Savage King Read online

  But it was very pleasant and pleasantly coordinated with the guy who wore it.

  This room belonged to him.

  This was his room, which meant this was his house.

  It hit me just like that.

  I’d assumed it belonged to the girl who’d opened the door for the other two girls I’d seen arrive at the house earlier. I thought he, this stranger with mystifying eyes, was just another guest, but he wasn’t.

  Instead, everywhere I stepped was his possession and that, combined with his taunting gaze, bothered me.

  I was not submissive by nature or if I had been, then life had beat that yielding child out of me. I wasn’t discontented with who I’d become. I was resilient in ways many weren’t.

  “Are you going to come in?” he asked.

  “I’m still debating.”

  An indistinct emotion lit up his labyrinthine irises. Even as his face remained flat I knew what was at work in his gaze. A knowing. He recognized my position by the door for what it was.

  Defiance.

  He settled my bag down on the rug by a bed that looked big enough to hold five men easily. It was held up off the floor by wooden legs a deeper shade than the floor and covered in a deep gray-blue duvet that looked like it felt like a cloud. He sank down onto the edge of bed.

  I looked at my bag. It seemed so far away as it sat on the rug that matched the pillows on the bed and a few other fixtures in the room.

  The space was calming.

  The owner was nerve wracking.

  “Come here.”

  I locked my legs together and forbade myself from obeying.

  Who did he think he was? “I want to talk to the housekeeper.”

  “But instead, you’ll talk to me.” He cut off my objection. “I’m actually interested in your product. I’ll buy it if it works.”

  The offer to prove myself was tempting. I actually believed in Laved Cleaners. They were new and the owner was ambitious. He was really good at motivating his teams and I wanted success for him, not just because he was a good buy but because the world needed what he had to offer.

  But the sale wasn’t worth the risk to my safety.

  He seemed to read my mind. “Look, there’s a spot on my rug that’s driving me insane.” A second of silence passed and he sighed, “Just walk me through it and I’ll do it myself.” He opened my bag and pulled out a refill bottle that was only for display. “Do I just open it like this?”

  “Stop. Don’t open that.” I’d have to pay for that bottle if he didn’t buy it. I rushed across the room. With every step, I watch his grin spread across his face. He tampered the expression by the time I reached him. Triumph made his eyes glow in a boyish, adorable way. It completely transformed his otherwise ominous features. I imagined him doing a mental victory lap. I wanted to hit him. The idiot almost cost me twenty bucks.

  He’d reeled me in just like he’d intended. My face was hot. I stopped about a foot away and snatched the bag from him. It wasn’t professional but I didn’t care.

  “Where’s the spot?”

  He pointed to a place on the other side of the rug. I walked over, glad to get away from him. I bent over and made sure my body was positioned so he could nearly see down my blouse or stare at my ass.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Where?”

  “You might have to get down on your knees to see it.”

  I snapped my head around and glared. I was not going to get on my knees in front of him. For one, I was in a skirt and two, my skirt was just a little tighter than it was when I bought it last year.

  “There’s nothing here.”

  He leaned on his elbows and knees. The posture said he was casual but the humor had died from his eyes.

  “Is this how you speak to all your clients? I say there’s a spot. Therefore, the spot exists. I don’t lie.”

  I could sense the final sentence went beyond his business dealings.

  “What’s the name of this company again?” he asked. “Laved Cleaner?” He grunted. “Maybe they should find associates with better vision.”

  My face stung. I’d never had this particular problem with a client, but then again I’d never had one who insisted on imperious either. “My vision is twenty-twenty.”

  He stood and walked over. He stopped nearly on top of me and descended. Briefly, I closed my eyes and then snapped them open as he lowered himself to his knees. That cocky grin was back. He knew I thought he’d been about to kiss me and that I’d have let him.

  It was yet another strike against this entire exchange.

  He folded himself on the rug. His every muscle moved with intention.

  I couldn’t shake his gaze. His handsomeness disoriented me to the point that even though he was forced to look up at me I didn’t feel any more powerful than I had minutes ago.

  How did he do that?

  He put his finger on the rug without sparing it a glance. “Here.”

  Anxious for the opportunity to look anywhere but at him, I examined the rug and saw what he was talking about. The spot was tinted a deeper shade than the rest of the rug and was about the size of a tea saucer.

  “How did it get there?”

  “My dog peed there a few years ago.”

  I managed to get to my knees and prayed the way up was smoother. Demonstrations were part of the job. I purposefully wore a skirt so people wouldn’t ask me to do their floors or bathroom. Usually, a customer would notice my outfit and go grab a stained shirt. We’d sit at a table and have a conversation that allowed me to build trust. Then I’d make the sale and leave.

  I could tell his guy, whose name I didn’t know and didn’t want to know, was a jerk. But jerks had been known to spend money and I was hoping to get his.

  “How old is the stain?”

  “Three years.”

  I smiled and dug into my bag. “It should come out. What kind of fabric is it?”

