Page 14 of Vicious Kingdom (Dynasty of Queens #3)

T he last time I saw him, I was tipsy. Then I got plastered. I spent two days in bed, and when I emerged, I couldn’t find Leo if my life depended on it. The attempts at an accidental run-in were a complete failure. Now, here he was.

“What in the hell was that? Are you trying to kill me?” Leonardo shouted, his voice cracking.

Ignoring his outburst, I waved my hand dismissively at him as I passed.

My focus locked onto the ball, I dashed toward the sand.

I pounced. The ground, treacherous and shifting beneath me, betrayed my feet.

My momentum was relentless, and in a desperate attempt to regain my balance, I overcorrected.

And pitched gracelessly into the sand.

Agony shot through my ankle, a piercing scream of protest as it twisted harshly at an unnatural angle.

Shit.

The pain was sharp and unmistakable, a searing reminder of my recklessness.

When Serena and I tried gymnastics in middle school, I fell after an overly enthusiastic vaulting pass.

That same ankle was badly sprained, to the point the physical therapist suggested surgery, and it cut my hopes of being an Olympic gymnast to shreds.

The same pain radiated through my ankle now.

Rolling onto my bum, I sat in the sand, breathing hard. Worse than the damage to my body was the knowledge that Leo saw the whole thing. I risked a peep in his direction.

“Stalking me is a touch pathetic, don’t you think?” Leo snapped, standing like a god of vengeance at the edge of the sand trap.

He was wrong. I wasn’t at the Providence Club for him. Did it just so happen that my new hobby lined up with his schedule? It seemed that way. But having him see me make an idiot of myself on the fairway wasn’t a good part of the plan.

“I’m not stalking you.”

“Bull.”

“I’m not!” I swung my arm wide, and since I was still holding my club, albeit in a loose grip, the driver flung wide. It escaped my hands, sped through the air, and—

Leo dodged.

“Shit! Sorry!” I gasped.

He glared at me. Black wrath dripped from his aura.

“Fine, don’t believe me,” I panted. “But I warned you that we were going to run into one another. So if anyone is doing the stalking this morning, it’s you.”

Leo scoffed.

I pointed a finger at him, ignoring the throb in my ankle. “Hey! I’ve been at the driving range at dawn every morning for the last two week and then stay out here for a game of golf. I’m trying to improve myself.”

My mother’s words, not mine.

I could have been a great gymnast, throwing myself over the equipment and gracefully taking gold. But things that required inanimate objects like volleyball, tennis, and golf? I gave the Three Stooges a run for their money.

“A likely story,” Leo snarled. “You overheard my conversation the other night, and here you are with another lie on your lips.”

I sighed dramatically. What he didn’t know was that this was one place I didn’t have to stage a run-in. I had been here every day. When I overheard them, because I did, I didn’t have to adjust my plan or do anything out of the ordinary.

“Believe what you want then, but stop thinking about my lips,” I snapped, struggling to my feet.

The moment I put weight on the ankle, the tendons and muscles screamed in protest. I shuffled to the ball, hiding the limp in the shifting soil. But after plucking the ball, I had to walk on the turf.

Not while he watched.

So I stopped and gave him a stormy look. “If I annoy you so much, why are you still down here, talking to me? Go finish your game, Baldwin.”

He held my gaze for another terrible heartbeat before pointedly dropping to my ankle. “How bad?”

My heart did a teeny-tiny patter. “It’s not,” I said flippantly.

“Mhmm, then come pick up your club.” He pointed to where the stick lay after it nearly beheaded him.

Clenching my jaw tight, I forced my steps to resemble something akin to normalcy. Each movement was agony. A sweat broke over my face, and my breaths were raw bursts. Somehow, I managed five feet before I stopped.

“See, I’m fine,” I said through my teeth.

Snarling something vicious under his breath, Leo bent, collected my club, and then straightened to advance on me.

“Hey, what are you—Wait—” I squealed.

But the next second, I was in Leo’s strong arms. I braced my hands on his shoulders and chest as he began to climb the slope. The muscles rippled from the exertion, but he held me tightly. That same, blinding electricity crackled, burning my touch with the sweetest invitation.

Lord…. He smelled so good. Spicy and sharp, with a healthy dose of masculinity. I focused on his throat, watching it move with each breath, and not daring to look up to see the hard cut lines of his jaw…or worse, his eyes.

“Where’s your caddie?” he growled when we reached my cart.

“Don’t have one.”

His grip on me seemed to tighten. “So no one to corroborate that you weren’t here just to spy on me?”

“Don’t give yourself airs.” I pushed against him, even though I wanted more than anything to stay in his arms. He let me down, but didn’t drop his grip. Not yet.

Leo squatted, his touch grazing down the length of my thighs. His hand was bandaged, but it moved with a surprising fluidity given that it’d been crucified with a nail just a few days ago.

Ever so gently, Leo brushed the tip of his fingers over my already swelling ankle. “This needs ice.”

My heart shuddered.

He lingered there for a moment, bent and tender. But when he rose, the mask of cruelty was back in place.

