Page 22 of Deny Me
“Let me introduce you to my own personal team of bodyguards,” she teased, the smirk becoming a full-fledged smile, her first since the accident. “This is Saint and Elliot and their team lead, Dain, from JCL Security.” Where was King? “Everyone, meet my friend, Abigail Roslyn.”
The daughter of a former prominent businessman turned politician, Abby had grown up in the same social tier as Charlotte and King, though she was a few years younger. Her father had been killed after trying to murder Abby and her lover, Levi. No other word really fit the man currently standing protectively behind her friend. He was over six feet, broad and muscular, with a menacing presence and a stare that could be stone-cold.Boyfriendjust didn’t do him justice.
Of course his stare was amused right now as he glanced over the team watching him, each set of eyes narrowed suspiciously. Charlotte didn’t blame them. The glint of humor in his gaze merely turned his serial killer look into an amused serial killer look.
Charlotte tucked a laugh down deep. “I’m sure you all know Levi Agozi as well, head of Hacr Technologies.”
Her words seemed to break through the appraisal the team was stuck in. Handshakes made the rounds, and it was only as the crowd moved toward the sitting room that she noticed King behind Levi. He’d obviously opened the door to the couple, Levi’s bulk keeping him out of her sight during the introductions. Probably a good thing. She’d only seen him once, minutes after her return from the hospital, but now that she’d caught sight of him again, his presence dominated the room even more than Levi’s did—the shock of seeing him, this man that she’d longed for, for ten years, hit her just as hard now as it had the first time. And when his eyes met hers?
The moment was electric. Her step hitched; her mouth opened to say something…
King dropped his gaze to the floor and moved toward the hall. Away from her.
Okay then.
Trying to ignore the tinge of hurt she had no right to feel, she turned to follow the crowd into the sitting room. Took a few steps. Stumbled to a halt. She and King had a past—they couldn’t deny it, couldn’t change it—but they could change this strange whatever this was that hit whenever she saw him. She just had to get used to him again, right? As a friend.
He was protecting Becky. What if Charlotte hesitated at a crucial time because she was unsure of King? Better to deal with it now than let it cause problems later.
Just a few words. Just speak to him, Charlotte. How bad can it be?
She squared her shoulders, winced when pain shot through her collarbone, then made herself turn back toward the foyer.
Which was empty. So was the hallway she and Becky had entered by. Crossing the room, she caught a quick glimpse of King, body tight, expression closed, facing her way. Her father stood before him.
Dad was speaking too low for her to hear, but she didn’t need the words to know he was angry—his posture shouted that fact quite clearly.
Before she could move down the hall to come between the two men, King met her gaze over her father’s shoulder. The faintest shake of his head had her hesitating.
“—told you toneverbe in the same room with her, didn’t I?”
Shock jolted through her. She saw more than heard King’s low response, his eyes still locked with hers. “Yes, sir.”
“Then what the hell were—”
She didn’t hear the rest; she didn’t have to. She understood enough. Her father had warned King to stay away from her. He’d hamstrung Dain’s team because he couldn’t get over what had happened to her after King left.
Not that there was any getting over it. But that didn’t mean King deserved the blame. He didn’t even know it had occurred, would probably never forgive her for keeping it from him if he did.
No one should shoulder the blame—it had simply…happened. No anticipating it. No stopping it. Only living through it as best she could.
At least that’s what she told herself. On the good days she even believed it. On the bad days? Well, she placed blame, but not on King.
She blamed herself.
As if walking through knee-high mud, she forced one foot forward, then another. Ignored the way King’s eyes narrowed, the warning there to stop, turn away, not interfere. This was her family, her past, her guilt, not his. The pain she and her family felt was theirs alone, and she couldn’t allow it to put their lives at risk.
“Dad.”
Harsh words broke off abruptly. Her father spun on his heel. “Charlotte, you should be with Abby.”
“Maybe I should,” she acknowledged, “but I’m not. What is going on?”
He had the grace to look embarrassed even as King stared her down stonily, refusing to reveal the smallest hint of emotion. “I needed to speak with Moncrief—”
“You needed to remind him to stay out of my sight.”
Faint color darkened his cheeks. “Charlotte—”
