Текст книги "King of Hearts"

Автор книги: L. H. Cosway

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Twenty

“You did?” I replied, my voice more air than sound.

“I think it was something about having you close, your smell, your warmth. We were sleeping just the same, but we were skin to skin.” His hand drifted across the table to mine, his fingers covering my fingers. I shivered, my throat growing tight with need. He stared at me so intently that I became self-conscious. It wasn’t often that someone looked at you like they were seeing every piece that was on the surface, as well as every piece that lay beneath.

Almost instinctively, my head drifted towards his, mere centimetres between our mouths.

“Don’t stop,” I breathed.

“You were beneath me, all soft and languid. I ran my hands from here,” he said, and touched a finger lightly to my temple before moving it down the side of my face, along my neck and chest until he reached the rise of my bosom. “To here.”

I let out a huff of a breath. “Is that all?”

King’s eyes sparkled as he slowly shook his head. His look, so carnal in its intensity, like he was vividly remembering the dream, got me wet. I let my head fall back against the seating, sighing heavily. “Life is so unfair.”

The very corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “How so?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, irritable and well, horny. “Don’t give me your demure little ‘how so’ – you know what exactly what I mean.”

“Alexis….” he began, his tone apologetic, but he was cut short when the waitress arrived with our meals. I didn’t know what to do – continue with the conversation or pretend it hadn’t happened? In the end I dug into my food, happy for the distraction. At least this way one of my hungers was being satisfied. King picked up his utensils and began to eat, too. There was something soothing about the quiet that ensued. It was a salve to the ache inside me that yearned for him.

When we were both finished eating, I sat back a moment, hesitating. Finally deciding to hell with it, I laid my head on his shoulder. I heard him suck in a breath at my move, but I couldn’t help it. I needed the contact. Tentatively, he lifted his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. The waitress came and asked if we’d like some dessert. I ordered a cheesecake for us to share, mainly because I wanted to prolong our time together, but also because, well, I wanted cheesecake.

Once she delivered it, complete with two spoons, King and I ate from either end of the slice. We kept taking glances at one another. It became so ridiculous that we both burst out laughing in the end.

King set his fork down and reached forward to cup my cheek. My laughter died away, my smile fading, as his eyes drank me in. “You’re so beautiful.”

“I’m old and fat,” I huffed self-deprecatingly. And look, I know I should have just accepted the compliment, but I was terrible with praise. Couldn’t handle it when people said nice things. When I was younger I might have given him a sassy, Aren’t I, though? But not now. Life had had its way with me. I wasn’t so bright-eyed and sarcasm-tailed anymore.

King frowned. “You are not old or fat. In fact, you’re somehow more beautiful now than you were before.”

“Maybe I just wasn’t very beautiful before,” I joked.

“That’s not true. You were stunning. I really shouldn’t have employed you. Even when I agreed with Eleanor that you’d be her replacement, somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was fucked.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Oh, come on.”

“I’m being serious,” he said, his voice lowering, his hand still at my cheek. “Sometimes we see someone and they just suit us. They’re beautiful to us in every way. You’re that person to me.”

Well. How was I supposed to reply to that? He’d always had a way with words, always knew exactly the right thing to say to melt my bones. It seemed in all these years he hadn’t lost that ability.

“You’re that person to me, too,” I finally managed to whisper in response.

King’s chest rose and fell sharply, a turmoil in his eyes. I knew exactly how he was feeling, because I was feeling it just the same. We wanted each other, but it was too soon. He wasn’t well, and I had to give him time to heal, to gain a level of stability. So I simply cuddled closer into him, and enjoyed what he could give me in that moment.

And it was enough.

***

The following day I had my assistant, Dara, cover for me for the afternoon so I could leave work early to go and see King. Our time together the previous evening had gone so well, and I was eager to spend more time with him. When I bumped into Matilda, she told me she’d seen him walking towards the gazebo, so I went in that direction. The place was crowded with people having lunch, a lot of hustle and bustle, and I couldn’t spot King at first.

Almost every seat in the place was taken, and as I scanned the heads, looking for his recognisable long blond hair, I spotted him sitting alone in the far corner. I got the feeling that most of the circus workers tended to avoid him. Making my way past the people, I saw that there was a meal in front of him. A dark-skinned man walked past, saw King, and pulled a small bottle of vodka from his coat. When he spoke, his accent sounded foreign.

