Kingdom Come

by Terri E. Laine

  “That’s good, I guess.”

  “Tell me something. When did you know you were falling for the big Scottish lug?”

  “Falling? I stumbled, tripped, and now I’ve righted myself. I’m so over that mistake.”

  I still didn’t believe her. She had hearts in her eyes for Kalen.

  “Besides all that. When did it switch from sex to something more for you?” I asked.

  Her mouth curled away from the frown that had formed when I mentioned her gorgeous but grumpy boyfriend or ex. I couldn’t keep up with the pair’s status.

  “Is someone falling for Striker?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  “I think falling is a strong word. I will admit I miss what I had with Hans.”

  “Everything in the news I’ve read says Hans is there for the taking.” She dangled the idea like a lifeline.

  “We’ve been through this. I can’t. He and I don’t fit.” Literally and physically. “I wish sex wasn’t a huge part of who I am, but it is. I’d end up needing a sexual partner outside of our relationship. That’s just the truth of it.” She nodded, and I sighed. “I’m a jerk, aren’t I?”

  “No. You’re honest. It’s a good thing. Others would just cheat.”

  “Exactly. He’s a great guy.”

  “And Striker?” she probed.

  “I don’t know. He’s a mystery.”

  “Why’s that?”

  I shrugged. “My choice, to be honest. I don’t want to know much about him because I didn’t want to fall for the guy. And no, I haven’t. But I am getting attached to his presence in my bed.”

  “That’s how it starts.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “That’s how it started with me. I got used to Kalen being there. It was comfortable.”

  “Not to mention great for your sex life,” I said.

  “That’s the point,” Bailey said. “I’ve been reading up on this. Women are far more likely to develop feelings when involved in a strictly sexual relationship, despite the rules a couple comes up with.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Getting relationship advice from my friend was almost weird. In all our years of knowing each other, she’d depended on me. But the fact was, the last time I’d had a relationship that resembled anything close to a boyfriend before Hans was in high school. And how had both turned out?

  Bailey’s face softened. “I’m saying be careful. You’re not as tough as you think. You have a soft gooey center inside that hard-as-nails heart of yours. But I’m not saying don’t try. You never know. Maybe you should invite him to your art show.”

  I hadn’t thought about that.

  “See how he fits in your world. You know the sex works between you, but what about the rest? You should know that before actual feelings get involved.”

  “You are wise,” I teased, though she was.

  We slipped into conversation about my upcoming show and her plans for moving to D.C. to take a new job, which saddened me. I’d gotten used to having her as a roommate.

  “Have a fun dinner with your parents,” she said in jest before we ended the call.

  “Thanks for not being here and taking Mother’s matchmaking mischief off me.”

  She laughed. “Oh, and how are the renovations going?”

  “About as well as your reconciliation with Kalen,” I teased. “Slowly.”

  She sighed. “You can’t reconcile with a man you don’t see.”

  “Trust me, he’s there. He has eyes on you somehow. There’s no way they have a security guy following me and not you.” Though I hadn’t seen mine lately, I knew he hadn’t been reassigned.

  Kalen and Griffin were taking the threat seriously. But nothing had happened for a while and I was beginning to think whoever was behind Bailey’s troubles had given up.

  After we ended the call, I got ready for dinner with my parents. I still hadn’t heard from my brother. Again, I tried not to worry, but that was impossible. The twin instinct inside me said he was still breathing. Though I didn’t see myself as psychic or anything of the like, I had to trust that he was okay.

  When I arrived, Mom air-kissed my cheeks lest she mess up her perfectly applied lipstick. For a woman who’d had my brother and me late in life, she still looked good.

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Mom,” I said.

  “Lizzy,” Dad said, walking into the room. He wrapped me in a big hug.

  “You’re just in time,” Mom said. “Let’s retreat to the dining room. How is your brother?”

  Before answering, I took my seat at the table better suited for entertaining large parties. I was torn between giving them the assurance they wanted and protecting Matt’s privacy.

  “He’s good,” I said in compromise. It wasn’t exactly true. But they didn’t need to worry about him like I did. They would have questions I couldn’t answer and that would further distress them.

  The staff came in to serve the meal, which halted further conversation for a time. Dad eventually piped in, giving the news of the day. I had to admit, I wouldn’t know about half of the current events if not for him.

  When he was done, I needed to ask the question that had been troubling me since my conversation with my accountant after Matt had cryptically suggested I check my trust. “Dad?”

  “Yes, sweetheart.”

  The sentiment always warmed my heart. Though he and my brother had had a falling out that had yet to be resolved, I saw myself as Daddy’s little girl.

  “My accountant said that you’d requested access to my trust?”

  When his hands paused in the middle of cutting his steak and he looked away from me, my heart sank.

  “I’m sure your father had his reasons,” Mom chimed in.

  I kept my eyes on Dad, saying nothing.

  Finally, he met my gaze. “I wanted to be sure you were taken care of. Nothing more.”

  If anyone else had said those words, I’d question them. But my father had never lied to me, so I nodded. “Next time, just ask me. It felt weird for my accountant to blindside me with that question.”

