MY AFFAIR WITH A DEADLY SOLDIER

5

PHOEBE POV

I gripped the strap of my imaginary bag, holding onto his oversized shirt like it was armor.

"I slept fine," I managed to choke out, my voice squeaking slightly.

Kingsley set his coffee mug down on the counter with a quiet clink. His dark gray eyes never left my face, and that stupid, dangerous smirk was still playing on his lips.

"Are you sure?" he asked softly, resting his chin in his hand as he leaned forward. "Because you left in quite a hurry last night. I thought maybe you were... overwhelmed."

My cheeks flushed so hot I thought my skin was going to melt off my face. He knew. He totally knew, and he was enjoying every single second of torturing me.

"I was hungry," I blurted out, trying to sound firm and confident, but failing miserably. "I came out to find the kitchen, got lost, and accidentally looked through the door. That's all."

Kingsley raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. "Accidentally? Is that what we're calling it?"

"Yes!" I snapped, taking a brave step toward the kitchen island. "And then I went back to sleep like a normal person. Now, if you don't mind, I really need to get to work. My shift at the library starts in forty-five minutes, and if I'm late, my boss will fire me."

Kingsley slowly stood up from the stool. Even fully dressed in his expensive charcoal suit, his broad shoulders and terrifying presence completely filled the room. He walked around the island toward me with slow, heavy steps, like a predator cornering his breakfast.

I instinctively took a step back, but my leg hit the hallway wall.

"You're not going to work today, Phoebe," Kingsley said flatly, stopping right in front of me. The scent of clean soap, dark coffee, and rich leather surrounded me instantly.

"What?" I blinked, staring up into his sharp jaw. "I have to! I need my paycheck!"

"My men are still clearing out the street cameras near your library," he explained smoothly, leaning down until his dark eyes were level with mine. "Going back right now puts a target on your back. And until I say it's safe, you stay right where I can see you."

"I can't just miss work!" Panic spiked in my chest, mixing with the crazy heat radiating off his body. "I have bills to pay! My dad—"

"I don't care about your dad," Kingsley cut me off, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly purr. He reached out, his long fingers gently picking up a stray strand of my hair and tucking it behind my ear. His warm skin brushed against my burning cheek, sending an instant spark straight down to my core. "And as for your paycheck... I have plenty of ways you can earn money right here."

My breath hitched instantly.

He tilted his head, his eyes dropping down to my lips before sweeping over the oversized shirt that barely covered my thighs.

"Starting with telling me," Kingsley whispered, his breath hot against my neck, "what you were doing with your hands under this shirt last night."

My throat went completely bone-dry.

I pressed my spine as flat against the wall as humanly possible, but Kingsley didn't budge. He just stayed right there, towering over me, his broad frame blocking out the light, trapping me in his heat.

"I—I wasn't doing anything," I lied, my voice shaking so badly it betrayed me instantly.

"Liar," he murmured softly.

He didn't yell or look angry. He just looked completely in control, watching the way my chest hitches every time he took a breath.

Slowly, Kingsley brought his hand down from my hair. His long, thick fingers hovered over the front of his oversized shirt, right over the heavy beat of my heart. He didn't press down, but the mere warmth of his palm threw my pulse into overdrive.

"If you insist you were doing nothing... then so be it," he said, his voice smooth as silk.

He didn't push it further. Instead, he reached into the inner pocket of his acket and pulled out a crisp, thick stack of hundred-dollar bills bound tightly with a paper band. Without batting an eye, he reached out and pressed the heavy wad of cash right into my palm, folding my fingers over it.

"That should cover for missing work for twenty-four hours," Kingsley said flatly.

I stood there, completely frozen, staring down at the brick of money in my hand. My mind went totally blank. What the actual f**k? I counted the bills with my eyes—this single stack was way more than my entire monthly salary at the library. And he was casually handing it over like it was spare pocket change just for one missed shift.

