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“Thank you, Kingsley.”I smile and suppress my instinct to reply cheekily.
We exit the bungalow, he secures the door behind us, and I catch a deep intake of breath from him.
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve said to me since we began working together,” I remark, unable to keep my playful side at bay entirely.
He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly.“It’s a surprise to me too.”There’s no real edge to his voice, just a hint of amusement
7
Kingsley
As the day dawns, the raw beauty of this place is everywhere I turn.The golden sunlight dances on the lush greenery, casting enchanting shadows.But beneath that calm, an old soldier’s instincts stir.
Running ten miles every morning keeps me sharp, alert, and more importantly, sane.I decide to cool down with a walk, patrolling her villa.The undisturbed shutters hang low, and she's probably deep in sleep.The tranquility of the scene contrasts with the faint unease that gnaws at me, reminding me of the ever-present need to stay vigilant.
After a brisk shower, I step into my usual attire of black fitted cargo pants and a matching polo.I tuck my gun at the back of my pants and pull my shirt over it to conceal it.
Outside her room, anticipation mixes with duty.I knock loudly on her wooden door, the pungent bougainvillea flowers filling the air.
She opens the door with a whoosh, her auburn hair flying back like she’s in a hair care commercial.“Good morning, Kingsley.”
A smile beams across her pretty face, and her fleeting gaze lowers to my neck tattoos.I like the way she looks at them like shereallylooks at them.
“Good morning, Miss Slater.”
The silence that follows is charged.She holds the door open in a red strappy dress, cleavage out and creamy thighs.She breaks the tension, clearing her throat, ensuring my focus remains where it should.
Goddamn, Williams, get your shit together.
“Will you take me now?”she teasingly asks.What?Before my mind races down a dangerous path, she clarifies, “Into town, Kingsley.”
Holding back my thoughts, I manage to say, "Yes, of course.Let's go."My voice comes out gravelly, lower than I intended.
* * *
Their shopping?Jesus, fuck.It’s almost as intense as some operations I’ve been on.
In the heart of Sardinia’s shopping district, boutiques line the streets with displays of the season’s finest.The women—Rosie, Isabella, Victoria, and her mother, Tatianna—shuffle between stores, their laughter and enthusiasm painful.
Now, I’m standing in the corner at a high-end dress shop, holding the wall up like I have in all nine stores before this one.The interior of the store is awash with soft lighting, illuminating racks adorned with a myriad of colors, designs, and fabrics.
The women seem to really like this store, especially as their voices have shrieked an octave higher each time they pick up a new garment off the rack.Tatianna, however, appears thoughtful, her fingers delicately trailing over the silken fabrics, like she’s present but not really.I wonder if it has anything to do with last night’s dinner and the obvious strain between her and her husband and her husband and three children—Vincent, Julius, and Victoria.
After a short while, the curtain of a changing room whisks open, revealing Rosie in a scarlet evening number.She walks across the store to where Isabella emerges from the other changing room in a flowing azure gown.
“Oh my gosh, aren’t you both stunning!”Tatianna gushes when she motions for them to spin around.
“Kingsley?”I hear Miss Slater call from the changing room nearest to me.Her voice is muffled slightly by the curtain of her changing stall, so I peel my head around just enough so I’m not intruding.“Could you…” she hesitates for a fraction of a second, her eyes avoiding mine, “… help with the zipper?”
I can only see the top of her head and bare shoulders when I peer inside.The dress she is trying on hangs loosely, its zipper undone.
Goddamn, is there not anyone else who can do this?I exhale, then quickly walk inside the stall, reminding myself of the boundaries as I step inside.The cubicle is small, her scent everywhere, a mix of floral notes and something uniquely hers filling the small space.
My jaw ticks when her black lace bra that is hanging up comes into view.The delicate skin of her back is warm under my fingers, and for a brief moment, the world outside ceases to exist.Carefully grasping the zipper, the room becomes static with tension.The zipper slides up smoothly, sealing the dress against her form.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice soft and vulnerable.I can only nod, my throat suddenly dry.She turns and looks up at me.“What were you and Vincent talking about last night before dinner?”
I try not to look down at the curves of her breasts in my line of sight and focus on the question.
