Kings of Midnight: Book One of The Midnight Saga

by J Q Anderson

  “Wait. Can we talk?” he said from the car, accelerating to catch up with me again.

  I ignored him.

  “Camila. Stop. I need to talk to you.” His tone was suddenly low, commanding.

  “I can’t. I gotta run,” I said, hurrying.

  The tires screeched as he gunned the car forward, then slammed on the breaks and parked by my building a few steps ahead. He leapt out and faced me.

  I stopped in my tracks. Bastard. Glorious as fucking ever. He looked delicious, his strong frame barely concealed under a navy blue sweater and faded jeans.

  “Please, I need to talk to you,” he said in a softer tone. “A minute of your time. That’s all I’m asking for.”

  I forced myself to look away, fighting the immediate effect his presence was having on my body. Traitorous body.

  “Get back in your car and disappear. I know you’re good at that.”

  He lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine. I deserve that. Look, I don’t like how I left things. I owe you an explanation.”

  I forced a smile. “Well, it’s your lucky day. You’re off the hook.”

  “You didn’t return my calls. I left you messages. Did you get my flowers?”

  I shrugged, looking down at my feet. “I gave them away.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. They were gorgeous. But I didn’t want them in my apartment.”

  “So, you did like them.” He repressed a smile, and it was contagious.

  “Damn it, don’t make me smile. I’m still mad at you.” I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head. God, why was he here, looking like that? I didn’t need this now. We were standing by my building, and he glanced at the foyer.

  “Can I come in?”

  “No, my roommate is upstairs,” I lied.

  “Fine then. We can do this here.” He ran both hands through his hair, letting out a long sigh. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make our date. I was five miles offshore and had no signal. It was supposed to be a short trip, but then things went south. I had no way of getting to you. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, biting my lip.

  “No, it isn’t, and you deserve better.” He took a cautious step toward me. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

  What I thought was a very well-iced part inside me melted a tiny bit at those words. I tightened my arms around myself, not trusting my unscrupulous body, and leaned on the brick wall behind me, looking down at my Converse. They were much safer than his eyes.

  He inched closer and his finger lifted my chin. I turned away and he let his hand drop.

  “Are you still mad at me?” he said, his tone soft.

  “I waited for you for almost an hour, and you didn’t show up. It rained.”

  “Shit, I’m really sorry,” he said, guilt leaking out with every word. “Let me make it up to you.”

  “No, really. It’s okay,” I said, still not looking at him. “I blew off rehearsing with a principal to go out with you that night. I let you string me along, away from what’s important to me. And that’s on me. I know better.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know all that.”

  I nodded, darting a swift look at him.

  “Please, let me take you some place where we can talk and have dinner.”

  I looked up and searched his eyes. “You don’t even know me. I’m just…another girl to you. Why are you even here?”

  “You’re not just another girl. I don’t let people in easily, Camila, and I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

  I kept my eyes down so he wouldn’t see the sudden turmoil those words caused in me. My instincts told me to flee. The heat radiating from him was electric, his presence strong, invasive. That magnetic force sparked between us, and I hugged myself tighter. Anything that could mess with my will this way surely wasn’t good. His hand cradled my face, his fingers sending shivers down my neck, and I pressed myself back against the bricks.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, closer. My skin tingled at the warmth from his hand. I closed my eyes, knowing our lips were inches apart. “The truth is… I know I shouldn’t be here. I should let you be. I just… feel this strong impulse to protect you, from everything, from me. And yet, here I am, a fool, begging you for another chance, because I can’t stop thinking about the way I felt when I kissed you.” His voice was soft, tender, his sweet words brushing my mouth, and I felt the last of my breath leave my body. Then his lips met mine, softly, sensually, and as lethal as the first time. A whirl of emotions spun in my head while my body screamed for his touch. I let out a small gasp, and his fingers threaded in my hair, his mouth consuming mine, taking, giving, exploring. I gripped his sweater at the waist, holding on as hot, thick desire rippled through me. No, no, no. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t let him in. He already had more power over me than I thought possible. Summoning all my strength, I tore myself away from him.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry, I just can’t,” I said, panting.

  He exhaled, nodding in understanding. “Okay.”

  I needed to escape from this, from him. My skin still burned where he touched me, and my whole body ached for more. I looked down, still panting as I reached in my pocket for my keys.

  Shit.

  My keys.

  I clenched my empty fist. A memory of placing them on the counter at the bookstore while I dug in my pockets for the bills flashed in my mind. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I tugged up my sleeve to glance at my watch.

  “What’s wrong?” Sebastián frowned.

  I looked around, chewing on the inside of my cheek.

  “Camila.”

  “I think I left my keys at the bookstore.”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “No.” I shook my head and rushed to the intercom where I pressed the button to Mrs. Garibaldi’s floor, since she kept a spare key to water our plants when we were gone. Nothing. I insisted, again and again. Where in the hell was she?

  “Let me drive you,” Sebastián said from behind. “It’s almost eight. We may still catch them before they close.”

  I let out a defeated sigh and hung my head.

