Page 14 of The Billionaires' Prize

“What?” I look at him over my shoulder.

“Go talk to him.” He presses against my hip.

The first step is hard, like moving through shifting sands. Gabe moves to the side, giving me a clear path out of the kitchen. His expression is neutral, giving nothing away, but his lips are still wet from my arousal.

I’ve never felt ripped in two before.

If I step out that door, am I turning my back on them? But we haven’t talked about what happens next.

Gabe nods a silent encouragement. “Go. We’ll be here.”

I shove my foot into my shoe, then I’m running. Out the door, across the porch, and down the stairs to the crushed shell path. I reach the driveway, where Kingston is marching, duffle over his shoulder. He swapped his running shorts for a pair of faded jeans that do amazing things for his ass and thighs. The material looks soft, worn thin, and one squat away from giving everyone a show. A soft aqua shirt hugs his upper body just right, highlighting his tan.

“Kingston, wait!”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t so much as pause.

My stomach drops.

I still don’t know what I’m going to say, but an overwhelming sense of urgency propels me forward. Like the world is closing in. Pushing me toward him, spinning around us, tightening like a boa constrictor wraps around its prey.

I race around him, blocking his path, and hold up a hand.

He stops.

“King—”

He cuts me off, chin tipped to the side, a mulish expression on his face. “Don’t you dare say it’s not what I think.”

I guess Alex is rubbing off on me because I huff a laugh. “It’s exactly what you think.”

What else could it be? He found me between two men, one of whom was on his knees, with my pants around my ankles. His brows jump up almost comically, and he leans back, obviously not expecting that truth from my lips.

His chest expands on a deep inhale, and he drops his bag to the side, frustration rolling off him. His hands drop to his lean hips, and a wild array of emotions plays across his face. Surprise, pain, humor, disbelief.

“Why?” he asks, his head shaking ever so slightly.

“Why what?” Heartbeat pounding in my ears, I stare at him.

I see how this might be a surprise to him. He’s been gone so long, and it’s not as if I was dating Alex or Gabe.

This beautiful man was maybe the first person to see the real me. To look beneath the facade of wealth and a prominent family name because he had one of his own. Somehow, he made me laugh, has never once forgotten my birthday, and has always been a phone call away.

Even after he broke my heart and hopped a plane to explore the globe, he checked up on me. He’d started sending me boxes of cereal from his travels, a peace offering of sorts. Our friendship settled right back in because it’s impossible to be mad at Kingston Saint.

My heart hurt, but I understood how much he wanted off the island. I want to say I’d have gone with him, but I was so desperate to fit Mother’s mold. To earn my grandfather’s praise.

“Ask me what you really want to know, Kingston.”

Because the accusation in his eyes says it all. Why didn’t I wait for him?

What horse poop.

And he knows it. I know he does because he stares at the ground, unwilling or unable to push the words past his lips.

“It was six years. Not five, by the way.” I’m picking a fight. I know I am. But the past few days have put a megaphone in my hand, and there’s no turning back. All the whispers and miscommunication have to cease.

I lick my lips and take a step closer. He reminds me of a lion with his golden hair and piercing eyes. Normally, he’s chatty and playful and down to earth. But right now, he’s stoic, proud.

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