King's Passion (9 page)

She couldn't prove it, but the oxygen had somehow been sucked out of the room because she couldn't breathe.

Braided fingers. Sweaty bodies. Silk sheets.

He looked at his watch again. “Forty-two minutes.”

She swallowed and somehow uprooted her feet so that she could creep around his mountainous body and escape to the bedroom.

King seemed content if not amused watching her squirm around him. Even after she managed that small feat, she could still feel his heavy gaze on her until she finally closed the bedroom door and then slumped against it.

“What in the world have I gotten myself into?” she sighed.

“W
hat in the world have I gotten myself into?” Eamon asked, shaking his head. Even after Victoria had closed the door, he stood in the center of the main living room debating whether he was biting off more than he could chew when it came to dealing with Ms. Gregory. Where was that bravado he had when he told Quentin that he could handle the uptight and frosty temptress?

An heiress.
He couldn't believe it when he did a quick Google search. But there it was: the daughter of one of the wealthiest billionaires being jilted at the altar. After reading just a few articles he could see why she'd been livid. The society tabloids had ripped her to shreds.

Though he had little doubt that he was having a strong effect on her, it wasn't like she wasn't doing a number on him. With no makeup and a simple pair of silk pink pajamas, she was still perhaps the most naturally beautiful creature he'd ever seen. And he doubted that he could ever
forget the scent of jasmine and white roses without the image of braided fingers, sweaty bodies and silk sheets from flashing in his head.

Eamon sucked in a deep breath and then shook his head but it didn't do much good since the whole suite held on to her soft fragrance even as the minutes ticked by. “Get a hold of yourself,” he said to himself and then straightened his shoulders in compliance with his command.

Perhaps it was wise if he just focused on dinner and the lawsuit. Of course, he knew that he didn't really need to respond to the lawsuit since it was silly on its face and so transparently ridiculous that it would be a travesty to the judicial system if it was ever litigated. So maybe just focusing on dinner would be the better option. He started walking around the suite while he churned that decision over in his mind, as well. Truth of the matter, he didn't really care whether the woman ate, though it was clear that her stomach had some complaints about it. Dinner was a ruse.

His sole objective was to try to re-create that heat and magic that they had exchanged in his office earlier that day. He couldn't remember ever feeling anything like it. Not even back in the day with his old high-school sweetheart.

“Trouble,” Eamon repeated Quentin's words and for the first time the thought that his philandering cousin may have actually called this one right. He stopped before the floor-to-ceiling window and stared out at the city that had become his second home. It was never more beautiful than at night. It was also when anything and everything was liable to happen. “Just dinner,” he sighed.

Maybe if he said it enough, he would actually start to believe it. But if he wasn't mistaken he could hear his subconscious laughing at him. It was like it and his body
were in on a joke that they refused to tell him about it. But didn't he kind of know?

He sucked in another deep breath. Why did he feel like he was suffering from a mild case of stage fright? Then he remembered how Victoria's gaze had a way of slicing through him. He sort of liked how her eyes would narrow when she was angry or irritated or how they would flicker like green fire when he was seconds from kissing her sexy full lips.

Eamon closed his eyelids allowing the memory to play in his mind. He was just about to moan out loud when Victoria's voice floated behind him.

“Looks like you're thinking about something real hard.”

Surprised that she had caught him unaware, Eamon whipped around but then had to fight like hell to prevent his damn tongue from rolling out of his head. Stunning in a simple green and metallic print dress that once again hugged her Coke-bottle curves like a second skin and showcased her stunning legs and metallic stilettos, Victoria settled a hand on her hip and waited while his gaze completed at least a third orbit over every curve and angle.

She looked good. Damn good. And what was worse, Eamon concluded, was that she knew it. She had even taken the time to pin her hair up, with the exception of a few wisps of curls that lay teasingly against her long neck. The green in her dress made her eyes pop, which only succeeded in drawing him into what felt like a Venus fly trap. The pendulum of power had definitely swung in her direction.

“If you stare at me much longer we're going to miss our reservation,” she said, smiling.

