Page 61

“Kill me so you have less competition with Katherine.”
He barks a laugh and turns toward me, kicking a foot up behind him and holding onto it.Pretty fucking flamingo.
Tension cranks up another notch between us as our eyes lock.
“That’s not a terrible idea,” he says, then switches legs. The jerk doesn’t even lose his balance. Doesn’t he have any flaws?
That’s it. I’m hiring a personal trainer.
I straighten, hands on my hips, staring down at him. He really doesn’t have any flaws. At least not from where I’m standing.
“Mr. Rothburn!” I glance over my shoulder just as a man with a microphone starts running toward me.
“Fuck—”
My bodyguard intercepts the reporter, but he shouts his questions anyway.
“Are you worried your actions with Katherine Montgomery will hurt your company?”
Who the hell are these guys? They’re like cockroaches coming out of the woodwork. And every one that gets smashed turns into another.
“Come on,” King says, jerking me forward. We jog to our building, bursting through the door and across the lobby.
It’s our lucky day. The elevator is waiting for us and swoops skyward, leaving the craziness at the street level.
We lean back against opposite walls.
“I feel like a goldfish,” I murmur to the ceiling.
“In a really expensive fish tank,” he adds, eyes closed.
No kidding.
God. At the rate things are going, someone’s bound to start poking around and find out Alex lives with me. And while I don’t care if the world knows, he might. He’s far more private.
I don’t want the rumors to hurt him. The press can be ruthless.
The elevator levels out with a welcomingding. Kingston lets out a small sigh, stepping forward before the doors open, revealing the elegant foyer of Katherine’s apartment.
“Come on. Katherine will kick my ass if I break you.” He strides off like he owns the place, completely comfortable in his own skin. And there’s so much of it on display that I look everywhere but at him as I follow him through the apartment.
“Kick off your shoes and lay face down,” he says, snapping his fingers and pointing at her sleek sectional.
Why?
What the hell is he talking about?
He strides around to the TV console, opens a drawer, and pulls out a zippered case. “You don’t take orders very well, do you?”
It’s an innocent comment. An aside really. But it hits a target inside me that I haven’t addressed in a long time.
“Depends on who’s giving them.” I roll my shoulders, hating the uneasy feeling in my stomach. I spent too many years living by everyone else’s rules. I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend the rest of my life living for anyone but me.
King holds up a massage gun and works a head onto it. He lifts a brow, jerking his chin toward the sofa.
Frowning, I toe out of my shoes.
“Fine.” I sigh and lay down, trying to hide my relief. Wasn’t I a young buck yesterday?