  I had a feeling Dad knew my business wasn’t going well. He’d probably wanted to confirm that I’d been using it to cover the shortfalls. Knowing my dad, he hadn’t wanted to embarrass me by asking me if I was a failure.

  “Well. Can we talk about something besides business?” Mom asked. “Tell us about your show this weekend.”

  Mom didn’t think my gallery was a business but a hobby. Still, I told them anyway. I made sure to put in that I’d made a promising acquisition of an unknown artist who would take the art community by storm if I had anything to say about it. The preview photos I’d posted on my website had gotten a lot of interest. I wanted Dad not to worry about me. He would likely offer to give me money to keep me afloat if I didn’t have encouraging news. Much like my brother, I wanted to earn my achievements on my own.

  When I got home that night, a package waited for me. I hadn’t ordered anything, so I was really curious. No one besides Kalen, Griffin, and his staff knew I lived there. There was another possibility as my finger hovered over the send button to call Griffin’s security company.

  Striker.

  I put down the phone, which could be a mistake. Someone had targeted Bailey. That was why Kalen had moved me out of my apartment and planted me in Soho. The package could be something very bad. Then again, it could something harmless from Striker. Did I really want some random security guy to see whatever it might be and report it to Griffin?

  Cautiously, I slit the tape on the box and pulled out a tissue-wrapped box and a small card. As much as I wanted to see what was inside the box, I opened the card first.

  Just in case you have an itch and I’m not around. -S

  The small rectangular white box had the word Crave on the lid. Inside was a gray, suede-like pouch. I used the rose gold chain that rested outside to pull out something similar to a silver bullet, but a lot longer. On the side was a button, which
I pushed. The bullet came to life with a telling vibration.

  I laughed. The man had bought me a wearable vibrator, and I knew where and when I’d wear it.

  A few days later when Saturday evening arrived, I was at my gallery in a banging red dress that fit me as though it had been painted on. The sweetheart neckline plunged low, and between my breasts hung the Crave necklace Striker had gotten me.

  “Is the artist going to show up?” Anderson asked between running around and making sure catering was ready.

  My email to Connor King about that very question had gone unanswered. “I don’t know. Let’s just assume no.”

  Anderson reached up to touch my vibe, and I slapped his hand away. “That’s not nice.”

  “It’s just so unusual. What is it?”

  I wasn’t about to explain. “It’s a gift. Keep an eye out for anyone who shows up not on the guest list.”

  “You think the artist might show up?”

  According to the addendum to the contract Connor had signed, the artist wanted to remain anonymous. But even when people said that, they tended to be curious. I nodded. “Like a criminal at the scene of the crime.”

  He caught on with a knowing smile and rushed off to coordinate with security. I couldn’t imagine doing this without Anderson. He was invaluable. If the show didn’t go well, he would likely seek other employment.

  I pushed that aside. Another question was plaguing my mind. Would Striker show up, given my late invitation? Like Bailey mused, how would he fit in my world? And if he did, what next?

  As people showed up, I greeted and played hostess.

  But everything changed when someone not on the guest list arrived. I went to the door as security had requested.

  The first thing I said was, “Hans.”

  Twenty-One

  Connor

  When I got her text, I couldn’t hold back a smile. Though I’d planned to attend Lizzy’s event somehow, she’d gifted me an invitation that surprised me. So much of what had gone between us had been sex, I had to wonder if she was changing her mind about what we could be.

  Though I knew a Fifth Avenue gallery showing was a formal event, I didn’t go in a suit or tie. That wasn’t my style. I’d done my duty for Dad this past week and had buried those monkey outfits in the back of my closet. I stepped up to security in ripped white jeans, a tee, and my worn leather jacket.

  He eyed me up and down and said, “Name.”

  That was the thing about being incognito. When I said, “Striker,” he didn’t question it.

  Security used a finger to scroll down a list on his phone and stopped at what I presumed was my name. He didn’t look happy about it. I had a feeling he had been looking forward to telling me to shove off—or something with the same meaning. Instead, he was forced to open the door for me. I gave him my best smirk that said all the things I wanted to say but didn’t.

  Before I could get far, I was waylaid by an older woman with a severe haircut that looked as though someone had sheered it off an inch above her shoulders with one fluid movement.

  “Nice,” she said, putting a hand on my arm. “Tell me, have you ever modeled?”

  “No,” I said in a way that wasn’t rude but conveyed the message that I wanted to be left alone.

  She didn’t get the message though and handed me a card that seemed to materialize out of thin air. “Call me. We can do great things together.”

  It sounded too much like an invitation for something else. Still, I pocketed the card. It was Lizzy’s night and I wouldn’t spoil it for her.

  I eyed the art as I went along, not spotting any of my own. Though the artist gracing the prime wall space did have talent. The portraits looked more like photographs instead of paint and canvas. In each subject’s eyes, I could see into their soul. I stopped in front of a portrait of a priest. There was torment there, and I felt a kinship that sent a cool breeze down my back and I couldn’t contain a shiver. I didn’t linger.

  Through the gaps of the floating walls, I spotted my blonde. She was near the back with a man a little larger than me. He was standing way too close. I hustled through the semi-crowded space to reach her.

