Savior (The Kingwood Duet Book 2)

by S. L. Scott

  “Don’t Alex me.” My emotions teeter like my sanity these days, the alcohol exacerbating them. “Tell me you don’t like the way she mingles with the staff, or that you hate how much I love her. Tell me she’s been rude to you or hurt your feelings. Tell me something that will make me understand why there’s friction in this house between the two of you.”

  “I think she’s a sweet gir—”

  “No,” I say pointing at her. “I know she’s sweet. I know she’s good, so good that even her dark side is full of light. I know she loves me for me. Flaws and all. So why am I caught between the two of you?”

  “You’re not. If you are, I didn’t put you there. I don’t know why she hates me, but she does. When you’re not around—”

  “Don’t. Not when she’s not here to defend herself.”

  “You asked me.”

  “I asked about you.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  The coffee table skids against a side chair when I kick it. My back to her in seconds, to this woman I don’t know at all, but I’m supposed to love somehow. I crack my neck and walk to a glass door. Twilight is upon us, but night feels more fitting for my feelings. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

  “What do you mean?” The panic in her voice causes me to turn around.

  Shoving my hands in my pockets, the fury I felt when I arrived home dissipates into something more gentle. “I allow you to stay because, as the woman who gave birth to me, you should be allotted an easier life than you’ve had. I want to repay the debt my father had accrued. But Sara Jane is the queen of the manor, not you. If you so much as look at her sideways you’ll be out.”

  “She’s lying to you. I think she’s jealous of our relationship.”

  “We have no relationship.”

  “I’m your mother.”

  “Birth mother. You’re the woman who gave birth to me.”

  “Gave you life.”

  “Sara Jane gave me life, but I’m still serving time for having Kingwood as a last name.”

  She stands and pleads, “I’m not the enemy. Not to you or to Sara Jane.”

  “Then make sure she understands you hold no threat.” I have no doubt she can hear the demand in my tone. It hurts so damn much to love Sara Jane as much as I do, but I will not lose again. “I believe my wife, and although I don’t know what has been going on, I will always believe her. In her. If you didn’t notice, I don’t do well without her.”

  She comes closer, her hands reaching out. “You have so much potential, and you’re wasting it.” What the hell? She’s been high for how many years, and she thinks she has the right to say that to me?

  “You don’t have a say in how I use or waste my potential.”

  April’s smart enough to back away. I watch her as she goes to the stairs, the bright green fabric of her robe floating behind her. She stops at the top and says, “I was hoping our connection was more than our eye color, but you’re proving to be more like your father every day.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I smart back.

  “Don’t.”

  My eyes stay on her until she disappears from sight. I used to think the only good in me came from Madeline’s side, but now that I know more about that woman upstairs who gave birth to me, I’m fucked either way.

  When I open the door to my quarters, I see Sara Jane and my body electrifies, my heart beats again, my breath speeds to catch up.

  Firefly.

  She’s here.

  I ready for sleep in the bathroom, stripping my clothes off before tiptoeing into the bedroom. When I slip into bed, the warmth of hands so familiar press against my stomach, making my muscles twitch. The pressure is enough to rouse not just my brain but other parts of my body. It feels so good. She feels so good. I don’t want to wake her up because she needs her sleep, but I need her more. I whisper, “Are you awake?”

  “Mmm. I’ve been waiting for you.” Her eyes open just for me. Her voice is dreamy despite her words. “Always waiting for you.”

  Slinking down, I roll to my side to face her and touch her cheek. “I didn’t know you were here, or I would’ve come home sooner.”

  “I was mad, but it will always pass.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Alexander?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you. Every side of you. I’ll take your good with your bad. I’ll take your sunshine and storms. I’ll take your misery and fill you with happiness. All I ask in return is that you love me deeply. Love me timelessly. Love me with your whole soul like I love you.”

  I thought I carried the weight of the Kingwood empire on my shoulders, but it’s the weight of Sara Jane’s emotions that hold my heart. “I will.”