“King, my friend, got a little something for you.” He placed the bottle down on the table, patted him on the shoulder, and walked off. King’s eyes went to the bottle, and I stood there, staring in disbelief at the man as he walked away. Did he not know that King was trying to give up drinking, or was he intentionally trying to sabotage him?

My skin began to prickle as worry coiled tight in my belly. King’s hand moved toward the bottle then stilled, his palm resting flat on the table. His jaw firmed, and his hand formed a fist. I forced my feet to move until I was standing before him.

“What are you thinking right now?” I asked, keeping my voice level as his eyes rose to meet mine.

He was momentarily surprised to see me there, but then he winced when he realised I’d witnessed him about to pick up the vodka. He looked ashamed. “I’m thinking that I really want to grab that bottle and down the whole fucking thing.”

“Why would that man give you alcohol?”

“His name is Pedro. We used to drink together a lot. I’m not sure he knows I’ve given up.”

“Right now you don’t look like a man who believes he’s truly given up. You look like a man who’s tempted.”

King let out a long breath, his mouth firming into a hard line. “Of course I’m tempted. This isn’t easy, Alexis.”

My gaze softened, along with my tone. “I know it’s not easy. I’m on your side, never forget that. But think about it this way – if you drink that bottle, you’re back to square one. If you don’t, you’re taking another step towards getting better. You want to get better, don’t you?”

His expression was fierce. “Of course. I don’t want to go back to how things were, but fuck, Alexis, I….” He took another mournful look at the bottle, clenched his fist again, and then abruptly shoved it off the table until it smashed onto the floor. The shatter caused a few people to look up from their lunches, but nobody said anything. King ran a hand through his hair and stared up at me, his eyes pleading, “Distract me.”

Taking a seat across from him, I dug into my handbag and pulled out my monthly planner. It was where I kept all my work appointments, because I preferred hard copy. From the inside of the leather cover, I pulled out the Polaroid I’d kept there for years. Often I’d take it out and just stare at it, remembering that day on the beach in Rome and how King had taken two pictures. I’d kept one, and he’d kept the other. I placed it down on the table and slid it across to him.

“Do you remember when you took this?” I asked gently.

King marvelled at the picture, picking it up carefully like he might damage it. “Yes,” he whispered.

“I love how you looked at me.”

His eyes flickered to mine. “I adored you.”

“And I adored you,” I replied with a sigh. “I still adore you.”

His throat moved in a way that made me think he had difficulty swallowing, and his brows knit together. Quite like me, he wasn’t used to accepting compliments these days. He placed the picture back down before rummaging in his pocket. My heart jolted when I saw he had the other Polaroid, the one of me in my swimsuit, smiling into the camera like I hadn’t a care in the world. Lille had mentioned it in her letter, saying how King would go crazy if anyone tried to steal it from him. It must have been just as much of a comfort to him as mine had been to me.

“I kept mine, too,” he said, a thread of sadness in his voice. “How funny that I’ve lost so many things over the years, have been so far gone that there are whole weeks I can’t remember, and yet I’ve always managed to keep this picture safe.”

A tiny silence elapsed before I replied thickly, “Maybe you didn’t want to forget everything. Maybe there were some memories you wanted to keep.”

His eyes found mine, intense and probing, “Yes, maybe so.”

***

Almost two weeks passed, and I arranged for my parents to have Oliver for a couple of nights. I didn’t like being away from him, but I needed the time with King. It was a critical period. He was making progress, and I felt like having me near was helping. That was only a tiny part of it though. After resisting the vodka, his own inner strength was beginning to shine through, his determination taking over. It was like when he was younger, and he’d work through the night in order to do the best job he could. That potent drive was returning, and he was using it in his quest to give up alcohol for good. Don’t get me wrong, he had a few worrying moments where he really, really wanted a drink, but with my help and the help of his friends, he managed to stay strong.

And strong was what he needed to be, because he was sick a lot during those two weeks. In fact, it was a horrible time. I’d been doing a lot of reading up on alcoholism, but it felt like every case was different. Successful recovery all depended on the individual.

