King of Pride: An Opposites Attract Romance (Kings of Sin Book 2)
King of Pride: Chapter 11

I took Clarissa to the Valhalla Club’s annual fall gala for our first date. It was a risky move, considering how big the event was, but I couldn’t put it off any longer. The messages from my mother piled up by the day, and I needed to take my mind off a certain brunette with a penchant for impropriety and a smile that’d lodged itself into my consciousness.

So far, it wasn’t working.

“This branch is so different from the London chapter.” Clarissa swept her eyes around the gilded ballroom. Last year’s gala theme focused on the Roaring Twenties; this year’s paid homage to ancient Rome, complete with towering marble columns, a miniature Colosseum, and free-flowing wine. “Our parties are less…ostentatious.”

“New York is Valhalla’s flagship. They like to show it off.” I glanced at the far side of the room. A crowd had already formed around the bar, blocking my view of whoever was on duty tonight.

I’d resisted checking whether Isabella was working the gala earlier, but now, I wished I’d given in to my earlier temptations.

Clarissa was perfectly nice. Unlike our awkward reunion at Monarch, our conversation tonight had flowed easily from our favorite hidden gems in London to the latest world news since I picked her up half an hour ago. She also looked stunning in a pink Roman-style gown and diamonds; more than a few guests had cast admiring glances at her on our way in.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried to focus on Clarissa, my attention remained divided between the woman standing next to me and the woman who’d taken up residence in my thoughts.

My jaw tightened at the memory of Victor’s sleazy hands touching Isabella. I wasn’t one for violence outside the boxing ring, but seeing him grab her had incited a dark, burning rage that’d made me want to tear his arm off and feed it through a wood chipper.

Thankfully, he’d returned to D.C. and wasn’t in attendance tonight, or I’d be thrown out of Valhalla myself for murdering another club member.

I ran a hand over my mouth and forced my mind elsewhere. It was neither the time nor the place for violent fantasies.

For the next hour, Clarissa and I circulated the room as I introduced her to the other members. Some she already knew. The international jet set was small, and they gathered at the same glittering social events every year: Cannes, the Legacy Ball, the Met Gala, New York and Paris Fashion Week. The list went on.

Dante and Vivian were here, as were the Laurents, the Singhs, and Dominic and his wife Alessandra. Even the Serb made an appearance, though he left after only a few minutes. I was surprised he’d showed at all; the unsmiling, unspeaking tycoon rarely showed his face in public. He’d joined Valhalla last year, and I hadn’t heard him talk once. I made a valiant effort to avoid the bar, but when Clarissa excused herself to use the restroom, I couldn’t resist a quick look. The crowd had cleared, and I found myself scanning the length of the room for a flash of distinctive purple.

Blonde hair, red hair, silver…violet.

My breath stilled. Isabella stood at the end of the bar, talking to Vivian. High ponytail, sparkling eyes, unfettered grin. Somehow, she made her simple black uniform look better than any of the expensive designer dresses on display tonight.

My feet took me across the room before my brain could protest.

In a rare change of pace, Isabella spotted me before I could overhear her talking about something inappropriate—glitter condoms, perhaps, or a modern reenactment of ancient Roman orgies—and her voice petered off as I approached.

A strange stab of disappointment pierced my gut.

“Hey, Kai.” Vivian smiled, resplendent in a floor-length aqua gown and diamonds befitting the Lau jewelry heiress. “You have perfect timing. I was just about to replace Dante. You know him. Can’t leave him alone for too long.” She slid off her seat. “Have fun. Isa, I’ll see you at Sloane’s on Thursday.”

She disappeared into the crowd before Isabella or I could get a word in.

An awkward silence bloomed in her wake. I smoothed a palm over my tie, needing something to do with my hands. My tuxedo was custom-tailored, but it suddenly felt too tight, like it could barely contain the heavy drum of my heartbeat.

I’d dined with presidents, negotiated with CEOs, and vacationed with royalty, but none had shredded my composure the way Isabella did.

