Page 11 of Deny Me
She glanced up to see Wes hurrying across the sitting room, worry lining his handsome face. “I’m fine, really. I can walk. Dad wouldn’t let me.”
“I seconded the motion,” her mother said, trailing them into the room. “It’s not every day we get to baby you…” The last word trailed off, only to be followed by a sharp, “What are you doing here?”
Charlotte tried to glance over her shoulder and winced. Mom was staring somewhere across the room. “What is it?”
Ben Alexander’s shoulders blocked her view as he settled her on a large couch. Wes sat at her feet and pulled her shoes off without asking, and she caught a glimpse of what she swore was guilt in his eyes. Guilt over what?
Her father straightened, turned, and a rough growl left his throat. “What—”
“I asked him to come.” Wes gave her ankle a gentle pat, then stood, seeming to brace himself.
The tension in the room ratcheted to ten, restarting the pounding in Charlotte’s head. “Asked whom?”
Thewhomstepped into her line of sight, just beyond Wes. A sharp gasp choked her. Of course. Only one man could decimate her parents’ manners, and that man was standing in their sitting room.
Kingsley Moncrief.
For a minute the sense of unreality blocked out everything else. The room spun, and she worried she might faint. It was too much on top of everything else—the fight at Becky’s, the wreck, almost dying, her parents, and now… “King.”
His face was inscrutable, those eerie ice-blue eyes blank, revealing nothing. “Charlotte.” He nodded toward her. “I trust you really are fine. What did the doctor say?”
“What business is it of yours, Moncrief?” Dad demanded.
“I asked him to come,” Wes said again. The why was what escaped her.
Her parents too, obviously. The stiffness in both their bodies screamed anger, but it was her mother’s mottled face, the glint of tears burning in her eyes that hurt Charlotte the most. Wes might’ve meant well, but—
A handsome Hispanic man, as tall and broad as King but beefier, stepped forward. “Sir, my name is Saint Solorio. King and I work together.”
Dad took the man’s hand, studying him intently for a moment. “No offense, Mr. Solorio, but that’s not a recommendation in my book.”
Saint’s expression didn’t change.
“They work for JCL Securities,” Wes said tightly.
Her parents exchanged a glance. JCL was a renowned firm, one of Atlanta’s pride-and-joy companies. Anyone who was anyone in the city knew the owners, Conlan James and Jack Quinn, by reputation if not in person. What they didn’t know—what Charlotte shouldn’t know either, but did because she’d never been able to stop checking in on her former fiancé—was that King had been with the company for several years.
Dad’s hands tightened into fists as he angled himself to face off with Wes, cutting King and his friend out of the discussion. “And that concerns me how?”
Wes shoved a hand through his thick blond hair. “Because Charlotte’s ‘accident’ wasn’t an accident. The man who tried to hurt her is still out there.”
“We know that.”
“He’s the least of your worries, Ben,” King added.
His name coming out of King’s mouth seemed to infuriate her father even more. Charlotte held her breath, waiting for an explosion, unsure if she wanted it to come or not. Seeing King again… She closed her eyes. This was all too much right now, way too much.
And yet she couldn’t stop herself from peeking beneath her lashes toward King, examining the man who’d left her behind ten years ago. His mere presence was overwhelming, but now that she really looked, she couldn’t miss the changes so many years apart had wrought. He’d aged, no longer the fresh-from-college young man she’d loved back then. Unfortunately for her, the years only added to his appeal. Still tall, he’d filled out, muscles riding the expanse of his shoulders, broadening his chest. Even through the button-down shirt and sport coat he wore, she could tell he was strong, fit. The tension of leashed energy added to his aura of capability, leaving no doubt that he could handle himself in a fight. He was more bad boy than tender lover now.
Lines gave character to his face instead of taking it away, the edge of his jaw and cheekbones somehow harder than before. Or maybe time had made her forget. She couldn’t forget those lips, though, soft when he wanted, hard when he needed them to be. And those eyes, the ones that used to see into her soul…
His penetrating stare met hers through the crowd between them, sending a stroke of lightning down her spine. Taking her breath. Stopping her heart. Dredging up emotions that threatened to push her over the edge of control.
“Sir…” Saint still stood close to her father, close enough to Charlotte that the concern in his expression was impossible to miss. “We’ve been out to the suspect’s home—”
“What?” Charlotte swung her legs off the couch, trying to rise. The room tilted as pain twisted through her body. “Was Becky there? Is she all right?”
“Charlotte!” Her mother’s hand on her shoulder urged her back into her seat.