Marina let us have lots of time in her camper. I tried helping King with his medicines and such, but he didn’t want me around for that. He even got a little cranky at one point, saying he was quite capable and didn’t need a nurse. It might have rubbed me up the wrong way if it didn’t make me so unbelievably happy. In fact, I was happier to have him do stuff himself than to rely on anyone else for help. Supporting himself meant he had a greater chance of succeeding.

Then the night of the concert came, and my stomach was doing somersaults the whole day leading up to it. I was scared that King would be pissed at me for tricking him, but I was determined to take the chance. The potential payoff was worth the risk.

Dressing up, I wore a dark blue body-con dress with black heels, and styled my hair into glossy curls. I wanted to look good for King. In fact, the anticipation of seeing him was almost too much. We hadn’t really touched since our dinner together in the restaurant, but there was always that energy between us. It was a little addictive.

I decided to leave my car at home and instead splash out on a taxi. This way I wouldn’t have to worry about finding a parking spot. I texted Lille as I sat in the back, having just given my makeup one last check in my vanity mirror. The driver gave me a sarcastic, “Yer gorgeous, lav.” Total cockney geezer. He reminded me of my dad’s friends. You know, the kind of blokes who can’t help making these annoying little comments, like, Smile, it might never happen. It was a real special kind of wanker who came out with that one.

Alexis: Be there in 5 mins.

Her response was instant.

Lille: Great. We’re all waiting outside.

My tummy started to roil with nervous tension as we pulled up outside the circus. I spotted Jack, Lille, and King immediately. All of them were dressed nice, but not as fancy as I was. I felt a bit embarrassed that I’d gone all out. Then they climbed into the cab, King sliding into the space next to me. He smelled clean, and his hair hung long over one shoulder. God, he was handsome. I clasped my hands together tightly.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Alexis,” he said, eyes dipping momentarily to my dress then back to my face. “You look beautiful.”

In that moment, all the effort became worth it. The word “beautiful” on Oliver King’s lips when directed at me was always worth it.

“Thanks.”

The taxi started to move. I’d already told the driver our final destination; that way, King wouldn’t know where we were going until we actually got there. He didn’t ask questions, and seemed content to simply sit next to me, our thighs touching, arms brushing whenever the cab went around a corner.

The area outside the Royal Albert Hall was busy, so King didn’t immediately recognise where we were. My heart was beating a mile a minute. And then, almost in slow motion, he glanced up and took in the location. I saw his throat move as he swallowed, and all the noise surrounding us seemed to quiet as I waited for his reaction. Jack and Lille were off to the side, hand in hand. Jack stood tall, watching King almost as closely as I was so that he could dive straight in if things took a turn for the worse.

King’s gaze came to rest on me, his brows drawn together in consternation. “Why are we here?”

My throat went dry. “Because we’re going to see a concert.”

The second the answer was out, he spun around, checking to see if there were any posters on display. There was a big one right next to the entrance, and his entire body grew still.

He didn’t turn back around as he spoke, emotion filling his voice. “I told you not to push this.”

“I only push because I care.” My words were uttered so quietly, I was surprised he heard them. Jack took a step forward, as though predicting King was going to fly off the deep end. He shot Jack a rather unfriendly glare.

“Leave it out, McCabe. I’m not an animal. I won’t make a scene.”

And then, without further ado, he walked towards the concert hall, determination in his gait. Jack, Lille and I all exchanged surprised glances before I hurried to catch up with him, fumbling for the tickets in my handbag.

I handed them to the attendant at the door, and he directed us to our section. We all bypassed the bar (obviously) and went straight into the hall. Our seats were on the ground floor, right in the middle. King hurried his pace and went ahead of us to take his seat. His posture was strung tight, his hands flexing into fists. I stood in the aisle and turned back to the others.

“Do you think he’s all right?” I asked them with worry.

“I think he’s trying to be,” said Jack.

His answer caused me to emit a long exhalation, and then I made my way to our seats. Taking the one beside King, I sat. He stared directly ahead at the empty stage, and I tried to make conversation.

“This venue is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Nothing.

“It’s funny that I’ve never actually come here before. I should make it more of a regular thing.”

Still nothing.

“Would you like anything to drink?” I asked, and then winced. “I mean, like water or orange juice or something.”

