King Me (Forever Wilde 7)

“You must be exhausted by now. Isn’t there a mandatory cap on your shift?”

I leaned a hip against the counter and watched as she remembered how I took my coffee and fixed it perfectly.

She chuckled. “I guess you didn’t notice me sleeping most of the flight from California to Paris. I was kicked back in one of those lay-flat seats.”

I glanced back to see what seats she was referring to and noticed King’s eyes on me. I quickly turned to face the flight attendant again. “I guess I was distracted with work.”

“I guess so,” she said, handing me the hot drink. Her other hand landed on my chest and pressed a path to my shoulder. The intimate touch jarred me, and I blinked at her. “You had something on your shirt,” she said softly.

“Are you coming back or what?” King’s voice made me jump out of reach of the delicate hand on my shoulder. I cleared my throat and turned to glare at the thief who’d somehow snuck up behind me.

“You don’t have to be rude,” I said, pointedly.

“You don’t have to be flirting with this poor woman who’s just trying to do her job.” King flashed the woman his blinding smile. “Might you happen to have a bottle of water handy?”

The woman was suddenly flustered, and I wanted to growl my impatience at the asshole standing next to me. I had no interest in the woman, but King didn’t know that. And what the hell was up with him flirting with absolutely every human being he encountered? It was aggravating as hell.

“I’m flirting?” I asked in astonishment. “That’s like Renoir calling Monet an Impressionist.”

King’s eyes flared wide. “Oh my. The man has read Famous Art Styles for Dummies. I’m impressed. Or should I say impressionist?” He took the offered bottle of water before the flight attendant moved past us to offer the others refreshments.

I was focused so much on King, I barely noticed her walk away. “I know a little more than that. I’m a senior agent in charge of an international art crime team. And I wasn’t flirting with the flight attendant,” I said in a lower voice. “Don’t be an ass.” I decided not to mention that I was gay. It was bad enough I was attracted to him. If the man found out about it, his ego would grow big enough to force the rest of us to jump out of the plane.

King cracked open the bottle of water and glugged down a few sips. I forced myself not to watch his Adam’s apple move. When he put the cap back on, he lowered his voice again so only I could hear him.

“The man who has the crown is Elek Kemény.”

I stared at him, surprised he was finally giving me some useable information. Unfortunately, it was false information.

“According to property records, it’s actually Elek Károlyi,” I corrected. “A Hungarian national who—”

“Actually,” King interrupted, “it’s Elek Kemény. He uses the name Károlyi because he has grandiose delusions of being a descendant of the royal family of Hungary.”

That stopped me in my tracks.

King nodded and pushed himself off the counter he’d been leaning against. “Yeah. And you think my ego is big. I’m surprised your ‘best hacker in the world’ didn’t catch that oversight.” His use of finger quotes was obnoxious. But he had a point.

“That’s why he wanted the crown,” I said, more to myself than anything.

“Bingo. Give the man a cookie. He thinks the royal bling belongs to him.”

I reached out and stopped him before he could go back to his seat. “But he’s not actually descended from royalty, is he?”

King’s slender biceps flexed instinctively under my fingers which caused me to realize I’d grabbed him by the arm. I dropped my hand like King’s body was toxic. His eyes moved from where I’d held on to him to my eyes. This time, I couldn’t look away from the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was still low, but it had taken on a rough quality that went straight to my balls. It was the sound he might make late at night after someone had fucked his throat. And the fact I was even thinking that meant it had been a hell of a long time since I’d fucked anyone’s throat or any other body part for that matter.

“Well?” he asked.

I blinked at him. “Well, what?”

“Dude, I just asked you if you knew the history of the Hungarian royal family.”

I shook my head. “Not really. I mean I know Károlyi was a previous president of Hungary, but I don’t remember that being a royal surname. And since the monarchy was abolished in the early part of the last century, it doesn’t really matter. Does it?”

“It matters to him. And I’m sure it matters to other children or descendants of the royal family. Ultimately, though, it comes down to a legal matter. And legally the government of Hungary owns the crown. A random citizen can’t just decide it’s theirs and take it.”