"You're... you're really giving me this?" I asked, looking up at his sharp face in complete disbelief.

Kingsley completely skipped answering my question. He just turned toward the open living area and gestured vaguely.

"I'll be out for a while today, so keep yourself company," he said, his tone tone calm and commanding. He pointed toward the massive kitchen island, where a covered plate of fresh, warm breakfast was already sitting next to a glass of orange juice. "You're always alone anyway, so I'm sure you won't get bored."

He stepped toward the coffee table and pointed at a neat stack of paperback romance novels resting near the couch—books with dark, dramatic covers that looked eerily like the ones I had saved on my reading apps.

My head spun fast. Panic and confusion tangled in my chest. How the f**k did he know all of that? How did he know I had no friends, lived alone, and spent all my free time reading romance books? Had he run a full background check on me overnight?

"How do you—" I started, my voice catching in my throat.

Again, Kingsley skipped answering me completely. He just pointed past the living room toward the giant, flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, letting me know the remote was right beside it.

He turned on his heel and began walking toward the front entrance, adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket with effortless grace.

Just as he reached the heavy front door, Kingsley stopped. He turned his head and looked back over his shoulder, a sharp, wicked glint flashing in his storm-gray eyes.

"The kitchen is right over there, little bird," he murmured, his low voice dripping with pure, unadulterated mockery. "So make sure you don't accidentally miss it again."

Before I could even throw a pillow at his head, he stepped out into the private hallway, and the door clicked shut behind him, locking automatically.

The second Kingsley disappeared, a massive wave of heat and shame washed over me. I let out a loud groan and covered my burning face with both hands. He knew. He knew exactly what I was doing last night, and he was completely mocking me for it.

I dragged my feet over to the couch and sank into the leather cushions. I tried to eat the breakfast he left—which was actually delicious—and I tried to lose myself in one of the romance novels on the table. But my brain was a complete mess. The hours dragged by in agonizing silence.

Around three in the afternoon, my phone buzzed loudly against the glass coffee table.

I picked it up, expecting a call from my library supervisor telling me I was fired. Instead, the screen was flooded with angry text messages from my father:

Where the hell are you?! Why aren't you answering your phone? The debt collectors are blowing up my line again! You better have my money by tomorrow or you're dead to me!

I stared at the screen, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. I just let out a cold hiss, locked the phone, and tossed it to the far side of the couch. Typical. He didn't ask if I was safe, or why I hadn't come home last night. He only cared about getting money to feed his stupid gambling addiction. Watching his texts made me hate the idea of family and relationships even more.

As the afternoon faded into evening, the sky outside turned a deep, bruised purple. City lights began to twinkle through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

I told myself I was going to read or just sleep. But by eight o'clock, I found myself pacing back and forth near the windows, constantly looking down at the gated driveway below.

I was waiting for Kingsley.

Every time headlights flashed on the street below, my chest tighted with a sudden spike of anticipation. The moment I caught myself doing it, I stopped dead in my tracks and slapped my own forehead. What is wrong with you, Phoebe?! He's a dangerous killer who kidnapped you! Stop waiting for him like a pathetic puppy!

I marched back to the couch, sat down, and forced my eyes onto the pages of a book, trying to ignore the ticking clock.

Finally, around ten at night, the electronic lock at the front door let out a loud beep, followed by a soft click.

My heart did a sudden, stupid flip in my chest. I quickly sat up straight, holding the novel up in front of my face to pretend I had been completely absorbed in reading the whole time and couldn't care less about his return.

The door swung open, and footsteps echoed into the quiet penthouse.

Kingsley walked inside. He had loosened his dark tie, and his jacket was unbuttoned, making him look dangerously attractive after a long day.

But he wasn't alone.

Walking right behind him was a breathtaking woman. She was tall, ridiculously sexy, wearing a skin-tight red mini dress that barely covered her thighs, and her sky-high black heels clicked loudly against the polished floor as she trailed behind him.