by Kelsie Rae
Nuzzling into my side, she breathes a quiet sigh before asking, “Tell me something good, King? Anything.”
My fingers lazily drag up and down the exposed skin on her arm as I search for something good to tell her. Something that might make her smile after the horrific day she’s had.
Clearing my throat, I whisper, “When I was little, my mom and I would cook together.”
She shifts onto her elbow and looks up at me, her long, dark hair cascading over one shoulder, and I’m taken aback at how gorgeous she truly is.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’d sit on the counter and watch her cook all day until my dad would come get me and teach me manly things.” My voice drops an octave, making her laugh.
“And what would you both make?” she asks, intrigued.
“Pasta, of course.”
“You Italians. Do you ever eat anything else?” She rolls her eyes.
Patting my stomach for good measure, I tell her, “I definitely do. Do you think I get this physique from carb-loading twenty-four seven?”
“Physique? What physique?” With her chin propped on my pec, an amused Ace nearly brings me to my knees with her beauty, but I don’t let myself get distracted.
“Don’t act like you weren’t checking me out when I sewed up your hand,” I tease.
A coy little grin is firmly in place as she argues, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was a little too busy getting stitched up to be ogling you. But sure, whatever helps your ego.”
With my hands under her arms, I drag her up until she’s fully on top of me, and we’re nearly nose to nose.
“Want to know what else would help my ego?” I shift my hips beneath her to give her a hint.
Her gaze dims slightly as her teeth dig into her lower lip. “You sure you still want me after…?”
After knowing that Burlone used her. Abused her. Took something that didn’t belong to him. That he didn’t deserve. That she didn’t want to give him.
The thought brings a bitter taste to my mouth before I remember the girl lying on top of me with so many insecurities she should never have had to carry.
Lacing my fingers through her long hair, I tug her closer and place a gentle kiss against her mouth. Her lashes flutter closed, and she almost melts into me before I stop her.
“Ace, I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life.”
Opening her eyes, she takes her time deciding whether or not I’m being honest with her. After an eternity, she whispers, “Truth.”
Chapter Eight
Ace
As I’m reading a book in the library, the unusual banging of pots and pans being tossed around piques my curiosity. King’s been busy working for the past few hours, so I found my respite in the form of a book. However, the clanging coming from the kitchen grabs my attention. I set the worn novel on the side table then walk down the hall.
A giant smile nearly splits my face in two when I see Kingston in a black apron with his back to me and his head in the fridge. The view is pretty damn appetizing, but the curiosity still seems to have gotten the best of me as I get his attention.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Turning around, he gives me a megawatt grin that would melt the panties off a nun. But it’s meant for me. Somehow, that only amplifies its effect.
“Hey. Just thought I’d make some dinner.”
“You cook?”
“I told you I did. Mama Romano taught me,” he explains.
“Well, yeah, but I assumed when you said she taught you, you meant you watched her cook and stole nibbles here and there.”
With a laugh, he shakes his head and corrects me. “If I ever stole a taste without helping, I’d have gotten smacked with the spatula. Never underestimate a Romano chef in the kitchen. Now, get over here and help me.”
There’s something about the way he bosses me around. Maybe it’s his voice that sends tingles down my spine. Maybe it’s his quirked brow that begs me to challenge him. Regardless, my body obeys without a second thought. Making my way around the island, I stand with my arms at my sides and wait for my orders.
With a tomato in one hand and some garlic cloves in the other, Kingston wraps me in a warm hug and plants a soft kiss against my temple. “You look amazing today.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself. I like the apron, by the way. Very manly.”
He scrunches up his face teasingly before releasing me from our embrace and tossing the tomato at me.
When I catch it, he explains, “Red is a bitch to get out of white. Gotta cover up, Ace. It’s rule number one in the kitchen. Now, grab the cutting board over there and the knife from the knife block. Chop, chop.”
He smacks my butt for good measure, leaving me with teeth marks in my lower lip where I bit them in an attempt to keep myself from smiling so damn hard.
I like playful Kingston. I like him a lot.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this side of him before, but I’m pretty sure I’d do anything to keep him around, which is why I ask, “So you have rules, eh?”
After reaching for the cutting board, I put the tomato and garlic on top of it as I wait for his answer.
“Huh?”
“You said. ‘rule number one, gotta cover up in the kitchen.’” I mimic his voice, dropping mine down a few octaves which only makes him laugh.
“Is that what I sound like?”
I shrug before grabbing the knife and getting to work on this tomato, along with the three others he’s added to the stack.
“Pretty much but with a bossier tone. You should probably work on that.”
“But if I lost my bossy tone, how would I get my men to listen to me?” he counters.
“Good point. You’d probably have to look for a different profession. And let’s be honest…,”––I point the knife toward his covered torso––“I don’t see you pulling off the apron long-term.”
In retaliation, Kingston grabs a dish towel and whips it at my butt, snapping it against my jeans and making me squeal.
“Bullshit,” he argues. “We both know I pull off the apron like a master chef.”