“So where’s your date?” she asked, not looking at me as she worked on a drink.

Who—right. Clarissa. “She’s in the restroom.” I recovered quickly from my near misstep. “I figured it would be a good time to check in on you. Make sure you’re not distributing certain…party favors illegally on club grounds.”

“Ha ha.” Isabella rolled her eyes, but a smile curved her mouth. “What did I tell you the other night? I knew you and Corissa would end up dating.”

“Her name is Clarissa, and we’re on a date, not dating. There’s a difference.”

“You know what they say. The road to dating is paved with dates.” Her tone was casual, but I detected an undercurrent of tension.

“Jealous?” I drawled, more pleased by the thought than I should’ve been. Dark, amused satisfaction coasted through me at her telling scowl.

“Hardly. You two are perfect for each other. You’re both so…proper.”

“You say that like it’s an insult. Where I come from, propriety is a virtue, not a vice.”

“You mean the Rupert Giles school of life?” Isabella wrinkled her nose. “I can only imagine.”

I couldn’t contain a grin. “A Buffy reference. Why am I not surprised?” She reminded me a lot of the titular nineties character. Often underestimated because of her looks and stature, but fiercely intelligent with a spine of steel beneath the delicate exterior.

“Because you know I have taste,” she said primly. She handed me the drink she’d been working on. Strawberries. Pink. “Tradition.”

The idea of sharing a tradition with Isabella, even one as silly as a cocktail, pleased me even more than her potential jealousy, but I kept my voice bland as I took a sip. It was the perfect balance of sweet and tart.

“So we’re on a tradition basis now,” I drawled. “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. I have traditions with everyone, including my oversexed neighbor and the barista at my local coffee shop.” Isabella’s dimples flashed at the quizzical tilt of my brows. “Whenever my neighbor disrupts my sleep with his activities, I blast Nickelback and sing along off-key until I kill their mood. Usually takes about ten minutes. I like to think I’m doing the women a favor because their moans do not sound real. There’s nothing worse than performing vocally without getting paid in the form of orgasms.”

A laugh bubbled into my throat even as my blood heated at the sound of the word orgasms leaving her mouth. “And the barista?”

“His girlfriend is Filipino. He wants to learn Tagalog for her, so I teach him a new phrase every morning when I come in for my coffee. He’s getting pretty good.”

My smile softened at the mental image of Isabella teaching someone random Tagalog phrases at the register. It sounded exactly like something she would do. Beneath all the sass and sarcasm, she had a heart of gold.

“In that case, I’m honored to be part of such an illustrious roster.” I paused. “Minus the oversexed neighbor.”

“Lucky you.”

Isabella’s grin kicked my pulse into overdrive. I tried to stop it, but control slipped through my fingers like wisps of smoke.

It always did where she was concerned.

“I’m so sorry.”

The shock of hearing Clarissa’s voice snapped my defenses back into place. I straightened, taking in Clarissa’s flushed cheeks and apologetic expression.

“This is terribly rude of me, but I have to leave early,” she said. “An emergency came up at the gallery. One of our featured artists pulled out of the upcoming exhibition.”

A shameful breath of relief cooled my lungs. “You don’t have to explain. Work comes first.”

Clarissa glanced at Isabella. Recognition sparked in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she gave me a hesitant smile. “Rain check on our date?”

“Of course,” I said after the briefest of hesitations.

“The old work excuse,” Isabella said after Clarissa disappeared into the crowd. “You must be a terrible date.”

I ignored the obvious bait. The truth was, I was tempted to leave early too. I’d already talked to everyone I wanted to see, and after years of attending similar balls, I was unimpressed with the pageantry. I’d rather go home and lose myself in a book, except…

I’ve been working on it for a while, but I’m stuck…

All I have to do is finish my own…

How do you know?