  She smiles. “Then that’s enough.” Lifting up, she says, “Well, almost enough.” Straddling my thighs, her legs are bare, cotton underwear between them. She bends down and kisses my chest. “Six weeks is gonna be torture, but I made a call, and I hear four weeks is possible.”

  My hips start to move as nails drag on the inside of my legs—higher and higher. Fuck. I grab my cock and begin to stroke, but I’m never gonna get there. “I want inside you, baby.”

  “I want you too. So much.”

  “That’s weeks from now.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I want to make you feel good.”

  When she begins to slide down, I capture her under her arms, and bring her up higher, closer to me. “I want you to lie down.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to. Making you feel good makes me feel good.”

  Her eyes shine in the moonlight sneaking in from the windows. I see it—the truth she sees in my eyes shines in hers, and she lies down next to me.

  I start slow, my finger running lightly over the top of her T-shirt. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too,” she rasps, her eyes on me.

  Lifting the hem of her shirt, I kiss her belly and then gentler over the wound. Whispering, I ask, “How are you?” It’s a general question, but she understands me, like no other ever has before.

  “Better with you. Healing. Go slow though, okay?”

  I nod and then kiss lower and lower. Maneuvering between her legs, I kneel on the floor and pull her by the ankles to the end of the bed. I remove her underwear and hold them to my nose. Closing my eyes, I savor her return and inhale her sweet Sara Jane scent.

  Her eyes shine with a need inside as her voice sweeps toward me. “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “I missed you. God, I missed you.”

  “I’m here now. Just reach out and touch me. I’m all yours. Always, Alexander.”

  Tossing the panties to the floor, I spread her legs. Her words are heady, more so than any whiskey. With my hands on her hips, I speak to her through nips and licks before running the tip of my nose through her wet heat.

  Intoxicating.

  A fire burns inside. I want to take her, fuck her, own her body and her orgasm again, but I have to wait. I have to put her needs before mine. Pride is a fucker I intend to conquer. I won’t let it win. I’ll be here for her, just her, how she needs me to be.

  My hips move to find relief against the mattress while I taste her. Licking through her desire—fuck if that doesn’t make me harder. My hair is tugged, and I look up. She says, “You need me. I can make you feel so good. Just let me.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” She moves lower, causing me to sit up. “I want to do this.”

  I stand and take her hands, bringing her to her feet in front of me. Weaving my fingers into the back of her hair, I hold her in place just so I can look into her eyes a few seconds longer. When her body eases against mine we move even closer. Her head drops to my chest and my hands rub her back. “You are beauty to me—hope and promises kept. You are everything.”

  “You, Alexander, are every wish I ever made. You’re my dream come true. I love you so much that sometimes I wonder if I’ve loved
you longer than this life.”

  I’ll blame the whiskey for the pounding of my heart, the lump in my throat, and my words getting trapped in my chest. Fucking emotions. Two grown men can’t bring me down, but one petite angel levels my heart to the ground. “A love this extraordinary can’t be contained to one lifetime.”

  I can’t live without her. I’ll do anything to hold on to this woman. And then she kneels before me, treating me like a king. With my cock in her hands, her eyes stay on mine when she takes me into her mouth to cleanse my soul with the purity that is Sara Jane.

  Fuck. So fucking thankful.

  27

  Alexander

  Sitting in the office with my feet kicked up on the windowsill, I watch the fog engulf the grounds as if the hounds of hell requested the coverage. My body is relaxed after reconnecting with Sara Jane and getting a few hours of sleep.

  Since my mind is not at ease, I give my head a break after dealing with some emails, and open the blinds to watch the break of day. It’s too overcast for sunshine, but the sky lightens from deep blue to pale gray to gloom.

  A soft rap on the door causes me to glance at the time. 6:47 a.m. “Come in.”

  “I brought you some coffee and scrambled eggs.” The smile is heard in her voice before I even see Neely’s face.