  “Hell if I know. You really think you can get a three-year-old urine stain out of it?” The surprise in his voice only excited me more. My blood was electrified.

  “Let’s make a deal. If I get the spot out, you buy a subscription.”

  “Deal.”

  He hadn’t even asked the price and if he didn’t haggle me down I’d make full commission. I was practically floating on air.

  I pulled the tester spray bottle out. “It’s $19.99 a month.”

  “Great, but if you don’t get the stain out, you have to do something else for me.”

  “Like remove a stain from a shirt?”

  “No, I mean something else entirely.”

  I focused on the spot on the rug like my next breath depended on it. Then realizing I was being a coward, I lifted my chin and met him head on. “Like what?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” he said dryly, but I wasn’t fooled. He wanted me and though I wasn’t against batting my eyes to tempt a buyer, I was not a whore.

  “No deal.” I sprayed the spot and watched the hue deepen from moisture. “The product sells itself. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe in it.”

  “I believe you.” Those words surprised me because they sounded genuine. “How long do we have to wait?”

  “You said the spot was three years old so we should wait thirty minutes.”

  He dropped his voice. “How should we pass the time?”

  There was a foot of distance between us but I had a feeling that I could be across the room and that still wouldn’t be enough to combat the desire I had to close the distance by crawling into his lap and letting him take me on the floor.

  He smirked. “We’d need more than thirty minutes for that.”

  I swallowed and looked away. I was being a coward and I didn’t care. “I could go find the housekeeper and you could get back to your party. I’d hate for you to miss it. We could reconvene.”

  “But I want to know about the product.”

  Was he serious? I didn’t know if he was bored and had decided to make fun of the poor sales girl or if h
e was trapping me here for another reason. What I did know was that past this little spot on the rug, he didn’t care about my product.

  In fact, the spot had been so hard to see that I was surprised he let it bother him at all. It was excessive.

  I looked around his room and realized everything was in a particular place. He’d even lined my shoes with his. “Do you really want to talk about the cleaner?” I asked.

  “No.” He smiled coolly. “We can talk about whatever you want to talk about.”

  Talking was the last thing on his mind but I took the bait.

  “How old are you?” I wanted to know the guy’s age more than his name.

  “Twenty-one. You?”

  He was officially a man, though I was sure he’d have been considered one long before he hit the drinking age. “I’m nineteen.”

  He held his hand out for the bottle. “Where do you go to school?”

  I like that he assumed I was in college. “West U. You?” I gave it to him, dropping into his grip to avoid his touch. I was already playing with fire as it was.

  He sniffed it and then looked down at the yellow label. “I go to Barnet.”

  “Cool.” I played down how much his words affected me. “Some of the business executives I admire are alumni.” Including my dad.

  He put the bottle down, almost behind him. Now I’d either have to ask him to hand it back or reach around him to get it. I know he wanted the latter. He was thinking about me crawling all over him as much as I was thinking about doing it.

  The air conditioning kicked out and I nearly cried with praise. It was getting hot in here.

  “You wanted to go to Barnet, didn’t you?”

  Was it that obvious? Barnet dominated in both sports and academy competitions. While their football team could hold their own their swim team had gone to nationals.

  I pulled at my collar to air myself a little. “I applied and got accepted but the price was insane even after scholarships.”

  I reached into the side flap on the bag and pulled out my phone.

  It took me a minute to set the timer and we’d been chatting for a minute so I took two minutes off. Twenty-eight minutes to go.

  My eyes flared at the time and I sighed.

  “Do you have to get back home or something?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll be fine.” I didn’t have a curfew. I was nineteen. My mother never set any rules. In fact, I probably spent more time worrying about her than she worried about me.

  “Where do you live?”

  My leg started to go numb so I settled on my hip and looked up at him. I was closer now. “San Diego.”

  “What area?”

  “Why?”

  He leaned closer. “Because I want to know.”

  “Why?”

  His grin was wolfish. “Because I want to fuck you.”

  My spine stiffened even as heat bloomed between my legs. I overpowered the enticing urge to rub my thighs together and mocked him with my tone. “You could have eased into it. You know, like, you could have said my eyes are pretty or I have a great sense of style.”

  He laughed and I was thrilled to hear the sound. “Have you ever heard a guy say that last thing?”

  I giggled. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “I try to stay honest.”

  “I’m glad.”

  His eyes turned to seductive slits.

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked.

  He bit the corner of his lower lip. “You have pretty eyes.”

  My body spasmed. It didn’t matter what he said. Honestly, everything that left his mouth had been covered, smothered, and baked in sex long before it even left his lips.

  He grabbed the back of my neck. “You have a great sense of style.”

  My face ached from smiling so hard but the pain was nothing like the emptiness that was growing in my lower region.

  His hand was large enough to wrap around my entire neck.

  I dug my nails into the rug and pulled away.

  He let me go and I jolted onto my feet.

  I reached for my phone, tapped the screen before he could stop me, and read it. “Twenty minutes.”

  I turned away and paced the room. The wood was cool under my warm feet.

