Page 59 of King of Praise
“Oh, honey,” Olivia laughs, adjusting her position on the plush dressing room chair. “Seb is exactly what you’ve heard and then some. Total playboy. But that’s what makes him perfect right now.”
I grab the hanger from the hook, hanging the emerald dress carefully. “Perfect how?”
“Because neither of us wants anything serious. He’s upfront about not doing relationships, and I’m…” she pauses, considering her words, “let’s just say after Vinny, I need uncomplicated.”
“And Sebastian King is uncomplicated?” The skepticism in my voice makes her grin.
“The sex certainly is. Gloriously, mind-blowingly uncomplicated.” She fans herself dramatically. “That man knows exactly what he’s doing in bed. The things he can do with his tongue—”
“Olivia.” I glance toward the dressing room door, but we’re alone in this section.
“What? I’m just saying, there’s a reason he has that reputation. The other night, he had me screaming so loud I was sure his security detail would come to check on us.” Her eyes glaze over at the memory. “Three times. And that was just the warm-up.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but curiosity wins out. “You were at the club?”
“His private apartment. The view of Columbus is incredible, though honestly, I wasn’t paying much attention to the skyline.” She smirks. “Too busy admiring other views.”
“So it’s just physical then?”
“Completely. We meet up, have amazing sex, then go our separate ways. No expectations, no complications, no emotional entanglements.”
I chuckle at her candor. I look back at myself in the sexy lingerie and think about how I need more of this.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Lydia returns with an armful of new items for me to try. “Oh, and before I forget, we’re going out for dinner next week. You have to join us.”
The casual invitation creates immediate conflict. The prospect of friendship and connection, pulls strongly against the reality of my situation. Eve’s presence adds another layer of complexity—a co-worker of the detective investigating Lucas’s murder breaking bread with the woman responsible for his death.
When I hesitate, Olivia jumps in. “We’ll be there. Both of us.”
“But—”
“No buts.” She squeezes my hand. “You need this. We’ll figure out the details later.”
Though I doubt Micah will approve of this expanded social engagement, I nod. The confidence in Olivia’s assertion—that everything will work out, that our circle will protect me—carries the weight of someone accustomed to navigating dangerous waters. And God, I miss my friends. Miss a normal life. Miss being more than just a woman in hiding.
By the time we finish shopping, my arms are laden with bags. The emerald dress, the lingerie, several casual outfits that make me feel like myself again. Olivia insisted on paying, waving away my protests with airy assurances that she has more money than she knows what to do with anyway.
Outside, the promised snow has begun to fall, delicate flakes drifting lazily from the leaden sky. As we say our goodbyes, I feel a curious mixture of emotions—gratitude for these hours together, anxiety about returning to confinement, and underneath it all, a surprising eagerness to see Micah again.
I miss him after just a few hours apart, which signals a shift in our relationship that thrills and terrifies me. What beganas necessity—his protection, my dependence—has evolved into something neither anticipated. A genuine connection, perhaps even … no, I’m not ready to name that feeling yet.
Walking toward the meeting point where Micah waits, shopping bags in hand and snowflakes catching in my eyelashes, I acknowledge a truth I’ve been avoiding. Despite the taboo nature of our relationship, despite the legal dangers still threatening my freedom, despite the complicated history, Micah has become essential to me in ways that transcend gratitude or physical attraction.
This recognition should frighten me. Instead, it brings a strange clarity. It’s as though pieces of myself long scattered by Lucas’s abuse have finally begun to realign into something resembling wholeness.
And I have Micah to thank for that.
Chapter 16
Lines of Defense
Micah
Gray light filters through windowpanes, painting shadows across the cabin floor. Steam rises from the coffee mug warming my hands as I study the landscape beyond the glass. The lake is partially frozen, its surface a patchwork of ice and dark water mirroring the heavy clouds above. If the leaden sky is any indication, there will be more snow tonight.
A soft sigh draws my attention back inside. Naomi sleeps peacefully in our rumpled bed, one slender arm reaching toward the space I vacated. Red curls spill across the pillow, framing her face.
The bed sheet is askew, revealing the soft curve of her left breast. Her nipple is peaked, probably from the cool morning air. But it’s the mark on the side that draws my attention. My mark, where the evidence of my claim to her remains.