Eamon blinked, but afterward he still felt like he was
caught up in some old black magic so he tried blinking again. It failed to work then, too.
I'm definitely in trouble.

“Is there something wrong? Are your contacts giving you trouble?”

He laughed. “No contacts. I'm just… You look stunning,” he admitted. There was no way of getting around the truth. But to his surprise, she blushed, staining her long neck and cheeks a warm burgundy. “Don't tell me that no one has ever paid you a compliment before.”

She cut her gaze away. “Don't be silly.” She suddenly got busy looking around. “Now, what did I do with that clutch?”

He watched her as she moved around the suite, not sure what to make of her sudden shift in behavior. But before he could say anything else, she found her clutch bag.

“Here it is.” She smiled, but still managed to avoid his gaze. “I'm ready if you are.”

Eamon smiled and then glanced at his watch. “We still have fifteen minutes. I'm impressed.”

Victoria opened the front door as she found her sass again. “Of course you are. Look who you're with.” She tossed him a wink and then strolled out of the room.

Eamon laughed as he strolled out behind her. The ride down in the elevator was filled with mindless small talk and when the door open, Victoria bolted out of the small box as if he'd lit a fire under her pointy stilettos. He smiled, certain that she was playing games to make sure that she didn't fall into any traps and lose her precious hold on that tiny pendulum of power swinging between them. But if she wanted that power, he was going to make her fight for it.

 

His long strides had no problem catching up with her sudden power walk and by the time they were strolling
out of the Bellagio's elegant lobby, he walked beside her and pressed his hand against the small of her back.

“Henry.” He nodded to the head valet.

The older black gentleman turned with a smile, but when recognition settled into his brown eyes, he really let up. “Ah, Mr. King. How are you today?”

“Never better, my man.” Eamon removed his hand from Victoria's back to slap palms with one of The Dollhouse's regular patrons. “You're still doing that favor for me?”

“Doin' my best, but I have to tell you—” he shook his head “—your cousin is keeping most of us on our toes around here.”

“I believe you.” Eamon laughed as he handed over his ticket. Two minutes later, he and Victoria slid comfortably into the leather seats of his Aston Martin and then glided out onto Las Vegas Boulevard. Though he was content to just enjoy her signature scent mingle with the new-car smell, he felt pressure to break the ice. “Do you like jazz?” he asked.

She shrugged noncommittally. “It's all right. My father enjoys it.”

Wry amusement twisted his lips. “Is that supposed to be a jab at my age?”

“No. I'm just saying.” She shrugged again, but her lips were definitely twitching at the corners.

“Exactly how old do you think I am?”

Victoria crossed her firm thighs. “I'm sure that I don't know.”

Eamon's robust laughter filled the sports car. “Ah. I see. You're real sly when you're trying to check a brother.”

“Naw. I'm not trying to check you.”

“No?” He leaned over toward the rearview mirror and started to examine his head.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm looking for that checkmark that you just put on my forehead.”

She laughed, but not one of those fake ones that she tossed around from time to time. This one was a real belly laugh that was as infectious as it was melodious.

“You know you did it.” Eamon moved away from the mirror and reached for the radio that was already on his favorite jazz station. As luck would have it, Miles Davis and John Coltrane's “Blue in Green” floated into the car and set the right kind of mood. After a few riffs, Eamon chanced a glance over at the passenger seat and caught the tranquility on her face. Eyes closed. Lips still smiling.

“You lied,” he said. “You do like jazz.”

Victoria lifted a slender finger and pressed it against her lips. “Shhh. Don't tell anybody.”

Eamon's gaze drifted back toward the road. “Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

They fell silent as Coltrane's fingers danced over the keys and Davis worked his magic on the horn. When the song finally ended, he turned into the parking lot of Bella's. It was a small, quaint Italian restaurant a little distance from the casino strip, away from the main tourist spots, but still part of the city's nightlife and a secret jewel for the locals.

“This looks interesting,” Victoria said, glancing around.

Eamon chuckled as he turned off the radio. “It's a little late to be worried about whether I've kidnapped you, isn't it?”

“It's never too late to worry about that,” she said.