“I’m fine,” he finally said on a long exhalation.

“Oh, right, good.” I paused, glancing around. Lille and Jack were being just as silent as King, which wasn’t helping matters. I got the feeling neither one of them were the chatty kind, but it could just as easily have been the awkwardness causing them to flounder for something to say. All of a sudden, my dress felt too tight, and my throat clogged with nervous tension.

“Well, I think I’ll go use the bathroom and maybe grab a programme before the concert starts.”

King glanced at me for a brief moment, nodded, then turned his attention to the stage again. I stood, making my way past him because lots of people had already taken their seats on the other end of the row. I did my best not to brush off him as I went, and then I hurried to find the ladies’. Once I got there, I really wanted to splash some water on my face, but couldn’t because it would ruin my makeup, so I settled for holding my wrists under the cold tap for a minute.

When I was done, I bought a programme and hovered, browsing the selection of CDs available. Then the final call for the start of the concert was announced over the speakers, so I made my way back inside. I had to go by King again to get to my seat, and my heel caught on the toe of his shoe, causing me to trip backwards. His hands went to my hips to steady me and I pulled myself back up, apologising profusely. Once I was safely seated, his hand squeezed my knee, the affectionate gesture surprising me. I was even more surprised when he leaned close to my ear and whispered calmly, “Relax, Alexis.”

My skin heated everywhere his breath touched, and he moved his hand away. I wished he’d leave it there. A moment later the concert began, the orchestra musicians taking their places on the stage. The pianist was the last to walk out, a woman in her thirties wearing a long black dress. The audience clapped for her, and then the conductor was standing by his podium, signalling the start of the concerto. The lights in the hall were dimmed, which made the gigantic room feel small somehow.

The second the pianist started to play, I had chills. With each stroke of the keys, she moved her body with a fierce elegance. It reminded me of that night in Rome, when King had played the same piece and I’d been fascinated by his talent and skill. The orchestra joined in after a couple of notes, and I was swept away with the music. It was so…passionate and consuming. Several minutes passed before I even thought to glance at King. He stared straight ahead, his hands resting on his thighs, but his eyes were glassy, his jaw clenched firm. I couldn’t tell if it was because he was angry or because he was trying to control his emotions.

Feeling brave, I reached out and slid my hand into his, our fingers intertwining. He didn’t push me away. Instead, he clenched my fingers tight, almost to the point of pain. He hadn’t heard music like this in a really long time, and I could tell it was having a profound effect on him. Hell, it was having a profound effect on me, and I knew nothing about classical music. There was just such beauty in the piece that it was hard not to let it capture your imagination.

Everything this man had been through flashed in my mind’s eye. The fear of his mother’s stalker. Thinking he’d killed him and then having his father come onto the scene, making it seem like he could fix everything, when really he was only going to make it worse. Bruce trying to force his way of life on King when he wanted no part in it. Making him bear witness to violence and crimes he could never wash from his memories. Blackmailing him for years. And then, the last straw when King finally snapped and almost killed his father. Running away and leaving behind everything he worked so hard to achieve because he thought he was a murderer.

The music continued, and before I knew it, the concerto had come to an end. When the audience rose in a standing ovation, King jumped up from his seat, hurriedly making his way out of the hall.

“Where’s he going?” Lille asked, but I could only give her a blank stare. I had no clue, but I knew I needed to follow him. I pushed my way out, spotting him a couple of yards ahead of me. It was hard to keep up with his long strides, especially since I was wearing heels and had considerably shorter legs.

“King,” I called out. “Where are you going?”

I didn’t expect him to answer, but then he responded loudly over his shoulder, “I have to…I have to go somewhere.”

I couldn’t seem to catch up with him, so I pulled out the ballet flats I always kept in my handbag (I was practical like that) and quickly swapped them out with my heels. Finally catching up, I grabbed his elbow.

“King, will you wait a second?”

He didn’t stop. “I just need to walk, okay? You don’t have to come.”

I steeled my resolve. There was no way I was leaving him alone right then. “I’m coming.” Little did I know I’d come to regret that decision when we’d walked for over an hour, and my feet felt like they wanted to crawl away from my body and die. King didn’t seem to be walking in any random direction, though; I sensed he had a destination in mind. It became apparent that was the case when I recognised his old apartment building in the distance.

