MY AFFAIR WITH A DEADLY SOLDIER

2

PHOEBE POV

I sank onto the edge of the leather couch, my knees trembling so badly I couldn't stand anymore.

The penthouse was dead quiet except for the hum of the rain against the floor-to-ceiling glass. My heart was pounding against my ribs. I kept staring at the dark hallway, waiting for him to come back.

He was a monster. I had just watched him shoot a man in cold blood. I should have been looking for something heavy to hit him with, or trying to punch a hole through the window. But my body felt completely frozen.

A few minutes later, Kingsley walked back into the living room.

He had swapped his wet pants for a pair of low-slung black sweatpants. His chest was completely bare, showing off a wall of hard muscle, a dark tattoo stretching across his shoulder, and a long, fresh cut along his ribs. Blood was slowly trickling down his side, but he didn't even wince.

In his hand, he carried a silver first-aid kit.

He didn't say a word. He walked straight over to the coffee table, set the box down with a heavy metallic thud, and sat down on the leather ottoman directly in front of me.

Up close, his presence was overwhelming. He towered over me even while sitting down.

"You're shivering," he said, his storm-gray eyes scanning my pale face.

"I-I'm fine," I choked out, wrapping my arms tightly around myself. My clothes were damp from the rain, and my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Kingsley reached out, grabbed a thick fleece blanket off the back of the couch, and flipped it over my shoulders. His fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck for a split second. A sharp spark of heat shot down my spine, making me gasp.

"Hold this," he commanded, handing me a small bottle of antiseptic and a roll of white gauze.

I blinked at him, my fingers instinctively wrapping around the glass bottle. "What?"

"I can't reach the angle on my back properly," he said, leaning forward slightly. The sharp muscle lines of his abdomen tightened. "Clean the cut and wrap it."

"I... I can't," I whispered, staring at the deep wound on his side. "I don't know how—"

"You work at a medical library, Phoebe," he interrupted flatly, his gaze pinning me to the spot. "You know what a clean bandaged wound looks like. Do it."

My breath hitched. I didn't have a choice.

With trembling hands, I poured the liquid onto a piece of cotton pad. I leaned in, setting my left hand against his warm, bare shoulder to steady myself. His skin was burning hot, hard as granite under my palm.

I pressed the wet cotton against the cut on his ribs.

Kingsley didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He just sat completely still, his dark gray eyes locked onto my face, watching every tiny shift in my expression.

"Why didn't you kill me in the alley?" I asked softly, my voice barely louder than a whisper as I carefully cleaned away the blood.

"Because you aren't a threat," he said, his deep voice vibrating right under my palm. "You're just a girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"You don't know me," I muttered, wrapping the white bandage firmly around his waist. "I could tell the police."

Kingsley reached up, his large, leather-calloused hand wrapping around my wrist again. He didn't squeeze, but the sudden touch made my pulse hammer wildly against his thumb. He pulled my hand away from his chest just enough to force me to look directly into his eyes.

"You won't," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second before returning to my eyes. "Because you're too smart to ruin your quiet little life. And because I'm going to make sure you stay right where I can see you until this is handled."

My lungs completely ran out of air.

The danger radiating off him was terrifying. But as I stared at his sharp jaw, his dark hair damp against his forehead, and the intense, possessive grip he had on my wrist, a dark, reckless coil of heat tightened deep in my stomach.

I didn't pull my hand away.

His phone suddenly buzzed loudly on the glass table, breaking the suffocating tension between us.

Kingsley released my wrist, grabbed the phone, and brought it to his ear. The cold, lethal boss was back in an instant.

"Speak," he barked into the receiver.

He listened for a few seconds, his jaw tightening into a hard line. "Good. Clean the alley, clear the security tapes, and make sure his crew knows what happens when they cross into my territory."

He hung up without saying goodbye and stood up in one fluid movement.

"The alley is clear," Kingsley said, turning back to face me. "My men took care of it."

I swallowed hard, pulling the blanket tighter around my wet shoulders. "So... I can go home now?"

Kingsley stared down at me for a long, heavy moment. His eyes swept over my messy hair, my trembling lips, and the way I was clutching his blanket.

"No," he said flatly. "It's three in the morning. You're staying here tonight."

"I can take a taxi—"

"I said you're staying, Phoebe," he cut me off, his voice leaving zero room for argument. He pointed toward a hallway near the back. "Guest bedroom is the second door on the left. It has its own bathroom. Change out of those wet clothes."

I stood up slowly, my heart racing for an entirely different reason now. "And what about you?"

Kingsley took a step closer, towering over me until his shadow completely covered me. The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the metallic edge of his skin filled my nose.

"I'll be right around," he murmured, his voice low and dark. "Don't try to play smart, little bird.."