I steeled myself against his stare. “Look, if you must know, I’m terrible at golf. The caddies draw lots to chaperone me around, because I’m such a handful. So I don’t use them.”

Which was completely fine with me. I didn’t want anyone to watch me struggle at a leisurely sport I would never be good at. It was embarrassing enough to be the laughing stock of the caddies, I didn’t need them constantly reminding me how bad I was.

Leo shadowed me as I climbed into the cart. His hands flexed and fisted at his sides. I contemplated offering him a towel to wipe them on, if he really detested touching me so much.

I won’t let that get to me.

He’d carried me out of the sand trap for crissakes.

“They refuse to service you?” Baldwin demanded.

Surprised, I blinked up at him. My brain took his words a completely different way than he intended, and I had to bite back a dirty response he no doubt wouldn’t find funny.

“Yeah, but they’re just a bunch of jackasses,” I blurted out, realizing too late that I just threw them under the bus.

Leonard shook his head slowly, as if I were hopeless. “Move.”

His firm command startled me into immediate action, and I scrambled across the bench seat.

It wasn’t like him to help. I half expected him to dump me on the grass.

But there he was, climbing behind the wheel, filling the seat I’d just vacated.

He pressed the gas hard. The cart shot forward.

His presence seared me—and we weren’t even touching!

He was actually sitting here, right next to me.

My pulse raced. I clung to the metal armrest, bracing myself as we careened recklessly onto the paved path, whizzing past the green.

“Take a caddie next time,” he demanded, his voice cutting through the roar of the tires on asphalt. I rolled my eyes, but he caught the gesture. “I’m serious,” he snapped, never once slowing down.

“I’m fine, Baldwin,” I insisted, my voice barely above the noise of the wind.

“Clearly.” His sarcasm was biting as he nudged my ankle with the toe of his shoe. I winced, and my molars clenched tight as I struggled to hide the pain.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” I feigned confidence, even as the words sounded hollow in my own ears.

“Something already did,” he countered immediately, his tone leaving no room for argument.

If I focused hard enough on the words, it almost sounded like he cared.

The cart stopped in front of the service building where the caddies milled about, cleaning or fixing carts, prepping equipment, and organizing their schedules.

“You.” Baldwin pointed the end of his club at one of the men. “Ice pack. Now!”

The caddie tripped over his feet as he scrambled to obey.

“Tomorrow morning, I want you fighting over the privilege to escort this woman around the greens. You’re to be attentive, and if one hair on her head is out of place, you’ll have me to answer to. Understood?” he snapped.

The caddies standing around us nodded as one.

The king spoke, the commoners listened.

I debated slamming my club into his thick skull. “I said, I don’t want to be watched.”

His gaze thinned as he turned to me.

Garh! He was so angry! But then…he carried me. Drove me here. Tended my ankle! The man was a walking contradiction.

The icepack bearer arrived a moment later, breaking the tension.

Leo snatched it from the red-faced man, cracked it three times, and then reached for me.

His fingers were hard, his touch gentle.

He plucked my foot, laying it along the length of the bench seat, before draping the freezing plastic container over the throbbing muscle.

I stared at his hands, those powerful, ruthless hands that could crush a man’s windpipe—now tenderly positioning an ice pack on my ankle. The gentleness made my heart flutter traitorously in my chest.

“You don’t need to do this,” I muttered, hating how breathless I sounded.

“Clearly I do, since you’re determined to injure yourself at every turn.” His voice was gruff, but his fingertips lingered against my skin a moment too long.

Something warm and dangerous unfurled in my stomach. I needed to get a grip. This man had made it abundantly clear he thought I was nothing but a nuisance, yet here I was, melting at his touch.

“I can take care of myself,” I insisted, even as I fought the urge to lean into his warmth. My body wasn’t sticking to the plan. It was going to take time to win him over. Slowly. Over the course of many chess moves.

“How’s your hand?” I changed the topic, brushing the tip of my finger over the bandage.

He snatched it away. “Do me a favor?” he rumbled.

That low, throaty sound made my heart patter. “Yes?”

“Stay out of trouble.” With that, he scooted from the bench seat.

“Leonard, wait!” I called out.

His shoulders stiffened, and he threw me a dark look.

I held his piercing stare, enjoying the shiver of having something so powerful yet so volatile focused on me. “Thank you.” I gestured to the pit and the cart. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Don’t kid yourself, I’m not in the habit of leaving damsels stranded. It’s nothing special,” he said, voice dripping with disdain.

I let him go, ordering myself not to crumple under his harsh words. He was angry. He hadn’t spent the last five years longing for me, instead the separation let the situation fester. Any animal—human or beast—lashed out when they were hurting.

And I hurt him…badly.

“I forgive you,” I whispered to his retreating form. Damn me, but I always would. There was nothing he could say that would make me hate him. “I’ll give you time, but never space.”

No, there was no going back. I would be strong, let his words roll off me like the grains of sand until they stopped being so rough, so coarse—so spiteful.

Because deep down, he cared. I felt it once, I’d tasted it with every sense.

And I would move heaven and earth to unbury those feelings he tried to keep locked away for his own protection.