  I’d almost let him kiss me. My body was humming with sexual energy.

  He had a wall covered with what looked like old relics and a painting of a tree called The Nine Worlds. I recognized it from Norse religion. If his family was Scandinavian, the art and his looks all made sense.

  Another wall had a fully stocked bookcase with trophies and ribbons crowded together at the top. I walked there to get a better look.

  I squinted my eyes at the blurry titles.

  Okay, maybe my vision sucked but I didn’t have the insurance for glasses so I made do.

  I liked examining homes when I entered them and trying to figure out what the owner was like. I could often tell if a house was a waste of time or if I’d make a quick sale.

  I tried to figure out who this guy was who’d awakened the most sacred parts of my feminine form.

  That he didn’t display the awards boldly but instead had stuffed them almost out of sight said he was humble.

  The trophies were for martial arts competitions. A golden belt sat on the side and I easily pictured his body working up a sweat on a fighting mat.

  Or in a bed.

  “You fight?” he asked.

  He grabbed my hip and I jumped. I hadn’t heard him move.

  I turned around and leaned against the bookshelf “What?”

  He closed me in. “Fight. Do you do any martial arts?”

  I shook my head. “No. What would make you ask?”

  “You have a nice body.” The hand on my hip gripped me tighter. “You’re toned.”

  “I run. Sometimes.” I cleared my throat and ducked my head.

  My eyes widened at the sight of the tent in his shorts. He was big and I was in way over my head.

  His hands started to journey north and I journeyed west, meaning I moved away and walked to the other side of the room. He had a music system set up on a sideboard. A phone sat on a charger pad. I tapped the screen to wake it up. I was shocked by the song that was displayed on pause. “You still listen to Oasis?”

  “Just the hits. I have an older cousin who got me into alternative rock.” He was leaning against the bookshelf with his arms crossed. He was keeping his distance, which was comforting. He wouldn’t force this and I was glad. “How do you know about Oasis?”

  I smiled. “I’m a waitress at this cool little spot in the city during the school year. My boss is obsessed with the nineties and early two thousands. He loves Nickelback and Creed.”

  “And what about you?”

  I nodded. “They’re cool.”

  “Why do you only waitress during the school year but not during the summer?”

  “I make more money with commission from sales, but this work interferes with my school hours so I waitress.”

  His expression turned thoughtful. “Do you pay bills at home? I’ve heard of families that work that way.”

  I chuckled. “You mean you’ve heard of the poor?”

  He fought back his smile but I caught a glimpse of it. “Yeah, I’ve heard of them.”

  I shook my head. I was so beyond his world. I couldn’t picture him anywhere near my block. “Yeah, I’m poor.” But I wasn’t born that way. When my dad was alive we’d been upper-middle class, not the wealthiest family in San Diego but more than comfortable.

  Memories of extravagant birthday parties with circuses and pony rides came to mind. We’d had a house with a pool and had gone on vacations often. We’d done Hawaii one Christmas and Florida the next. I had a photo album in my room and the first shot was me with my parents in front of the castle at Magic Kingdom. I’d been seven or eight.

  I had dreams of restoring my family to its former glory but that would take time. “What are you passionate about?” I asked, glancing tow
ards the trophies again. “Fighting?”

  “Yes.” The answer was definite. Was that his long-time goal? Would he be a professional fighter?

  “Are you hungry?” He walked over to the opposite side of the room that was set up like a living room. There was more gray, white, and pale blue that matched his eyes.

  A mini fridge had been built into a cabinet on the wall. I didn’t blame him for keeping a stash up here. No way would I be running all the way downstairs and then back up. In fact, I thought we should switch homes for that fact alone. I’d lose the fifteen pounds I’d been dying to get rid of in one month.

  I walked over and resisted the craving to lean against him. I was feeling funny and light, like I was caught in a dream. I felt drunk on the air. Maybe it was the dim lights and large window with the view of the twinkling city and the dark ocean just beyond.

  I knew it was, in part, his smile and the way he constantly looked at me like he was afraid I’d vanish if he turned away.

  And maybe I would. I knew that I should.

  He offered up some bags of junk food and I was stunned by this small vice.

  He noticed my shock. He noticed everything. “What?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just imagined you’d be a smoothies and protein bars kind of guy.”

  “I am a smoothies and protein bars kind of guy, but I also like chips…and cookies.” He said the last word like he was about to take a bit out of something or someone.

  Simultaneously, I prayed it was and wasn’t me.

  I perused his offerings and picked out a small bag of Doritos. I popped the bag open with glee. I didn’t usually eat on the job but then again, I didn’t usually do half the things I’d already done with him.

  I stared down at our bare feet and some heavy emotion came over me. My throat closed. I looked up and noticed he was watching me. “Are you hungry?” I covered my mouth when I realized I was talking with food in it. Gross.

  He had a killer smirk. Even with his hands in his pockets he was dangerous. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  I choked. “What?” I coughed behind my hand and my vision blurred with tears. I was going to die, if not from the chip lodged in my throat then from embarrassment.