“Your old place,” I said, winded. Yeah, I definitely needed to work out more and, I don’t know, eat more carrots or something. I was in worse shape than King, who was overcoming an addiction and some serious illnesses to boot. It was kind of ridiculous. Damn you, cake! I inwardly groaned.

We’d just reached the entrance to the lobby when King turned back to me, his eyes fierce as he took me in. “Are you all right?”

I waved away his concern sheepishly as I tried to catch my breath. “Yep, that walk was just a little more, uh, vigorous than I’m used to.”

The fierceness quickly fled his expression as his lips shaped into something akin to amusement. He didn’t comment on it, though, and his expression sobered soon after. He turned back around, walking toward the door and holding it open for me. We stepped inside, and the night doorman pulled out his earphones, eyeing us curiously.

“I’ve lost my keys,” King announced with authority, and the doorman frowned.

“I’m sorry. I don’t recognise you. What number is your apartment?”

“Twenty-two. The top floor. My name is Oliver King.” The way he said it gave me a little shiver of awareness. This was the first time since I’d found him that he’d so confidently stated his name, like he had regained a sense of his identity. It felt monumental, made my heart thump hard.

The doorman’s eyes widened. “Oh, you mean the penthouse? Do you have any identification?”

King’s expression darkened in annoyance, and I suddenly remembered that I had keys. Elaine had asked if I’d drop by and check on things a few weeks ago, and had given me her spare set. I’d completely forgotten to drop by, of course, and the keys were still sitting safely in the inside pocket of my bag. I quickly began to dig for them before pulling them out triumphantly.

“Ah! Crisis averted. I found the keys,” I declared, jingling them in the air. King shot me a perplexed look, and the young doorman appeared relieved to be able to avoid further disturbance. Whatever he’d been listening to on those headphones, he seemed eager to get back to it. I faked a confident tone.

“Come on, honey,” I said, holding my hand out to King. “Let’s get going. I’m exhausted.”

He stepped forward and took my hand as I led him toward the lift. Once we were safely on board, King turned to face me. “Honey?”

I shrugged. “I was aiming for casual.”

His lips twitched in amusement again. “You have the keys for my apartment?”

“Your mum gave them to me. She wanted me to stop by and check on things. Make sure the plants got watered.”

“I never had any plants.”

I made a weird sound in the back of my throat. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

The doors to the lift pinged open, and there was a beat of silence where King just stared at me. I both loved and hated his stares in equal measure. I loved them because they made me want him. And I hated them because they made me want him.

He made his way out of the lift, and I followed. When he reached the door, he stood and waited for me to open it. I did so quietly and he hurried inside, going straight to a drawer and pulling out a pad of paper and a pencil. I found it fascinating that he remembered exactly where he’d left things. Then he went to his piano, which sat by the large panelled window that looked out onto the river. I watched as he sat down and opened the lid, revealing the keys. He ran his fingers over them, feather light, as though saying hello to an old friend.

I watched him with rapt attention. His face rose, and I noticed he was staring at something. Following his gaze, I saw it was fixed on the drinks cabinet on the other side of the room. Elaine hadn’t known about King’s alcohol abuse, so obviously she’d never thought to clear out the cabinet. King was still staring at it when he spoke, his voice strained. “Can you empty all those bottles down the sink, please?”

“Sure,” I said, slightly flustered, and hurried over. As quick as I could, I removed the bottles and carried them to the kitchen, where I promptly poured their contents down the sink. I was a mixture of nervous and triumphant, because the way in which King stared at the bottles was nerve-wracking, but the fact that he’d told me to empty them meant his strength had won out. Once it was all done, I turned back around and gave him a firm nod. King’s body sagged in relief, and he shot me a stoic look in return before his attention was back on the piano.

I suddenly became aware of my sore feet, and I just knew I had a bunch of blisters from the long walk. Why the hell hadn’t I suggested getting a taxi? Or even catching a tube? I’d been so anxious, so worried about how the concert had affected him, that my brain didn’t seem to be working like usual.

Seeing that the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar, I left King to his own devices as I stepped inside and slipped off my shoes. Just as I thought, my feet were red and raw from the walk, the edge of the flats having dug into the backs of my ankles and the sides of my toes.