  “Bacon?” I ask, spinning around in my chair.

  “Crispy, how you like it.”

  I smile. “Thanks, Neely.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Picking up the fork she sets down, I didn’t realize I was hungry until the smell of breakfast hit my stomach. I dig in, but stop with a mouthful of eggs and look up. Neely is still standing there as if waiting for something, so I swallow, and ask, “Yeah?”

  “May I ask you a personal question?”

  “You’ve known me for years, so we’re beyond formality here.”

  She sits in the deep red leather chair in front of me and leans forward. In a lowered voice, she asks, “I wasn’t sure if I’m supposed to make long-term arrangements for Ms. Dorset. I didn’t want to upset her and ask.”

  I sit back, steepling my fingers. “What do you think of Ms. Dorset?”

  Surprise filters across her face. “Oh, um.”

  “The truth. Please.”

  “I think she’s an acquired taste.”

  “One you haven’t acquired, I take it?”

  “No.” Although it doesn’t surprise me to hear this, it bothers me. She quickly adds, “I’m sorry. I’ve been too forward.”

  “No, you haven’t. I asked for honesty.” And Neely should feel she can be honest. “She’s had a rough life. She’s not used to trusting people. The drugs made her paranoid. I think it will take her time to adjust to the manor.”

  “I’ll try to make the transition smoother.”

  She stands, but I ask, “How do you feel about Ms. Gra—Mrs. Kingwood?”

  Returning to the seat, she replies with a sincere smile. “Sara Jane is lovely and reminds me so much of your mother, Madeline.”

  I hate that she clarifies when she speaks of my mother. I understand why, but it’s still unsettling. I rest my elbows on either side of the plate. “She would have liked her. I know it.”

  “She would have adored her.”

  “I’m glad she’s back.”

  “A love that strong can’t stay away for long.” Standing, she taps the desk. “Eat before it gets cold, and if you need anything let me know.”

  “Actually, I could use your help now. Do you know where my father kept my birth certificate?”

  “He has a safe under the file bureau behind you. I would check there.”

  “Really? I had no idea.” I spy the cut in the wood. Looking back at her, I ask, “You don’t happen to know the combination do you?”

  She laughs as she’s walking out. “If only.”

  When the door closes, I get down on my hands and knees, something my father would never do if it weren’t of upmost importance. He was hiding whatever’s in there for a reason. Or maybe protecting it is more apropos.

  I lift the plank of wood that’s hidden in the shadows of the bureau above and see a safe. A silver keypad is visible, but I have no idea what that passcode is. Sitting back, I look around the room for clues. Kingwood? That seems too long and obvious.

  Scanning the room, my eyes land on the silver framed photo of my mother when the light from outside shines on it. Madeline. I duck down again and type in her name, but nothing happens.

  Think.

  Think.

  Think.

  Madeline.

  Their anniversary.

  Nothing.

  Damn it.

  Then an idea strikes.

  Her birthday.

  I type in the six digits, the lock releases, and the lid pops up just enough for me to open it, leaving me grinning from ear to ear. Reaching in, I pull out an envelope, revealing stacks of money—ten-thousand-dollar bundles. I count them. There are ten. The money doesn’t interest me. The envelope does. I dump the contents on top of the desk. My mother’s wedding ring bounces across the top. I recognize it instantly. She loved that ring. She loved my father, even if he did break her heart. She was too strong to stay with him if she didn’t love him. She wasn’t buried with her ring? Bastard. He took it from her. Fucker.

  Holding the ring between my fingers, the diamond catches the light. It’s not a huge diamond considering what they could afford even when they got engaged. Both came from old money. Madeline never needed all the attention she got. She would have been content being less pretty, less refined, less of everything as long as she was happy.

  I made her happy, and she made me happy. I was a teenage fuck-up who lived life to the fullest. I didn’t have worries because my mother was present enough for both my parents. Sadness creeps into my chest. I took her for granted, foolish enough to think she’d be around forever.

