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“Go ahead,” I said when Kensington eyed the strudel. She plucked it from the plate with a childlike smile. I leaned closer. “Feeling better this morning?”
“Since having gone to hell and back, you mean?”
From behind her, Grinder pointed at himself and then at the bedroom. I motioned with my head for him to join us.
“Mind a little sunshine?” he asked, walking over to the draperies.
Once opened, the light provided me a better look at the side of Kensington’s face. It was all I could do not to reach over and stroke her cheek with my fingertip.
“Bloody wanker backhanded me,” she mumbled, noticing my gaze.
I felt a rage building inside of me; I stood and excused myself into the bedroom. I closed the door, walked into the en suite, and threw water on my face like I had earlier. I sat on the edge of the bed and took several deep breaths. When I closed my eyes, I could see Konstantine attacking her. A roar of anger burned in my chest that I pushed back down. I heard a light tap at the door.
“Come in.”
Kensington eased the door open, but stood on the threshold. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”
“You’re angry.”
I turned my back, but I could still see her face in the mirror. In this light, the bruises were even more pronounced.
“He was very drunk.”
I nodded, wishing she didn’t feel as though she had to make excuses for the man who’d attacked her.
She looked as if she was struggling with what to say next. “Um, I don’t have my mobile.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Cortez?”
I turned around and studied her.
“I’d rather not go to Kiki’s.”
I understood, I just didn’t have an alternative. And I had no choice but to abide by the Queen’s request that she go to America for the time being.
When she left and closed the door behind her, I made arrangements for us to travel to London and then on to the States.
From the moment we left the hotel, Kensington’s demeanor changed from timid to agitated. When we boarded the plane and I asked her to take a seat, she did so with folded arms and a scowl on her face. I sat in the spot closest to her.
I was about to threaten her with taking her over my knee and spanking her like I would a child with similar behavior, but I took several deep breaths instead when it resulted in my body’s highly inappropriate reaction.
I closed my eyes and imagined Kensington on her knees, hands on my thighs, eyes imploring as she begged me to forgive her. It took my breath away. In my vision, her hands moved from where they rested on my trousers to my belt. Instead of allowing her to continue, I pulled her to her feet, cupped her luscious bottom with both my hands, and punished her with my kiss.
The hitch of her breath jarred me out of my fantasy, and I opened my eyes.
Her eyes looked from mine to my lips. Her breathing was labored, and her cheeks were flushed in a way they might be if she could read my thoughts.
“How old are you, Cortez?”
“I will be thirty-seven next month.”
She turned her head and looked out the window. “You seem older.”
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