Page 19 of Immoral (Park Avenue Kings #3)

DIMITRI

B ENOIT WASN’T IN the bed when I woke up the following morning.

It was rare I slept more than a handful of hours, but I was finding I fell into a deeper, longer sleep the more time with him passed.

It was unnerving, especially considering I hadn’t heard him leave the room.

I was usually so hypervigilant that any shift, any movement, should’ve alerted me.

Where had he ventured off to?

I checked the time and tossed my bag on the bed before packing up the clothes we’d left strewn all over the floor. We’d be arriving in Venice soon, and I wanted eyes on Benoit before the doors opened.

Not that I was worried about his slipping away. Though it wasn’t like he was chained here. I was positive he was enjoying his time with me so far, and I’d definitely made it worth his while.

Ignoring the niggling thought in the back of my mind, I zipped the bag shut, leaving it with the many others Benoit had brought for the trip. He wasn’t a man who went anywhere without ten pieces of luggage at the very least, so the idea of his vanishing was laughable.

Although I wouldn’t put it past any other passengers who caught a good look at Benoit to shoot their shot with him. The man from the bar had certainly been keen to take him somewhere alone.

Fuck, that had pissed me off. Not the fact that anyone else would be tempted by Benoit, but because I was annoyed by it. The sliver of jealousy making its way through me tasted bitter on my tongue, and that was it.

I’d started for the door when it opened suddenly. Benoit swept into the room, grinning broadly when he saw me, and then called out to the guards over his shoulder, “No need to worry, boys—the sleeping monstre has awoken from his slumber.”

He gave them a little wave before shutting the door, and I narrowed my eyes.

“Where have you been?”

“Oh, you know. Making my rounds with all the men over twenty-one before we leave.” He paused, waiting for me to respond, maybe laugh, but I only scowled.

Shaking his head, he moved in close, curling his finger into the waist of my pants and tugging me in. He brushed his lips against mine and said, “I’m only teasing, mon monstre . You were sleeping so hard I thought I’d grab us a bit of breakfast to go.”

He held up the paper bag with a flourish, grinning proudly. I hadn’t even noticed he’d been carrying anything, which was another mark on my get-it-the-fuck-together list.

I must’ve still been glaring, because Benoit’s smile faltered a little. It was so brief that I thought I’d imagined it, because then he reached into the bag and held up a pastry.

“I thought a delicious pain au chocolat would put at least a hint of a smile on your face. Are you trying to prove me wrong this morning?”

The flicker of jealousy that had ignited my temper burned out at his offering, followed by a feeling I wasn’t used to: guilt.

I was so quick to jump to conclusions. To believe the worst. But that was my way, how I’d grown up and been trained. Strike first, ask questions later.

Benoit wasn’t the enemy, though.

So calm the fuck down and eat the damn pastry.

I lowered my head and took a bite of the croissant he held, keeping my eyes on his as the chocolate melted in my mouth. It was still hot, like it’d just come out of the oven, and perfectly crisp on the outside.

“Almost as delicious as me,” Benoit said with a smirk.

“Not even close.”

As I lifted my head, he ran his finger along the edge of my mouth, where a bit of chocolate had escaped, and then painted his lips with it.

“Care for another taste?”

Wrapping my arm around his waist, I hauled him against my body, a surge of possessiveness overtaking all rational thought, licking and sucking, diving into that delicious mouth that had no business being as sweet as it was with such a sinful tongue.

Benoit’s hum of approval vibrated against my lips as he wrapped his arms around my neck, our bodies pressed so close together that nothing could get through.

“Now this is a much better greeting,” he murmured. “Next time I’ll paint my whole body in chocolate so you can go wild.”

“Why do I have a feeling you’d actually do that?”

“Because you know I would.” Benoit nipped along my jaw as I lowered him back down to the ground. “And you’d enjoy every single inch.”

“I look forward to it. But it’s going to have to wait,” I said, as the train eased to a stop and a voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing our arrival at a station. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”

THAT “SOMEWHERE TO be” was Venice, Italy, a city I’d traveled to for work on several occasions. While I’d never gotten a chance to fully enjoy all it had to offer, with Benoit maybe I’d at least dip a toe in.

But as we stepped off the train, it wasn’t a mild, sunny day that greeted us, but a thick fog along with a chill coming off the Grand Canal. While it wasn’t the several feet of snow we’d left in Prague, it was still a gloomier welcome than I’d anticipated.

Benoit lifted his sunglasses and squinted. “ Are we in Venice? I can’t tell.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. With the view obscured past the few feet in front of us, we could’ve been anywhere.

I didn’t like not being able to see. It made my hackles rise, my defenses go up as I scanned the perimeter. My guards moved in front of us, keeping the train at my back, and directed the staff to load our bags into the private water taxi we’d hired.

The taxi I couldn’t even fucking see.

