Resurrected King - Kaye Blue Page 0,17

ate leftovers while standing over the kitchen sink.

Uncivilized, but at least I hadn’t just eaten a couple of cookies and had a glass of wine.

I didn’t need the cookies, and the wine would only put me to sleep, so I ate my grilled chicken and vegetables and then hopped into the shower, letting the hot water beat away some of the tension in my muscles.

Like always, the shower had a calming effect, and though I was still exhausted when I got out, I wasn’t wired up, felt almost calm.

It wasn’t quite eight when I started to wind down, but I didn’t care.

I went through my apartment looking for any last things that needed to be taken care of, and when I was satisfied there weren’t, I headed toward the bedroom, almost giddy at the prospect of lying down.

Was stopped dead in my tracks by a knock at the door.

Nine

Adora

If it was Howard, I was going to murder him.

A testament to how tired I was because I wasn’t usually quick to anger.

But now, the very idea of him coming up here when he knew how desperate I was for sleep had me enraged.

I stomped across the floor and pulled the door open without looking through the peephole.

“Howard—”

The words I’d been about to spit died in my throat when I locked eyes with the man who definitely wasn’t Howard.

His eyes were darker than they’d been earlier but still unreadable, the expression on his face placid, though I had no doubt his mind was working.

My throat went dry, and a low thrum started in my belly as I took him in.

In his suits, he was undeniably appealing, but now, dressed in cargo pants and a T-shirt that strained to contain his muscles, his physicality, his overwhelming masculinity, were impossible to miss.

Not that it changed my reaction to him.

I would take him how I found him, but in that moment, I decided I preferred him like this because in these clothes he seemed more real than he did in those outrageously expensive suits.

“Is this a bad time?”

His question reminded me that I was just standing there gawking at him, and after a moment, I flinched.

“No, it’s not,” I said. “Come in.”

He came in, and I closed the door behind him and looked at him curiously.

“Wait, how did you get up here?” I asked.

“The buzzer doesn’t work, and the security door is busted,” he said, the frown on his face something I certainly didn’t miss.

“I’ll have it taken care of.” I was simultaneously placating him and fighting back my annoyance once again.

Howard had assured me would fix the door weeks ago, but I had been too busy and unfocused to make sure he’d followed through.

“No. I’ll see that it’s repaired,” he said sternly.

That wasn’t his responsibility.

I wasn’t his responsibility.

But I didn’t want to argue.

Aside from the look on his face, one that told me he would brook no argument anyway, there was the simple fact that it was nice that he wanted to take care of that for me.

That he wanted to take care of me.

I knew he was simply being polite, acting the caretaker that I sensed was a part of who he was, but I still felt soft and tingly all the same.

A feeling I swore I wouldn’t indulge, though I wanted to, and badly.

“Well,” I said, becoming self-conscious after a few more seconds when I realized I was in my pajamas, which consisted of basketball shorts and a tank top.

I could go change, but that would probably call more attention to me than pretending I was dressed, so I went with that, ignoring the way my unrestrained breasts moved, hoping that my nipples weren’t too visible under the tank.

“Wait a second!” I said, remembering something that would distract me from my awkwardness.

I went to my bedroom hurriedly and returned with the hundred dollar bill clutched in my fingers.

“I think you dropped this,” I said, extending the bill toward him.

“What makes you think that?”

“The fact that I found it under the plate you were eating off of.” I quirked a brow, practically daring him to contradict me.

He did, brazenly so.

“You must be mistaken. Someone else left that.”

“Mikhail, no one else left a hundred dollar tip,” I said, looking at him skeptically.

He shrugged. “What do you want me to say? It’s not mine.”

Again, he spoke sternly, spoke in a way that made it impossible for me to push.

So instead, I smiled and shook my head.

“A pretty bold play.”

His expression said he agreed with me,