My jaw tensed as my conversation with Isabella two weeks ago played on a loop in my mind. Her career aspirations were none of my business, but she’d looked so lost in that moment, and she’d sounded so sad…

“When does your shift end?” The question left my mouth of its own accord.

“In about an hour.” Isabella’s brow formed a questioning arch. “Why?”

Don’t do it, a voice of reason warned. This is a terrible idea. You should not tell her about—

“Meet me at the main staircase after you’re off,” I said. “I have something to show you.”

ISABELLA

I had a history of making bad decisions when it came to men, so it was no surprise I showed up at the stairs after my shift. If we got caught, I’d be in deep shit. Not Kai, of course, since his status protected him from any consequences. But me, a lowly employee? I’d be tossed off Valhalla’s premises faster than I could say double standard.

Still, curiosity was a demanding beast, and it held me firmly in its clutches as we walked up the stairs and down the second-floor hallway.

“You’re not luring me to a black site where you can chop me into pieces, are you?” I asked. “Because that’s not how I’d prefer to spend my Saturday night. I have a strong aversion to physical pain.”

Kai slanted a disbelieving glance at me. “You’ve been doing too much thriller research.”

“Nope, just listening to a lot of true crime podcasts.” Which I supposed was the same thing. “It never hurts to be cautious.”

“I promise we’re not going to a black site. That’s reserved for Tuesday nights.”

“Ha ha. Hilarious,” I grumbled, but I fell silent when we stopped in front of a familiar door.

“The library.” Disappointment cut a swath through my nerves. “That’s it?”

I liked the library as much as the next person, but after expecting a maze of secret passageways or a fancy hidden room, it was a bit of a letdown.

A small smile touched Kai’s lips. “Have faith.”

Valhalla’s library soared two stories to an elaborate cathedral ceiling engraved with the founding families’ crests. Rolling ladders and filigreed spiral staircases connected the main floor to the upper level, which bristled with leather-bound books and priceless tchotchkes.

I followed Kai up one of those staircases to the mythology section, where he skimmed his fingers over a shelf of books so old their titles were barely legible. He stopped on a battered copy of The Iliad, twisted the gold lion statuette on a nearby table with his other hand, and pulled out the book before reshelving it.

“What are you…”

The soft creak of the bookcase swinging open swallowed the rest of my words. My jaw unhinged.

Oh my God.

Plush purple carpet muffled my footsteps as I stepped inside, feeling like I’d been dropped into the middle of a movie about some rich, eccentric billionaire who enjoyed befuddling his heirs with riddles and secret passageways.

So the surprise was a hidden room. And not just any hidden room, but the hidden room of my dreams.

A beautiful rolltop desk and chair occupied the right wall, complete with a vintage typewriter and Tiffany glass lamp that drenched the room in a soft amber glow. On the opposite wall, an antique leather trunk served as a table for piles of old magazines and assorted knickknacks. A cozy-looking couch sat in the middle of the room, piled high with cushions and a red cashmere throw.

A dreamy sigh escaped. I usually preferred noise and chaos over peace and quiet, but I could wrap myself in that blanket and stay here forever.

“My great-grandfather built this room when Valhalla was founded,” Kai said, closing the door behind us. “He was the most introverted of the founders, and he wanted a place where he could be alone and no one could replace him. Only the managing committee knows it exists, and only my family knows how to open it.”

“And me,” I said softly, turning to face him.

Kai paused. “And you.”

The words sank so deep into my skin my breath couldn’t replace its way around them. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell someone?”

He leaned against the wall, the picture of casual elegance, his eyes never leaving mine. “Will you?”

I held his gaze for a moment before giving my head a slow shake. My nerves buzzed like live wires in the rain, scattering sparks of awareness through my body.

Two people. A secret room.

Our presence here seemed painfully intimate, like a pair of star-crossed lovers’ last rendezvous or a forbidden glimpse inside someone’s diary.

A smile ghosted Kai’s mouth. “The room isn’t a treasure trove. There are no priceless artifacts or stores of gold here. But if you wanted a quiet place to write…”

The sparks of awareness melted into a golden, honeyed warmth.