“Maybe Betty Crocker,” I tease with a wink.
He laughs, throwing his head back and giving me a decent view of the long column of his throat along with a nice peek of his chest since the first two buttons on his shirt have been undone after a long day at work.
The normalcy of the moment is almost enough to make me forget the shitstorm we’re in. Right now, I can pretend we’re an ordinary couple making dinner after a day at the office. The thought makes me pause, and Kingston must notice my lack of contribution to the dish because I find his arms around my waist within seconds.
Resting his chin on my shoulder, he asks, “You okay?”
The sincerity seeping out of him makes me hesitate and search for the truth. I haven’t dared to ask myself if I’m okay because I’ve been too afraid of the answer. As his embrace tightens, I melt into him.
“No. I’m not okay. But I will be as soon as we kill Burlone. I want to thank you for tonight, though. For this.” I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder, and he smiles softly as I add, “This normalcy is exactly what I needed.”
“Anytime, Wild Card. So, what were you saying about my rules? Were you making fun of me?” He goes to tickle my sides when I stop him.
“No, never! I was just going to tell you that I have my own set of rules too.”
His hands drop from my ribs and press into the cool granite on either side of me instead.
“Oh, really? I’m intrigued. Let’s hear them.”
Setting down the knife, I turn around in his arms until he’s caging me against the center island.
“Rule number one: Keep your head down and your eyes up. It makes you invisible but not stupid.”
“Truth. What’s rule number two?”
“Always be aware of your surroundings.”
He grabs the knife still sitting behind me and moves it
a couple of feet away before picking me up and setting me on the counter. I grab onto his shoulders to keep myself balanced as a breath of laughter escapes me.
“Number three?” he probes.
“If something feels fishy, it probably is. Trust your instincts.”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
“And what are your instincts telling you right now?”
Sliding his hands to my lower back, he drops them to my butt and pulls me closer until I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his waist or drop to the floor.
“Rule number five,” I whisper, ignoring his question. “Be a machine. Don’t allow distractions. They’ll only break you.”
“Am I a distraction?”
With a smile, I murmur, “Only the best kind.”
He leans closer and nuzzles into my neck. The friction makes me sigh, and I tilt my head up to give him better access.
“Rule number six: Don’t get personal,” I continue as the buzz from his kiss sends tingles racing down my spine.
“This feels pretty personal to me, Ace.”
With my heart pounding in my chest, I chuckle at the ludicrousness of the situation. Yeah. I’d say this is pretty personal to me too.
“Any more rules I should know about?” he breathes, the words tickling my sensitive skin.
“Rule number seven: Never leave something of value out in the open.”
He picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder. “Good point. Let’s take this to the bedroom.”
My laughter follows us down the hall until we reach his destination. With a slam of the door, my feet are on the ground, then his hands are on me and roaming every inch of skin on display. Clearly unsatisfied with the lack of accessibility, he grabs the hem of my shirt and tugs it over my head.
“You skipped rule number four,” he notes.
“Never say never.”
This one makes him pause, his gaze zeroing in on my mouth.
“Truth,” he murmurs. My dark hair cascades around my shoulders before his hands are tangling into my locks and holding me in place. With a growl, his tongue dips into my mouth, and a soft moan escapes me from the unexpected intrusion. There’s no messing around with Kingston. He takes what he wants. And his kisses prove exactly that. When he’s satisfied I won’t move, his calloused hands glide down my back before unhooking my bra. Breasts free, he tosses the flimsy black material to the ground at my feet before cupping my breasts and squeezing. My head drops down to see his rough palms touching me so intimately.
Shit, that’s hot.
With a wicked grin, he nudges my head with his, and I look up to see his eyes glowing with mirth.
“You like that, Ace?”
“You know I do,” I counter, both annoyed and embarrassed at his blunt assessment.
“Let me show you what else you’ll like.”
His touch skims down my bare stomach before he unbuttons my jeans and grabs my ass, lifting me with ease until I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his taut waist. My arms follow suit as I use his shoulders to balance myself. Eyes narrowing as I assess my bare skin against his clothed torso, I decide he’s wearing way too many clothes right now, and I fumble with the buttons on his pristine white dress shirt.
“Anxious, Wild Card?” He smirks when he sees my struggle.
I motion to the damn shirt that refuses to cooperate. “Micromanaging, King?” I return with a scowl. “You try it. These things are stubborn.”
His amused lips drop a quick kiss to my nose before he lays me down on the bed, and I’m surprised by his gentleness. As my weight presses into the mattress, he grabs the waistband of my jeans and tugs them off in one quick yank, nearly taking me with them. The action pulls a fit of giggles out of me.
So much for being gentle.
“Careful, King! Or else I’ll end up on the floor!”
“Would you land on your knees?” he razzes, quirking his brow in interest.
“Shut up and get your shirt off before I change my mind.”
With ease, his fingers triumph in the battle between buttons and man as he finally starts to take off his shirt. My mouth waters as more and more skin is put on display for my own personal view. Yes, I’ve seen him without a shirt before, but it never fails to impress me. The muscles of his chest tighten, and his abs flex, showcasing a six-pack that is damn near edible before the white material slides down his thick biceps. My hands itch to reach out and touch them when his voice distracts me.