The valet opened their doors and Eamon waited patiently with a smile as she walked around the car and joined him before entering the low-lit restaurant.

“Ah, Eamon,” Benito Boi, the restaurant manager,
boasted the moment they walked into the door. “I just heard that you would be joining us tonight.
Benvenuti!”

They shook hands but like always Benito pumped with a lot of gusto for a man nearing his seventies.

“Ah. Now, who is this bella?” Benito's attention shifted to Eamon's date.

“This is the lovely Victoria Gregory. She has taken pity on me this evening and has agreed to be my date.”

Victoria hiked up on her pencil-thin brows up at him.

“Ah. It's about time,” Benito said. “It's no good for a man to eat alone, but—” Benito's gaze swept over Victoria's frame “—I'm afraid that you've chosen a woman that is considerably above your station,
amico mio.
You'll have to be on your best behavior.”

Victoria's full lips stretched while her eyes danced. “You heard the man,
Eamon.
”

It was the first time that she had said his name and he had to admit that he liked the way her voice hugged each vowel. There was something incredibly sexy about it.

Benito grabbed two menus and then escorted them toward the back of the restaurant.

 

Victoria sucked in several deep breaths as she followed Benito. It seemed to her that the restaurant grew darker the farther they walked. Where were they going to have dinner, in a crypt?

“Here we are,” Benito said, opening the door. “A nice secluded spot so you and your lovely friend can get to know each other.”

Victoria stepped into the small room to the beautiful table with crystal, silverware and flickering candle light. “Out of the fire and into the frying pan,” she mumbled under her breath.

“What was that?” Eamon asked.

She turned toward his honest face and sly smile and knew that he had heard exactly what she had said. “Nothing.”

Eamon winked and then went to pull out her chair.

Her only option was to play along. She took her seat and pretended not to notice how Eamon's hand drifted along the back of her shoulders after he'd helped push up her seat.

When Eamon settled into his own chair, Benito showcased their bottle of Barbaresco to him and then quickly and masterfully worked open the cork with a soft
pop!

Victoria watched as Benito splashed some wine into Eamon's glass and waited while Eamon swirled the red vino around in his glass before smelling it and tasting it.

“Benissimo.”

Benito smiled and then proceeded to fill their large wineglasses a quarter of the way. “I'll be back with your fresh bread,” he announced and then rushed out of the small room.

Victoria settled back in her seat and then languidly crossed her firm thighs. “Looks like it's my turn to be impressed.”

Eamon corked one of his immaculately groomed brows. “Why? Just because I own a gentlemen's club you thought that I didn't have any home training?”

She paused for a moment, but then answered honestly. “Guilty.” She almost sighed when his rich laughter rumbled around her.

“You know, I'm going to change my earlier assessment. You actually have many ways of keeping a brother in check. Slick, sly and direct. You're a regular heavyweight champion.”

“In today's world, a woman has to be on her toes when
dealing with the opposite sex. But even a seasoned player gets knocked on their ass every once in a while.”

“Ahh.” He bobbed his head. “Mr. Henderson.”

Victoria nodded while she absently crossed her arms and told herself to prepare for anything.

“You know, I'm truly sorry for what happened,” he said with a genuine note of sincerity. “But you don't truly believe that I or even my club really had anything to do with Mr. Henderson's sudden case of cold feet, do you? Not to be tactless, but…these sorts of things do happen all the time.”

She let that ridiculous statement hang in the air until he started to squirm. “Happens all the time?”

His expression changed as if he'd finally heard what the hell he'd just said.

“Marcus didn't get cold feet. He got married. Remember?”

He bobbed his head. “Yes. Sorry. Let me try again.”

She held up her hands. “No. Please don't. I haven't even eaten anything and I'm already ready to throw up.”

Eamon drew in a deep breath and eased back against his chair as if he'd realized that he'd just blown their tenuous truce to high hell and back.

Benito returned with a small, hot loaf of bread and a larger saucer of olive oil. Neither Victoria nor Eamon spoke while the older gentleman recited the night's specials as he ground fresh pepper into the olive oil.