  The second I got in the car, the engine roared and skidded into traffic. I gripped the seat as Sebastián deftly zigzagged his way through the few blocks to the bookstore. But when we pulled over by the store window, all the lights were off.

  “Dammit.”

  “Sorry.” He sighed. “Can I take you somewhere else?”

  I scanned through my options. My parents’ place was too far away. Marcos was out somewhere in La Imprenta, also far. Maybe Nata was on her way back…

  “I’ll try calling my roommate.” I tapped her number, but it went straight to voicemail, which probably meant her phone was dead. I could call Alexei’s phone—ugh, no.

  I tried Mrs. Garibaldi’s number again, and it rang for a long time. I was about to hang up when she finally picked up. She sounded tipsy and said she was having dinner with a friend and would be home in a couple of hours. That wasn’t too bad. I could kill time in a café, and I wouldn’t have to ask Alexei.

  “Any luck?” Sebastián asked.

  “My neighbor will be home soon, and she has a key to my apartment. I’ll just wait for her over in that café. Thanks for driving me here.” I reached for the door handle, but he gently caught my arm.

  “Wait.”

  My pulse sprinted at the contact. I slowly turned my head, and those glorious eyes were waiting.

  “Have you eaten?”

  I chuckled. “Is that your favorite pickup line?”

  He smiled smugly. “Have you?”

  “Um, no, but—”

  “Let me take you out, then. We can wait for your neighbor.”

  I opened my mouth to reject the offer, but he stopped me.

  “I won’t leave you to wait on your own. Please, let me take you to dinner. Make up for the date I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “One dinner. Then I’l
l let you be if that’s what you want.”

  Chapter 9

  We pulled up by a quaint restaurant in Palermo Viejo overlooking a dimly lit park peppered with oaks. Sebastián killed the engine and looked up at the building.

  “I come here sometimes. It’s great, private. I know the couple who owns the place. You’ll like them.”

  He opened my door and led me through an ornate iron gate enclosing a patio bathed in a soft, ivory glow. Inside, the building looked like it had once been a traditional Buenos Aires home. It was beautiful, only ten or fifteen tables in the main dining room. A woman in her late fifties greeted Sebastián with a warm embrace. A man about the same age rounded the bar and shook Sebastián’s hand, affectionately patting his back.

  “Sebastián, what a pleasure.” His warm eyes immediately assessed me. “And with such delightful company. Welcome, miss.”

  Sebastián grinned. “Guillermo, Liliana, this is Camila.”

  The couple smiled and kissed my cheek. “Welcome,” said Liliana, squeezing my hand.

  “Thank you,” I said, a bit taken back. Maybe he didn’t bring many dates here.

  Liliana guided us to a balcony with just one table overlooking the park. Tiny lights adorned the iron railing under a layer of jasmine foliage, the sweet perfume of the flowers infusing the air. It was private and damn, so romantic.

  “It’s beautiful here.” I sighed in resignation, glancing at the park below. What was I doing here? I had promised myself I would stay away, and here I was, back at the start. But I couldn’t help the way I felt with him. Free, cherished. And every time he touched me…my body was so aware of him. I opened the menu to distract myself.

  “Yes. This is one of my favorite places. Removed from the reality of the outside world,” he said.

  I closed the menu again and set it on the table. “So…tell me about that. The ‘outside world.’ I don’t really know anything about you. Tell me about your family.”

  “Jumping right into it, eh? My family…Well, you must have seen my last name on the card I gave you.”

  “So?”

  “It doesn’t ring a bell?”

  I shook my head no, and he watched me with a puzzled expression.

  “Well,” he said, “Palacios is a…heavy name in certain circles. It can open a lot of doors because it’s linked to many businesses, even politics, but unfortunately that also means lots of gossip.”

  “Sounds glamorous.”

  “Hm. More like…wearing. Constantly dodging the spotlight is a pain.”

  “So, you’re like, famous?”

  “Not by choice, or my own merit. My father’s a well-known man in the business world. The umbrella of the public eye hovers over the family.”

  “Chased by the paparazzi—every dancer’s dream.”

  He shook his head. “It is not as fun as you’d think.”

  “Why not?”

  “The media loves to make stories up about my family and our businesses. It sells.”

  “What kind of businesses are you involved in?” I asked, breaking off a little piece of white bread and popping it into my mouth. Mmm, it was good. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had plain white bread.

  “Personally, I’m dedicated to my studio. But I help my father occasionally at the docks in Puerto Madero.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You’re being a bit…evasive.”

  “I’m sorry.” He smiled. “I don’t mean to be, it’s just habit. I don’t like talking about my family. I’d rather keep things simple.”

  “I get it. You’re a successful architect from a high-profile family with a questionable reputation. I’m a professional ballerina from a middle-class family with no such ties. We’re not exactly in the same league.”

  He reached out for my hand, enveloping it in his, his expression serious. “No, Camila. You’re a beautiful girl with a normal life. That’s the way it should be.”

  “What does that even mean? And, I’m sorry, but my life is not exactly normal.”

  “It means you’re free to do what you love, come and go as you please. You’re free from the burden that comes with a name like mine.”

  “Everyone carries one kind of burden or another with them.”

