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The saleswoman’s scowl turns into a smile, and I know she’s thinking about the commission she’ll take home from this sale. “That’s one lucky girl,” she says with a wink.
“I’m by far the luckier one,” I tell her, unable to keep the sappy smile off my face.
We exchange the customary holiday wishes, and I head out to the car, waiting for my Clementine. Before she arrives, I quickly call Ben and relay the plan to him. He’s far too excited about the romantic gesture, but I suppose that’s a good thing. He loves shopping, and I told him if he could find the perfect shoes and jewelry, he could also get something from the store.
I assume his squeal of excitement is confirmation that he’s up for my plan. I hope Clementine likes her surprise.
8
CLEMENTINE
Kingsley has been my chauffeur all day, and I won’t lie; a girl could get used to this treatment. He’s taken me to every boutique, catering company, and rental store I’ve asked him to, and he’s been attentive, sweet, and unbearably sexy.
“Where next?” he asks as he joins me in the car.
Kingsley has been such a gentleman, helping me in and out of the car at each place we stop. It’s partially so he can touch me and make me tingly all over, but it’s also a protective gesture.
“That was the last stop,” I tell him, fidgeting slightly in my seat.
We haven’t discussed what happens now. I stayed the night with Kingsley, though in separate beds, and he hung out with me all day while I ran around and got everything ready for the party. Is he going to take me back to my apartment? The other residents and their drug habits haven’t changed since he refused to drop me off yesterday. That only leaves going back to his place, but I don’t want to assume…
“Perfect timing. You have a package waiting at home,” Kingsley says as he starts the car and glides into traffic effortlessly. Driving in the city seems terrifying, and I’m thankful I don’t have a car.
“How do you know I have something at my apartment?” I question. My stomach drops a little, knowing our time together is coming to an end.
Kingsley glances at me with a confused look and one brow raised. “I meant our home. My home, technically, but it’s yours now, too.”
His attention is back on the road, but I keep staring at him, trying to digest his words.Our home?
“Shit, was that obsessive? I can’t stand the thought of–”
“Thank you,” I whisper, placing my hand on his thigh.
Kingsley grips the steering wheel with one hand and places the other over mine. “I know we still have a lot to talk about, but I’m sure about this. Let me prove it to you.” He squeezes my hand, and I tighten my grip on his thigh. “Careful,” he warns. I smirk, sliding my hand further up his thigh. “Baby, it’s been a long fucking day of having your taste in my mouth and not being able to lay you out and do it all over again.”
“Well, who’s fault is that?” I tease, my heart racing in my chest. How is this man so irresistibly sexy and sweet at the same time?
“I have no regrets, only unfinished business,” he says smoothly, giving me a wink.
I giggle and roll my eyes, but I love seeing this playful, flirty side of him.
Before long, we’re pulling into the underground parking lot of Kingsley’s building. He helps me out like he’s done all day. But this time, he walks me backward and presses me against the side of the car, caging me in. I look up as he looks down, and our lips collide in an all-consuming kiss.
He dives into my mouth, stroking my tongue with his and making me moan softly. Kingsley rests his hand over my throat, lightly wrapping his fingers around it and causing a sharp, wicked desire to wash over me and pulse through my veins.
“So responsive,” he grunts, sliding his hand down my neck and chest until he’s cupping my breast.
I arch my back, pressing myself further into his grasp, showing him I want more. I want whatever he’s willing to give me.
One minute, he’s caressing my curves and winding me up tighter and tighter, and the next, he’s stepping away from me. I’m left sagging against the car and frowning at him. Kingsley smirks, and yup, it’s just as sexy as I thought it would be.
“First, your surprise. Then…” He trails off, but the look he gives me lets me know exactly what he’s thinking. Or at least, I hope.
“Fine,” I say exasperatedly, though he knows I’m mostly kidding.
We take the private elevator up to his penthouse,ourpenthouse, apparently, and sure enough, a large cream-colored box with a gorgeous red silk ribbon tied around it is waiting for me. Three red bags with matching cream tissue paper are artfully arranged around the box, which is clearly the centerpiece.
“Go on. Open it,” Kingsley urges.
