaurant in Vegas with me is high on her wish list. She melts into me, tangling her fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck. I hate it and want to shrug away, but Rayne is watching, and I won’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, I squeeze Vanessa’s ass. “I’ll call you in a few days once I can get rid of her. Okay, sweetheart?”

She wants to fight me on it, I can tell. But she doesn’t.

“Call me soon, Enzo.”

I assure her that of course I will and then usher her back into the elevator. The doors close behind her, and I stare at them, lamenting the lack of sex in my immediate future.

“So, I’m not your type, huh?” Rayne’s voice is right behind me, meaning she is right behind me.

I close my eyes, count to five, and school my expression before I spin around and face her. I barely looked at her when Vanessa was here because I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that I wanted to. Vanessa clearly put considerable time into her appearance, her carefully applied makeup and styled hair, but she didn’t look even half as good as the raven-haired temptress standing in front of me dressed in pajamas with her hair in a ponytail. And now, her half-naked body is a mere few feet away. And thus it’s impossible not to notice that her barely-there boy shorts and tiny cami hardly cover any of her curves. It’s a feat of epic willpower to keep my eyes on her face. Yeah, she’s a bitch, but I’m not a fucking saint. “Perhaps you should dress a little more appropriately while you’re here?”

“Appropriate for what?” she scoffs. “These are my pajamas, Enzo. I was planning a night in a hotel somewhere. Had I known you were going to kidnap me, then maybe I’d have opted for a suit of fucking armor.”

“Oh, yeah. You packed for a night with Joseph Bertelli, right?” Incandescent rage burns in every sinew of my body. “Was it just for him, or for his men too?”

I see the slap coming a mile off and catch her wrist before she can connect with my face. “You’re disgusting,” she spits out.

My hand is still circled around her wrist, but I loosen my grip upon seeing the pain in her eyes. The hurt in her expression doesn’t lessen though. I shouldn’t be surprised about that, she always liked a little physical pain with her pleasure, but… if I’m not hurting her, why the hell is she still looking at me like that? Like I just kicked her fucking puppy?

Don’t need to know. Don’t want to know. What I need is to get the hell away from her. “I don’t want you walking around my fucking house with your ass hanging out. It offends me.”

She jerks her hand free from my grasp, tips her chin up, and glares at me. “Really?”

“Yes. Really.”