The Rebel King (All the King's Men Duet #2) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,68

and glances down at her shoes. “But I’m . . . um, flexible. I can stay for a while if—”

“Stay.” I can’t spend another night alone in my bed upstairs, thinking about Owen sleeping across the hall when we were kids. “I’ll call.”

She nods and we leave the library, nearly colliding with my father in the hall. For a few frozen seconds, the four of us stand in silence stretched over barbed wire.

“I should, well . . . get going,” Lennix says, looking to my mother. “It was very nice meeting you, Mrs. Cade.”

“Nice meeting you, too, Lennix,” Mom replies, taking her hand and patting it. “Next time under better circumstance, I hope.”

“Yes.” Lennix looks up at my father. “Mr. Cade.”

“Ms. Hunter,” Dad replies neutrally.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, laying my hand at the base of her spine.

“No, it’s fine.” She turns to face me and tips her head toward the dining room. “You still have guests.”

“I’ll call you.” I bend to press a hard, quick kiss on her lips, not caring what my parents make of it, and reluctantly let her go.

30

Lennix

Maxim called an hour ago to say he was coming, and my heart has been in hummingbird wings mode ever since. It’s not eagerness. I mean, I am looking forward to seeing him, but “eager” is too bright for this dense darkness we’re living through. There’s a sobriety to every second, no escape from the startling new reality that Owen is gone. It’s not eagerness as much as need, a hand clenched around my heart.

I’m in the bedroom when I hear three quick raps at the hotel suite door. My sweatshirt and yoga pants don’t exactly scream come hither, but I was exhausted after dealing with the press, and the initial stages of dismantling the campaign have drained me. My appearance is the last thing Maxim will care about.

I speed walk to the door, but stop with my hand on the knob, giving myself a beat to calm down. Anticipation sings along my nerve endings. A rapid thump thump of my heartbeat fills my ears and my palms are actually sweating.

When I open the door, my heart collapses at the sight of him. Maxim’s handsome face is almost haggard. His eyes, tortured. I marveled at his composure during the funeral service, delivering Owen’s eulogy without breaking down. And at the reception, he stood with his usual strength, though obviously emotional and grieving, but the man in front of me is held together with ropes close to snapping.

“Maxim, hey.” I open the door wider for him to come in. The security guy who wanted to follow me on my jog stands in the hall. “Oh, hi.”

“Ms. Hunter.” He nods, his expression giving away nothing.

Maxim strides in past me.

“Is he, um . . .” I keep my voice low and tip my head toward the hall. “. . . staying out there?”

“Yeah. That’s okay?”

“Of course.” I walk over and grab a chair from the hotel’s tiny dining nook and drag it to the door.

“So you won’t have to stand,” I say, pushing the chair toward him.

Surprise flicks over his face before he carefully stows it away behind the straight line of brows and an unsmiling mouth. “Thank you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Rick, ma’am.” He slides the chair out into the hall and closes the door.

I turn my attention to Maxim. Outwardly, he’s as put together as usual, the navy blue sweater clinging lovingly to the sculpted muscles in his arms and back and chest. The slacks are well-tailored and crisp. There’s no slump to his broad shoulders. He stands as straight and powerful as usual, but I’ve never seen Maxim unsure. He always knows what he wants, what comes next, and where he’s headed. This is the first time I’ve seen his compass spinning.

I cross the room and wrap my arms around him, laying my head on his shoulder. “How ya doing, Doc?”

His chest rises and falls against me with a deeply drawn breath. “Not good.”

“I know.” I tighten my arms around him and blink at the tears stinging my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

He kisses my hair and rubs my back. The pressure of his hands on me feels so good, I huddle closer, needing him, too. He dips to scatter kisses over my cheek and jaw. Cupping the back of my neck, he drags his lips to my ear.

“Nix, I . . .” he rasps. “I need to fuck you.”

My breath catches and I start trembling, the anticipation I felt