“Yeah, I don’t see that happening,” he comments.
“Huh?” I ask, confused but refusing to look away from his hot, tan skin that’s on full display.
He laughs. “You changing your mind. I don’t see that happening. Not when you’re looking at me like that.”
If I had any sense of pride, I might prove him wrong, but I’m a helpless mess right now, and I need him. I need him so damn bad it’s not even funny. So, instead, I give him a half-assed glare before sitting up and hooking my fingers into the belt loops of his slacks. Then I tug him toward me. He catches himself with his hands as I find myself on my back being caged in by a strong, powerful man who could squash me like a bug if he wanted to.
But instead, he looks down at me as if I’m more valuable than the Mona Lisa. And I kind of love it.
“I’m going to make you mine now, Ace,” he murmurs. It isn’t a question, and he sure as hell isn’t asking permission, yet I know he’d stop if I asked him.
And I kind of love him for that too.
Snaking my arms around his back, I drag my fingers up to his shoulders and pull him down until his weight is sandwiching me between his muscular frame and the mattress. Satisfied, I comb my fingers through the back of his hair as he bends down for another kiss. And once again, I find myself lost to him.
He’s right. He does own me. And he’s about to prove it.
And in this moment, as he takes a piece of me that I’ve finally given willingly for the first time in my life, I feel normal. And maybe even a little loved too while my rules take a backseat, and Kingston steals the spotlight.
Chapter Nine
Kingston
“Alright, Mister. It’s time we get to work.” Ace is in nothing but my dress shirt from earlier. The hem almost reaches her knees, but she’s left the top few buttons undone and looks nothing short of exquisite.
We’ve just finished cleaning up dinner, and I watch in fascination as she heads for her backpack and comes back with a worn deck of cards.
“You ready?” She quirks her brow, shuffling the cards like a pro even though her hand is still lightly bandaged to keep her stitches from getting infected.
I groan but pull out a chair across from her. “Am I allowed to say no?”
With a light laugh, she shakes her head. “Sorry, Mister. It’s time for Bossy Ace to make an appearance. You have a lot to learn and not a lot of time to learn it. Now, tell me what you know.”
Clearing my throat, I go over the different types of hands and their strengths. “There’s a two pair, three pair, four pair, full-house—”
“Which is?” she interrupts, waiting for me to reply.
“A two-pair and a three-pair in the same hand.”
“Good. Go on.”
I laugh at her praise before following her orders to proceed. “There’s a straight, which is all the numbers in order such as two, three, four, five, and six. And there’s a flush, which is all five cards having the same suit.”
“Good.” Her face lights up with pride, and my chest swells with it too as she presses forward. “So, you’re familiar with basic strategy, then?”
“I know how to get through a hand and what the little blind and big blinds are, but that’s about it.”
“So…you’re familiar with basic strategy,” she teases. “Alright, there’s a lot that I could teach you, but I think one of the biggest things you need to learn is the importance of seating placement, and how it can affect how you bet. A lot of players raise the same hands no
matter the position. That’s not what you should do. For example, if you’re in UTG, you should open twelve to fifteen percent of hands at equilibrium. But, when you’re on the button, which is the dealer, you now need to open fifty percent of hands at equilibrium. The reason for this is the number of players who will play after you.”
My eyes glaze over instantly. “I’m sorry, what?”
With a soft laugh, she sets the cards on the table and grabs a notepad and pen. After drawing an oval that represents the table, she begins to scribble out different seating positions, definitions of what they are, and the statistics I’m supposed to consider with each hand I’m dealt based on the seating placement.
My jaw nearly hits the floor as I say, “You’re a smart little shit, aren’t you?”
Ace grins then playfully shoves me. “Don’t sound so surprised, King.”
“I’m not. I’m just…” I hesitate, searching for the right word which only makes her gasp in outrage.
“Whatever! You can’t be that surprised I know what I’m talking about.”
“I’m not surprised you know what you’re talking about,” I correct her. “I’m surprised there’s so much strategy based on shit I never would’ve thought about. And I’m not going to lie; it’s sexy as hell hearing it delivered from your pouty little mouth.”
That same pouty mouth tilts up in amusement. “You think I’m sexy when I talk poker?”
“Fuck, yes. I knew you were gorgeous, Ace, but brains too?” I lift my arm and wrap it around her neck, pulling her in for a slow kiss. She sighs and leans into me, almost melting into a puddle at my feet. “That makes you the perfect package.”
“You’ve already gotten into my pants, King. There’s no need to keep laying it on so thick,” she argues sarcastically before wiggling out of my grasp and shuffling the same deck of cards from earlier. I know she’s full of shit by the way her cheeks are tinged pink, so I decide to keep arguing. She’s cute when she gets all riled up.
“Lie.”
Rolling her eyes, she changes the subject. “Stop distracting me. We have work to do.”