Kensington
I inwardly laughed at how my best friend, Teagon, had once taken the piss out of me when I told her I fancied a man we’d seen at the pub—who upon closer inspection appeared older than my father.
“Ew,” she’d said. “What’s with you and the daddy complex?”
“He’s handsome and…distinguished-looking.”
She’d taken another look. “God, Kenzie, he’s my boss’ boss.”
I wondered what Teagon would think of Cortez. He was only ten years older than me. Plus a couple of months. Maybe I did have a daddy complex, given how much I wished he’d kiss me right now. He was thinking about it too, I could tell by the look on his face. I didn’t let my eyes wander south to find out what else he might be thinking about.
What was wrong with me? I’d nearly been raped, and yet I was fantasizing about sex with Cortez.
He rested his arm near me, and I could see a tattoo sleeve peeking out from the cuff of his button-down shirt. There was something so sexy about a man like him having a sleeve. He seemed so formal, so proper, but obviously, he had an adventurous side.
He leaned closer. He smelled so bloody good, I couldn’t help but take a deep breath.
“We’ll fly to London. From there, we’ll take another plane to America,” he told me.
“Will you be traveling with me?”
“Yes, as will Grinder.”
“Is that really his name?”
Cortez smiled. “His name is Miles Stone.”
I understood what relation the name had with his, but not why it was necessary to call him something other than Miles.
“They call you Rile?”
“Yes.”
I smiled when he didn’t offer any explanation.
“Do you work for the Queen?”
“I do not.”
“SIS?”
“At one time, yes.”
“But not any longer?”
He shook his head.
“I meant to thank you for my clothes. I’ll see to it you’re reimbursed once we arrive in London.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I insist,” I pressed.
“And I insist you not.” I was drawn to his lips when he smiled. I wished he’d kiss me, but I knew he wouldn’t. He probably saw me as a nuisance—like a younger sister. I sighed and looked away in embarrassment.
He put his finger on my chin and turned my head so I faced him. His eyes studied mine, and for a moment, I was certain he could read my thoughts. He ran his fingertip over my cheek where Konstantine had hit me.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.