I didn’t work well in silence. My doubts and second-guessing festered in the absence of company, growing claws and fangs that shredded my creativity into ribbons.

But Kai’s gesture was so thoughtful I didn’t have the heart to tell him, so I simply smiled through the blossoming ache in my chest.

“Thank you. This is…” I faltered, unsure how to express the emotions sweeping through me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something so considerate for me without expecting anything in return. Not when it came to my writing, which even my friends sometimes treated as a hobby more than anything else. “This is amazing.”

The warmth of his attention settled on my back as I walked through the room, taking in the details, the decor, and the different titles on the shelves. To my surprise, they weren’t limited to the classics. There were children’s books, academic texts, romance novels and fantasy doorstoppers. Dostoyevsky and Austen sat next to Chinese classics such as Journey to the West and Dream of the Red Chamber; Neil Gaiman and George R. R. Martin occupied the shelf below Judy Blume and Beverly Cleary. The eclectic collection spanned an impressive range of cultures, genres, and eras.

“We’re missing dinosaur erotica,” Kai said with a completely straight face. “I’ll have to remedy that oversight soon. If you have any recommendations, feel free to send them to me.”

I shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “You like poking fun at me, don’t you?” I accused over a bubble of suppressed laughter.

Another ghost of a smile, followed by a wicked gleam that had my pulse skyrocketing.

“Do I look like someone who would do such a thing?” Kai pushed off the wall and walked toward me, his stride easy but powerful, like a panther leisurely contemplating its next move.

The space between us collapsed, as did any glimmer of levity when he stopped in front of me. His body heat was a living, breathing thing, clouding my mind and stealing my focus until my world consisted of nothing except dark eyes, soft wool, and the clean, expensive scent of citrus and wood.

Goose bumps rose on my sensitized skin.

“You’re right. You and fun don’t belong in the same sentence,” I managed. My head swam like I’d been downing drinks all night instead of serving them. “I can’t recommend any of the books I read to you. They’re too wild. You might go into cardiac shock.”

Kai regarded me with a lazy, dangerous amusement that I felt all the way to my toes.

“Do you think I’m boring, Isabella?” The question came out soft. Dark. Suggestive, like he was ruminating over all the ways he could prove me wrong. It trailed down my spine and left delicious little bursts of electricity in its wake.

The air shifted and thickened. Every tick of the clock pounded in rhythm with my heart, dragging me closer toward the precipice of no return.

I shook my head, attempting to form a coherent response. “You said it. Not me.”

My voice didn’t sound like mine. It was too thin, too breathless, but Kai’s proximity had snuffed out the oxygen in the room. I couldn’t breathe fast enough or deeply enough to sustain a clear head.

“I see,” he murmured. “I don’t suppose I can change your mind.” Gone were the crisp edges and formal syllables. In their place were velvet and smoke, whispering silent promises against my skin and compelling me to tilt my face up. Just a fraction, just enough to meet his gaze full on and see the heat glinting beneath pools of dusky clarity.

Heaviness gathered low in my belly, thick and molten.

I shouldn’t be here. Not with him, and not like this. But I was intoxicated, and he was beautiful, and the world had blurred into a lovely, hazy dream I didn’t want to wake up from.

Would it be so bad to indulge myself once after years of abstinence? To see whether that stern, sculpted mouth would soften into something more sensual when pressed against mine?

My lips parted. Kai’s eyes dropped, and time slowed as it always did when we were alone.

I didn’t resist the downward drift of my eyelids. My body pulled taut with anticipation for the moment when I’d replace out if that glacial sophistication would melt with a kiss.

But the moment never came.

I heard a low curse. Then the delicious cocoon of warmth vanished, replaced with a sharp breeze of air. Coldness bathed my arms and chest.

By the time my eyes flew open, the bookcase had already swung shut behind him.

Kai was gone.