  They say the good die young. She proved them right.

  As for Sara Jane, I’ll do everything in my power to prove them wrong.

  I set the ring aside and pull the papers from the envelope. My father’s passport. My mother’s. Two bonds and—Bingo. My birth certificate. After what Chad had found, it’s been bugging me. I wanted to see the proof, and if I can get a mock wedding certificate, I’ve no doubt that anything I find online would be altered if the initial information were correct. God, looking at my mother’s ring, I should be getting something for Sara Jane. Does she hate that I haven’t yet?

  I still don’t believe the birth certificate is real until I unfold the aged paper and see it with my own eyes.

  Mother: April Louise Dorset

  Father: Alexander Kingwood II

  The paper floats down to the floor as I sit stunned to the spot.

  Alexander Kingwood II.

  Not Alexander Kingwood III.

  Holy shit. Chad was right. It wasn’t a mistake. My grandfather is my real father. April and my grandfather are my parents.

  Why was I raised by my fath—Alexander Kingwood III? When I thought my family couldn’t be more fucked up they go and prove me wrong.

  My father was really my brother.

  Half.

  Why would he ever agree to raise his brother as his son? Fuck, and now a whole new mystery presents itself. The only problem is both my predecessors are dead, so I can’t ask them.

  There is one person I can ask, and I intend to today.

  I shove the stuff back in the envelope and stuff it back in the safe. With my foot, I push the wood over it and wrap up the emails and work I have left to do. The questions I have float through my head, and I find myself checking the time every few minutes. I don’t last an hour before I push off the chair in my quest for answers and head to the living room. I stop as soon as I round the corner.

  A man dressed in khaki pants, a blue and white striped shirt, and bright pink tie is touching an antique clock on the mantle. What the hell? “Who are you?”

  The guy—late twenties at best, cheap
shoes, wavy brown hair that looks in need of a trim—laughs. “Kingwood?”

  “Why are you in my house?”

  April comes from the kitchen with two glasses of champagne with what looks like a drop of orange juice Not so sure she should be drinking that, especially before nine in the morning, but I’m more concerned with who the fuck this clown is. She says, “This is my nephew.”

  With a smile, he walks toward me with his hand out. “Garvey Penner. It’s nice to meet you, cuz. I always admired your dad. He was a true titan of industry. Sorry for your loss.”

  Cousin? What the—? “I’m not.”

  He laughs. I don’t. But carrying on like we’re buddies, he says, “I bet not since you got quite the inheritance out of the deal.”

  “How are we cousins?”

  April hands him a glass, and says, “As I said, he’s my nephew. My sister’s son.”

  “So you’re visiting?”

  He adjusts his belt and sips the champagne. “Just visiting my aunt and wanted to the meet the family since we are now.”

  At this hour?

  His nose has a large bump and then hooks down. His eyes have no distinction between the brown and the dilated pupils. Even his ears are a little too large for his head. There’s no way he can be related to me. Nothing about him fits our family’s genetic mold. Dismissing his ridiculousness, I turn to April. “I need to speak with you.”

  She smiles and sits on the couch. With her arm draped over the back, she looks quite comfortable—too comfortable. Her little show for this guy is annoying. “We can talk here,” she replies.

  My patience is gone. “We’ll speak later.”

  Garvey says, “Good to finally meet you. I look forward to seeing more of you.”

  I don’t have him figured out, and I’m not sure I want to spend my time doing so. I’ll let him have his fun, but that fun doesn’t need to be at my expense. “Yeah . . . meet you,” I mumble, and head upstairs to talk to Sara Jane.

  Taking the stairs by two I’ve just crossed the landing when I hear Garvey say, “He’s moody, like you said.”

  Fucker.

  When I reach my quarters, I open the door slowly. My sleeping beauty is still in bed. I smile and then sit on the bed slowly so I don’t disturb her. I’m not sneaky enough.