“I suppose I’ll have to put away my skimpy little swimsuit,” Benoit said with a pout, sliding the sunglasses back down onto his face. “What a shame.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“You think you deserve another show, huh? Want to take my briefs off with your teeth this time? I won’t complain.”

As stoic as my guards usually were, that comment had one of them pressing their lips together to keep from reacting.

“There goes that mouth again.”

“Want to shut it up?”

“I want you to get in the taxi so we can get moving.” I glanced around us, checking all sides before returning my attention to Benoit. “We’ve been stationary too long.”

He gave a nod and moved to take the hand of the taxi driver waiting to help him on.

Minutes later we were off, after being informed it would take a half-hour or so to get to our hotel—something that would’ve been enjoyable if I could see more than a couple of feet on either side of me.

As it was I was struggling to see the driver, so the quicker this trip up the canals was over, the better.

For the first time since I’d met him, Benoit sat quietly beside me, my mood clearly projecting the seriousness of the situation I found myself in. It was times like this that I often wondered what it might be like to have a normal job, like…a teacher.

“Five minutes out, boss.” Omar’s voice cut through my concentration as the taxi turned and started to slow, making its way under a bridge and finally pulling up at the dock of the St. Regis Hotel.

My men jumped out first and started to help unload the baggage, as my guards walked up the dock and made sure everything was secure. The second I got the signal, I turned to Benoit, who remained unusually quiet.

“Time to go,” I said, and gestured to the steps that led off the taxi.

Benoit got to his feet, but put a hand on my arm, his eyes locking on mine. “Do you ever just sit back and…relax?”

“No.”

His lips twisted. “Because?”

I looked over my shoulder, my paranoia kicking into high gear as we stood there. “Because people like me can’t afford to.”

“People like you?”

Not about to stand here a minute longer, I led Benoit over to the waiting driver to exit the boat. “Bad people.”

Benoit’s feet faltered, and then he stopped and turned to look up at me.

God. Why won’t he just get off the damn boat?

“You think you’re bad?”

“You don’t?” Jesus, I must be going fucking soft if that was the case. “Are you forgetting why you’re here?”

“ Non. I’m here because I want to be.”

“You’re here because I paid you to be.” My response was more curt than I would’ve liked, but I was tense, and flirting with Benoit wasn’t at the top of my agenda right now.

Benoit gave a sugary-sweet smile as he patted my arm. “Believe what you like, mon monstre. But I don’t do anything unless I want to.”

He let go of me and turned to the driver, then took the man’s hand and went to climb out of the boat. But as he lifted his foot, the toe of his boot got caught on the edge and he stumbled into the man’s arms instead.

The two fell back several steps, until the driver finally caught his feet, and when Benoit righted himself on the dock, a litany of apologies flowed from his lips—in Italian.

“Mi dispiace tanto, signore. Le mie scuse. Il mio piede è rimasto incastrato e ho perso l’equilibrio. Non sono mai così sbadato. Sono così imbarazzato.”

Just how many languages did Benoit know?

“Non c’è problema, signore. Stai bene?”

“Yes, yes. I’m all right. Just slightly mortified.” Benoit swallowed, and forced a small smile as he looked at me. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Yet I clearly did. How is it you can manage to walk in five-inch heels but trip off a dock in flats?”

“Umm, it’s foggy. I didn’t see?—”

“The boat?”

“Okay.” Benoit put his hands on his hips. “Do you think you could maybe take a little less joy in making fun of me, and maybe be a gentleman and help me the rest of the way up the dock?”

I reached for his arm and slipped it through the crook of my elbow. “Better?”

“Much.”

“Very good. Then let’s go.” We started up toward the hotel where my guards waited. “Tell me, how is it you know so many languages?”

Benoit’s feet faltered slightly and he grabbed my arm a little tighter. “Sorry, still a little unsteady on my feet.”

“No problem,” I said, and stopped, turning to face him. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

Benoit raised a brow, the clueless persona not suiting him one little bit.

“The languages. Where did you learn to speak them? And how many do you actually know? I’ve counted five now.”

Benoit licked his lips, then grinned. “I see you’re keeping a close eye on me.”

And he was still evading my question.

“Of course.” I took his chin in hand. “Why would I look anywhere else if you are in the room?”

“True enough.” Benoit closed the gap and pressed a kiss to my lips, the flirt in him re-emerging.

“And to answer your question, I know a little bit of many languages. Enough to get by, anyway. I started picking them up whenever I went to a new country to dance. It’s much easier to fit in when you can speak a little of the native tongue.

Plus, I found I had an aptitude for it.”

The response came easily off his tongue, and it definitely made sense. But as we stood there on the dock staring at one another, it was the first time I felt unease swirl in the pit of my stomach.

Maybe it was the fog. Maybe it was the fact I’d been standing on this fucking dock for about five minutes longer than I wanted to. But something didn’t feel right.

Or maybe some one .