  “Why are you here?” I heard her ask as I approached their backs.

  They stood in front of a statement piece, if I said so myself. The familiar strokes of the paint sparked a memory inside me.

  “You know why. I can’t stay away,” he said.

  “We’ve talked about this,” she said softer, but I was close enough to overhear.

  “I’m getting the surgery. I know that was a problem for you—”

  She cut him off. “I don’t want you doing this for me.”

  I felt a growl in the back of my throat and stepped back to analyze why. I was still in earshot as a couple passed, not noticing the tension around them.

  “I’m not,” he said. “But it will benefit us both.”

  “It won’t because it changes nothing. We’re better friends.”

  The growl inside me dampened to a purr. That’s my girl.

  “Is there someone else?” When she didn’t answer, he turned his attention back to my painting. “I bought this because it reminds me of—”

  “Babe,” I said, having entered the neutral zone and picked a side. I slid my arm around her waist, making it clear to the interloper who she belonged to. I gave him a winning smile. It seemed appropriate.

  Lizzy had other ideas and slipped out of my hold to stand before the painting. Her positioning only brought the memory of the first night I’d found her in my bed to the forefront of my mind. She had no clue, but her ex did—even though I hadn’t captured her face on the canvas.

  She spoke, bringing me back to the present. “I can have this ready to ship for you by next weekend.” As she spoke to him, the man who had been in my apartment with her appeared. “Anderson, please get the details from Hans as to where he’d like it sent.”

  I stepped forward, leaving the four of us in an odd circle, or more like a square. “Don’t. I’ve already purchased this painting.”

  My beautiful blond princess turned her fierce gaze on Anderson. “Is that true?”

  Anderson floundered for a second and I looked at her ex, Hans. He gave Anderson a pleading look. I faced the other man and gave him a murderous glare. I figured it would break the tie.

  “Y-yes,” Anderson said. “He did.”

  My grin was all teeth and Anderson let out a breath he’d likely been holding.

  Through clenched teeth, my now furious princess, said, “We have more in the back.”

  I cut that off at the knees. “I bought those as well.”

  Anderson nodded when Lizzy glared his way.

  “Lizzy,” Hans said. “Let him have the paintings. I’d rather have the woman,” and he knelt.

  There were gasps, and suddenly the small area in the back was filled. There was even a camera crew.

  “I’ve never loved another woman the way I love you,” he said.

  Lizzy looked shocked. I’d like to think she looked a little horrified, but I wouldn’t know for sure until this played out.

  “Hans, please—” she said.

  “I should have done this before, but I didn’t and I’m making it right. Lizzy Monroe, would you marry me?”

  The room went deathly silent as everyone, including me, waited on her answer.

  “No,” she said.

  Collectively, the crowd sucked in a breath while I let out the one I’d been holding. I almost felt bad for the guy. He looked like a boy who’d lost his puppy.

  “I mean, I can’t,” she said, faltering as the whispers were clearly not in her favor.

  Hans had gone red and the cameras were still rolling. A few spectators had gone over to offer him condolences as other were glaring at her as if she was the devil. Lizzy glanced around, her pretty face in a panic as her eyes landed on me. I took it as a plea for help.

  “Why can’t you?” Hans asked, bolstered by those who’d come to his sid
e.

  Lizzy’s gaze remained locked with mine. “I’m already married.”

  The word passed around the crowd as if they didn’t believe her as she covered her naked ring finger.

  I wasn’t about to let her be crucified by public opinion and stepped forward. “Me. She’s married to me.”

  No one knew me as Connor King, so what did the lie matter? Lizzy looked equally taken aback by my statement, and not exactly thrilled.

  I slid my arm around her waist. “It was spur of the moment, but when you know, you know.”

  All of those who’d looked ready to burn her at the stake suddenly melted with oohs and ahhs.

  “I see,” Hans said. “Your husband bought all of those paintings?”

  He’d seen through the lie, but I one-upped him. “A surprise wedding gift.”

  More sighs and murmurs from those now thinking how incredibly romantic our fictitious marriage was. The man had no fight in him and didn’t deserve her for that very reason.

  Hans said, “You’re a lucky man,” and walked away.

  The camera crew seemed confused about whether to follow him or stay with Lizzy. She made the decision easy by taking my hand and dragging us away from the crowd. Anderson, who I now understood to be her assistant of sorts, had wide fearful eyes for me.

  He didn’t have a clue. The maddening woman wasn’t a threat to me. She’d see reason. I allowed her to march toward the front of the gallery with me in tow. She hung a right down a short hall and stepped inside an office. I followed.

  The room was small, and I made my way to the front of the desk before turning to face her. She stiff-armed the door like a running back would do to a lineman on the football field. Fury lined her beautiful face—oddly, turning me the fuck on.

  “What was that?” she asked. I didn’t answer because she wasn’t ready for one. “You don’t own me.”

  Somehow, I had been expecting that. “I don’t.”

  She pointed at the door—or rather through it, metaphorically speaking all the way to the spot we’d been a minute or two ago. “I was handling it.”