Page 54 of A King So Savage

“Here you go, miss.” Paulie held one of the double doors open until she passed through, then softly closed it behind her.

Ava took a deep breath, her eyes immediately locking with Kingston’s.

He was seated at the head of a table, an imposing piece of furniture that could have come straight from Buckingham Palace. Easily accommodating twenty-five people, it was a long, continuous expanse of gleaming ebony wood. A table like that costs thousands of dollars. Probably more than she’d paid for her car, a used beat-up Toyota purchased with savings from her first job at a local museum.

Slowly, Kingston rose from one of the ornate chairs. Arms crossed behind his back, he waited as she approached. Soft, classical music played in the background, drifting throughout the room from speakers that were as well hidden as the mansion’s cameras.

Ava bit her lip then quickly released it, mindful of the lipstick she wore. She hated how fast her blood thumped through her veins. As if her body subconsciously missed him and now rejoiced with his return.

He appeared so stern and foreboding that, for a brief moment, Ava hesitated going to him. Why was she so easily commanded by Kingston Winter? It required just the tiniest gleam in his eye indicating desire and she moved forward as if under his spell. There was no reason behind it. If she possessed even a sliver of self-preservation, she would run screaming in the opposite direction.

But truly, what choice did she have? She must remain committed to this intent of softening his heart. She must somehow change his mind about selling her.

Kingston’s lips twisted. How easily he must recognize her inner turmoil. Did he know how badly she wanted to tug her skirt down so her thighs weren’t so exposed to his hot gaze? How her brain screamed that she turn and run?

Even the subjects in the various gilt-framed artwork adorning the wood-paneled walls seemed to watch Ava as she made her way further into the dining room.

She recognized some of the pieces. Pastoral scenes of meadows and maidens, surrounded by a flock of lambs. Conversations between elegantly dressed lords and ladies at tables set for a tea party in a lush garden. A meeting between a shy woman standing beside a stone wall smothered in a cascade of lush, pink roses and a dark-haired gentleman doffing his cap on the opposite side of the wall. A winding river with a woman and man sprawled upon its banks. The woman lay tucked between the man’s legs with skirts ruched high, her breasts exposed to his mouth and lips. His hands gripped her rounded shoulders, pulling her to him.

And another Ava recognized with a startled jolt of awareness—The Cowardby Edward Robert Hughes. The girl fled the banks of a placid lake where others swam. With clothes clutched tight in one hand, her bare, pale legs flashed in the pursuit of escape. It was an exquisite piece of art held in a private collection. The curator at the museum where Ava once worked coveted that particular painting. Seeing it now, she understood why.

A strange sense of connection with the girl in the painting settled over Ava. She, too, was a coward. Running from situations and people she found uncomfortable. She’d been closing her eyes to the hard truths in her life for far too long.

Dragging her gaze away from the artwork, Ava concentrated on walking with suddenly wobbly legs. When she was close enough that he could reach out and grab her, Kingston finally spoke.

“You are stunning.” His voice was low with approval. Dropping his gaze to her mouth, he almost growled, “And fuck, that lipstick. It’s begging to be smeared in places other than your lips.”

She wanted to ask where he’d gone during his absence, but the words couldn’t form fast enough when he talked like that. Like he was dying to ravish her and might at any second. She focused instead on the lavishly set table.

It was set for three diners. Dark grey china and square-based crystal goblets carved into exquisitely modern sharp facets adorned the table. Gleaming silverware, heavy and expensive, reflected the light cast by three oversized crystal and antique bronze chandeliers.

Mesmerized by the luxuriousness of the room, Ava did not realize the heel of one stiletto had become entangled in the fringe of the plush Aubusson rug.

She tripped, plunging headfirst so quickly that there was no hope of stopping her body’s momentum.

In one swift motion, Kingston caught her before she tumbled on her hands and knees in front of him. With his large hands wedged beneath her armpits, he swooped Ava up as though she weighed nothing at all.

Landing so hard against his body sent the air in Ava’s lungs whooshing out. Instinctively, her fingers gripped the muscles bulging beneath the material of his expensive tuxedo. A squeak of alarm escaped her throat as he crushed her against him.

“Are you okay?” Kingston’s voice rumbled.

Ava’s face flushed scarlet red with embarrassment. She was holding him as tightly as he held her. “Yes. I’m sorry…”

He would release her any second, but how she would hate the moment it happened. Something between them shifted as Ava stared up at him. A flash of understanding and mutual need. A mystifying pull drew them closer and closer.

It was madness, of course.

Insanity.

But there was no escaping reality.

She was attracted to her kidnapper. Her captor. Her jailer.

Her tormentor.

Kingston’s brow furrowed, his husky voice breaking the odd spell between them. “I believe you are still caught in the rug.”

Ava gulped and tried tugging her shoe free. If she pulled harder, it would tear the rug’s fringe, and that rug probably cost more than a year’s worth of rent for her tiny apartment back in Bitter Springs. “It seems so.” She could not ignore the heaviness of the air hanging between them. How it thickened and swirled the longer Kingston retained his grip on her. “I’m not used to wearing such high heels. I’m sorry,” she apologized again.

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