  “Perhaps, but you’re genuine, unaffected. That’s why I like you.”

  Despite the guard I held up, I felt myself melt a little more at those words. He looked at me like I was his favorite person in the world, and it was…disarming. Liliana appeared with a bottle of Malbec. She and Sebastián talked briefly about the wine, and then she took our order. We toasted, and I took a sip, letting the rich, spice-laced Malbec warm my throat. I focused on my wine so I wouldn’t look at him so much. It annoyed me that I found him so sexy—the soft, masterfully disheveled strands of raven hair that grazed his forehead, his striking eyes against olive skin, that five o’clock stubble, those full lips that tasted so incredibly good.

  He wanted to know about my family, and I quickly ran through the basics, a bit self-conscious because, in comparison, we seemed so plain. Our worlds were almost opposite. He had unlimited access to things I only dreamed of. I wondered how it would feel to belong to a high-profile family and have the world be your playground, to be constantly at the center of the public eye.

  A few minutes later, Liliana appeared again with our dinner, smiling warmly. Her curious hazel eyes assessed me with amusement, then she left silently.

  “Okay, your turn,” I said as I bit into my bife de chorizo, the Argentinean version of a rib eye steak. Mmm…it was mouthwatering. “What do you love most about your work?”

  He thought for a moment, holding me under his intense gaze. Then a corner of his mouth turned up in a puzzled smile.

  “What?” I said.

  He shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just…That’s not a question I get often.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. It’s refreshing. People usually want to talk about business. Boring stuff. I like your question much better.”

  “Oh. Good then. So? What do you love about it?”

  “I guess…it’s what lies beneath the blueprints. I’ve always been amazed at how history is alive in every brick of a building.” He glanced at the dimly lit neighborhood below. “Buildings always tell the story so much better than people can.”

  “Is that why you chose architecture?”

  “That’s part of it. I’ve always had a strong, creative impulse. Even as a kid, I liked turning things around and upside down, looking for new ways that make more sense.”

  “For example?”

  “Hmm…I love how if you redirect natural light in the right way, it could make someone feel inspired and produce much more creative work.”

  “So, it’s about having control?”

  He chuckled. “Maybe. Though I would like to think of it as ‘provoking inspiration.’”

  “Okay. You like to inspire…to be influential.”

  “I do, but I also enjoy the challenging aspect of the job. There’s a certain thrill that comes with innovation without compromising what’s in the heart of the structure, adapting new technologies into the skeleton of an old building while keeping its soul intact. And the design has to be rooted in the soul.”

  “What if it’s a brand-new house or building? What if there’s no soul yet?”

  He smiled like he was enjoying being challenged.

  “Every structure, whether it’s public or a private home, needs to reflect the heart of the people that inhabit it. That’s where it starts, and it has to be present in every detail. I always study the people first, then think of the best possible design for them. That’s what gets me out of bed every morning. Sorry,” he said, “I’m rambling.”

  “No. It’s interesting. You’re so passionate about your work. Believe me, I get that.”

  His eyes blazed and I had to look away. He then reached for my hand again, and our fingers instinctively interlaced. I fought the feeling that infiltrated me, tugging me to him with
the pull of that invisible magnet. He squeezed my hand gently, forcing me to make eye contact. A shiver ran through me.

  “You haven’t looked at me all night,” he said.

  “I…I’m sorry.” I blushed furiously.

  “No, Camila. I hate that I left you waiting that night. I am sorry.” His thumb caressed my hand.

  “Okay,” I muttered, unsure what else to say. Our hands were still linked together, his warmth expanding up my arm and through the rest of me. God. I was on a roller coaster, the car slowly making its way up, rattling along the old tracks, preparing for the death drop.

  A busboy approached and asked if he could clear. I looked at my half-eaten plate apologetically.

  “It was delicious. I just can’t eat any more.”

  Sebastián smiled. Our intimate moment dissipated and our fingers detangled. I stifled a yawn.

  “Let’s get you home.”

  We drove back to my place in comfortable silence. When we got to my building, he took my hand as we walked to the foyer. I looked down at our interlocked fingers, at the source of that overpowering warmth that threatened to swallow me. His hand was big, protective. Before I could do anything stupid, I pressed Mrs. Garibaldi’s intercom, and she said she would be right down.

  “Thank you for tonight,” he said, his tone sincere. “I loved having dinner with you.”

  “I had a nice time too.” I glanced up at him, and his gaze was ardent, waiting. He was so good-looking. In an earth-shattering way. I let my eyes devour him, memorize the beautiful lines of his face, his lips, his jaw, those broad shoulders that towered over me.

  “I better go,” he said, his voice low and sexy.

  Unable to stop myself, I reached out and placed my hand on his chest, needing to touch him. He stilled, his breath catching as those beautiful pale eyes watched me. Shivers rolled through me, and those butterflies swarmed. His strong Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

  “Good-bye, crazy girl,” he said, and his tone was hoarse. “I’m glad we met, even if you stole a piece of my heart.” There was an undercurrent of sadness in those words, and it tugged at that place in my heart that wanted to know what was behind that strong, imposing façade.