King for a Day (The King Trilogy #2)(21)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

I thank the gods for blessing me in finding Callias.

“I’m impressed, Miss Turner. You did well back there,” said a deep voice coming from the airplane seat beside me.

“King.” I placed my right hand over my accelerated heart. “You scared the crap out of me.”

Of course, it wasn’t really him. Why did my brain insist on doing this?

I thought about it for a moment. I suppose I still struggled to accept this new reality, which is why my brain kept inventing these little fantasies. Regardless, did he have to look so incredibly irresistible? He still wore black slacks and that partially unbuttoned tux shirt, which gave me a glimpse of his heavenly chest. And the way his large body took up the seat beside me—large, muscular thighs wide open, broad shoulders and a straight back—exuded an alluring confidence.

“Not my intention, I promise you.” He looked ahead, the muscles in his square, unshaved jaw ticking away. “Have you thought through the next part of your plan?”

I shrugged. “Well, I have to wait and see if Miranda delivers. In the meantime, I need to go through your catalog and find the serum—by the way, is it really Cleopatra’s blood?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Why would it be?” I countered. “Never mind. Not like you’d know anyways since I’m making you up.”

He flashed a grin. “Yes, indeed.”

“And it’s not like you could tell me where to find it. Or the ‘magic hands’ recipe. Or the poison. So I guess that’s what I’ll be doing for the next few hours.”

He scoffed. “You should be running. Miranda will double-cross you or kill you if you don’t deliver on your end of the deal—which you will not because you are not strong enough to kill Vaughn.”

“I’m going to ask your powerbroker guy to take him out in exchange for the stuff in your warehouse.”

King’s nostrils flared, and his dark brows pulled together. “You’re going to do what?” The made-up King appeared genuinely mad. And why wouldn’t he be? That’s exactly how the real King would react.

“It was Mack’s suggestion. Not mine. By the way,” I said casually, almost enjoying this strange therapy session with…well, myself, I supposed, “did I tell you how hard it is being you? I have no clue how you keep track of everything—all of the deals and debts and who has what and who to ask to do what. It’s crazy.”

King nodded in agreement. “I have a lot of practice.”

“Speaking of crazy—aside from the fact I’m sitting here on your plane, speaking to a pretend version of you that looks just like the real you—why am I reading this book? Is this your story? Are you Callias?”

King simply stared at me. “Why do you think I wanted you to read the book?”

“My best guess?”

He nodded.

“I think there’s something in this story you’re hoping will teach me a lesson or convince me what a horrible person you are. I think you want me to see that you’re not worth saving so that I’ll turn my back on you and try to save myself.”

“That would be a very good guess.” King ran his large hands through his perfectly combed, thick black hair.

“And you’d be right,” I said. “How in the world could you brand me as your…your…”

“As mine?” he asked and looked away toward the window. But there was nothing to see. It was pitch black out, and the sun wouldn’t be up for another hour or so. It annoyed me that he wouldn’t look me in the eyes, even if he was just a fantasy.

“Yes,” I seethed. “But the ‘mine’ part in your mind insinuates more than just being your property, which was bad enough.”

“You are referring to the sexual aspects?” He finally looked at me with those luminescent gray eyes, and it nearly stopped my heart. There was something about his directness that always unsettled me.

“Yes.” Now I was the one who had to look away, but King wasn’t having it. He gripped my chin and turned my head, forcing me to close my eyes.

“Look at me, Mia,” he commanded in that deep, angry voice that sent goose bumps soaring over my skin. “Look at me,” he repeated.

I sighed and opened my eyes. King’s powerful, hypnotic gaze instantly took hold and hobbled my ability to think straight. It felt like the rest of the world simply melted away, leaving him and me, and no one else.

“I want you, Mia. If you do not want me back, then I cannot force you. However, I will not share you with another.”

It wasn’t rational or something I felt proud of, but hearing such a powerful man—even this made-up version of him—say those possessive words produced a potent, sinful heat that charged straight through my core and between my legs. Being near him broke down my resolve and my ability to rationalize. It decimated my determination not to touch that flame, despite knowing its dangers. All of a sudden, I wasn’t Mia Turner—a thinking, breathing, real-life person with a family—I was simply…his. Nothing more. And I was all he ever wanted or needed.

“That’s what doesn’t make any sense, King,” my voice trembled. “How did you go from me not being your type to wanting me like this?”

His eyes focused on my lips as he took a moment to form his words, scratching the thick, black stubble on his angular jaw, something King always seemed to do when he battled inside his brain.

“I knew,” he finally said, his eyes locking onto mine, causing slight heart palpitations in my chest, “that I wanted you from that first moment. Something about the way you resisted me, that defiant look in your eyes—you should’ve been afraid of me, but were not. And when I saw my own reflection in your gaze, the colors of my soul staring back, I knew what you were. I knew I would have to make you mine.”

Don’t get sucked in, Mia. You know this isn’t really what you want.

“I’m not yours, King. That’s the point. You put a tattoo, without my permission, on my wrist. That doesn’t entitle you to anything.”

King’s voice deepened, sounding more determined to make me hear the truth in his words. “I did not take placing my mark on you lightly, Mia. I struggled for weeks with my conscience. I could let you go or take the steps to make you mine—something you had already agreed to.”

“I didn’t understand the terms,” I argued.