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Thirty minutes and two grilled cheese sandwiches later, Kingsley spins me on the stool and scoops me up again. I wrap my arms around his neck and shake my head at him.
“I’m fine to walk on my own now,” I tell him.
He shrugs and keeps walking down the hall until he stops in front of an open door, presumably the room I’ll be staying in. For now, anyway. Obviously, I’m not about to move in with Kingsley. That would be ridiculous.
“As much as I want you in my bed tonight, I want you to get a good night’s sleep. We can talk more tomorrow, okay?”
I nod, and Kingsley steps inside the room, setting me down on my feet in front of the king-sized canopy bed.
“Who even are you?” I ask, tilting my head.
Kingsley smiles softly, making my heart melt. “I’m trying to take care of you.”
“But… why? You never told me earlier.”
The confusing, mesmerizing, sexy-as-hell man cups my cheeks, turning my face so we’re eye to eye. Deep, dark brown irises swirl with so many emotions it nearly brings me to tears.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he murmurs. “You’re mine.”
I gasp, and Kingsley captures the sound with his mouth, kissing me in slow, steady strokes like we have a lifetime filled with moments like this.
We finally break apart, and Kingsley leans over to pull down the blanket and sheets on the bed. “Get in, beautiful. Get some rest.”
All I can do is nod and climb under the covers.
Kingsley presses the sweetest kiss to my forehead and whispers, “I’m right next door. Come find me when you wake up.”
I smile and nod, but my mind is racing with everything that happened tonight. I’m positive I’ll have another sleepless night, but the bed is so soft and comfortable, my eyes are closed before Kingsley leaves the room.
The last thing I remember is feeling safer and warmer than I have since my grandma passed. And it’s all thanks to Kingsley Bowman.
7
KINGSLEY
Istep out of the shower and dry off, thinking over everything that happened last night. Even after a rigorous morning workout and a scalding hot shower, I'm still antsy. I know I won’t feel settled until I see Clementine again and ensure she’s okay.
I checked on her when my alarm went off at five and again when I finished my workout. Both times, she was snuggled up under the covers, surrounded by pillows, and smiling so softly I didn’t have the heart to wake her.
Stepping out of my ensuite bathroom, I head to my walk-in closet and browse my suit options before picking a charcoal one and a black button-up. When I’m all dressed, I hit the button for my automatic tie rack, watching the thing slowly spin until I see a green silk tie.
Perfect. It matches Clementine’s eyes.
My phone dings with an incoming email. It’s my automatic reflex to check it, though I have a feeling with Clementine in my life, I’ll be putting my phone on silent when I’m home.
I almost slip my phone back into my pocket, but my eyes catch on the subject line of the email. It’s about a property up in the Smoky Mountains that I haven’t thought of in years. My company originally acquired the plot of land over a decade ago, maybe even fifteen years at this point. The plan was to turn it into a rustic cabin resort getaway, but that went to shit after the third construction crew quit.
Apparently, the conditions up on the mountain are not conducive to the kind of work we wanted to be done, and the trek up and down the mountain everyday was too much. The whole endeavor was a bust, and the land has sat vacant and forgotten. Until now.
The text of the email is short and to the point. The man, Wilder, recently got out of the military and is looking for a plot of land away from society. To be honest, he nailed the location, but I’m not sure he realizes what he’s taking on.
There’s a number at the bottom of the email, and I decide to give him a quick call. I can’t imagine he’ll still want the property once I give him the full history. An earlier version of myself would have jumped at the opportunity to dump a sale on someone stupid enough to not do their research, but now… I guess now, I just want to be a better person. I know exactly who to thank for that change.
“Yeah?” comes the gruff voice on the other end of the line. No hello, no greeting. That’s fine by me. That will only make this call quicker so I can get back to my woman.
“Wilder? This is Kingsley Bowman, and I just received your email about the plot up in the Smokies. I just wanted to–”
“I’ll pay over the asking price,” he grunts. It’s almost like each word hurts him. Or maybe he’s just out of practice with talking. I can relate, though I’m getting better.
