How is it possible to still want him this much?
What the hell is wrong with me?
Even though the cold marble is unforgiving beneath my knees, I don’t make a move to rise. Barely am I even breathing.
“Ahem.”
It’s the clearing of a throat that has me jerking to awareness, dispelling the thick haze of lust that had descended. Embarrassment floods through me as I scramble to my feet and clutch the bag to my chest as if that will protect me against this boy.
Ironically, there is nothing that will keep me safe from Kingsley.
With a bland expression in place, he swings in a semicircle. I cower behind his back, unwilling to peek around his shoulder. It’s humiliating that someone saw me on my knees in front of him.
“Here is the coffee and protein bar you requested.”
“Excellent,” he says as if nothing happened. “Thanks, Mrs. Fieber.”
After the footsteps fade from the foyer, Kingsley turns to me. Only this time, there’s a travel mug in one hand and a bar in the other. “You’ll have to eat breakfast in the car.”
Unsure what to make of the strange gesture, I stare at the offerings. Much to my mother’s consternation, I rarely eat breakfast. The container of coffee on the other hand, I’m all but dying for. I can practically taste the bitter brew on my tongue before it slides down my throat, warming me from the inside out. Except, I’m reluctant to take anything from him. Kingsley is the last person I want to be indebted to.
When it becomes apparent that I won’t accept them, he invades my personal space. “Take it, Summer.” He pushes both the bar and coffee toward me. “Haven’t you figured out that this isn’t a battle you’ll win?”
Of course I have, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to simply rollover and give in without a fight.
Although…I’m not going to lie, the coffee is calling to me with its siren song. Arabica, if my nose isn’t deceiving me. I guess there’s no reason to punish myself by refusing his offer of java.
Decision made, I swipe the travel mug and bar from him before greedily taking my first sip of the dark liquid. I wince as it scalds my tongue, but it tastes so damn good. And I wasn’t wrong, it’s arabica. If anything, it’ll help sharpen my wits when dealing with Kingsley.
Clearly, I’m in desperate need of that.
I’m almost surprised when he doesn’t gloat. Instead, he grabs his backpack along with the keys from a large silver bowl on top of the polished wood credenza before yanking open the front door and waving me through as if he were raised with manners.
Ha! More like raised by wolves.
Feral ones.
I glare before taking another deep drink. When he arches a brow, I stalk through the wide opening to his glossy red convertible parked in the circular drive. Unlike our weathered driveway, Kingsley’s is decidedly fancier. There are gray bricks formed to make enormous squares. Each configuration is edged with a perfect row of neatly trimmed grass. The center of the drive overflows with a manicured garden.
Once at the vehicle, Kingsley reaches out, popping open the door. I wish he would knock off the gallant behavior. Gestures like these only confuse the hell out of me. He needs to act like the asshole he truly is. It’ll make it so much easier to annihilate the feelings that continue to plague me.
As much as I would like to ignore the kindness, my own manners won’t allow me to do so. “Thank you,” I mutter begrudgingly before sliding onto the black leather.
“Ouch.” Humor laces his voice. “Was that as painful as it sounded?”
He has no idea. Before I can fire off a snide comment, he closes me inside the tight space before sauntering to the other side and settling next to me. Within a matter of moments, he’s turning the key and the engine is purring to life. I place the coffee between my knees before dropping my backpack to the floorboards and yanking open the zipper. The protein bar gets shoved into the pocket for later.
Or maybe never.
Screw Kingsley Rothchild. He can’t tell me what to do.
Before I can straighten, he plucks the coffee from my knees, swiftly transferring it to the other hand.
“Hey!” My head jerks up as I glare. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you eat.” He grabs his aviators and slides them onto the bridge of his nose. “Finish the bar and you’ll get the coffee. Simple as that.”
“I’m not a breakfast eater,” I growl with frustration.
I’ve spent less than fifteen minutes in his presence and already I’m tired of him telling me what to do. He may think the contract my parents signed makes him the boss of me, but he’s wrong.
“Guess you’re gonna start.” He doesn’t wait for a response. “Even if it’s a crappy bar.” From behind his mirrored sunglasses, his gaze drifts over my body like a physical caress. “You’ve lost weight.”