The place was spic and span, courtesy of Elaine’s upkeep. In fact, there wasn’t a hint of dust or mildew in sight. Perhaps she’d always known her son would come back here one day. I made my way over to the large corner tub and filled it with a couple inches of water, just enough to soak my feet in. I ran the tap for a while, waiting for the water to heat up, and heard King press down on a couple of keys, testing. The piano must not have been in tune, because I heard him fiddling around with it for a while.

With the tub filled, I sank my feet into the warm water and practically groaned in relief. King started to play something, a melody I didn’t recognise, and I closed my eyes, savouring the sound.

He was playing.

I couldn’t believe he was playing. The song was sweet, and somehow reminded me of springtime. I wanted to go inside and watch him, drink in the skilled movements of his body as he created something close to true perfection. But I didn’t move, just listened, afraid if I went inside, I’d break the spell.

The music stopped, and I heard him muttering something absently to himself. Then it started up again, stopped, started once more. I got the sense that he was either trying to remember something old or compose something new. Whichever it was, I had no intentions of interrupting. I laid my head back against the tiles, enjoying the relief of the water at my feet and the sound of the music in my ears.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the door to the bathroom creaked and King stepped in. I opened my eyes, glanced up, and saw him studying me. His eyebrow quirked upward.

“What are you….”

“My feet were sore,” I explained quickly.

“Oh,” he said. “I forgot you might not be used to walking.”

“And you are?”

Self-consciously, he scratched his head. “Sometimes, when the circus is on a break, I wander.”

His answer intrigued me. “You wander? Where?”

“Anywhere. I never really care where I’m going, so long as it’s somewhere different than before. Somehow, though, I always manage to find my way back.”

Something painful hit me right in the chest, as I comprehended what he was saying. “And when you wander,” I whispered, “where do you sleep?”

“On the streets.”

“Oliver,” I said, my voice wavering.

“You’re upset,” he stated.

“Of course I’m upset. You’ve been sleeping on the streets, and yet you’ve had this place here all along.”

“I told you, I stopped thinking of it as mine.”

“Well, you need to start again. Because this is your home.”

His face grew strained. “Alexis, I haven’t had a proper home, my own bed, in a really long time.” He paused, looked around, and gestured with his hands. “All of this is going to take a lot of getting used to.”

On one level, what he said irritated me. This place was his, for crying out loud. But on another level, I completely understood where he was coming from. The apartment was practically palatial, and everything in it was expensive and luxury. My own house was positively quaint compared to this penthouse.

My voice was quiet as I offered, “You can come and stay with me, if you like. My house is seriously tiny. It could be a way of phasing you in.” I shot him a smile, for a moment forgetting that he couldn’t come and stay with me until I told him about Oliver. I had to tell him about Oliver; I was just waiting for the right moment, which never seemed to arrive.

“I couldn’t impose on you,” he said, and walked to the rack to pull off a towel. He neared me, towel in hand, then knelt in front of the tub. I watched with rapt attention as he reached in and lifted out one foot and then the other, drying both with care. His thumb rubbed down the arch of my foot, applying just the right amount of pressure. I had to bite my lip not to groan, because it felt so good.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said, while at the same time not wanting him to stop. His eyes came to mine, and the towel fell away as he looked back down and started to examine my feet. Sucking in a harsh breath, he said, “You need to bandage these cuts.”

“They’ll be fine.”

He shot me a look of reprimand, and I shut my mouth.

“I think I used to keep a first aid kit in here somewhere,” he said, and looked in the cupboard over the sink. Sure enough, there was a white box inside. He pulled it out and began looking for antiseptic cream and Band-Aids.

“The song you were playing inside, it was lovely,” I said as he worked.

“Yeah, I was watching the woman play tonight, and I realised something.” He frowned, hands stilling on my foot.

“What was that?”

His gaze met mine. “That I was jealous.”

I didn’t know what to say, but then he continued talking. “I wanted what she had so badly, it was almost a physical type of pain. I’ve been away from real music for so long that I didn’t realise how much I needed it. It used to be my favourite thing, something I did to decompress. But now it feels like I can’t breathe if I don’t get it back.”