King of Sloth (Kings of Sin, 4)
King of Sloth: Chapter 5

Sloane and I flew to Mallorca in silence. I could tell she was plotting my demise the entire time, but luckily, all sharp objects remained blood-free when we landed.

By then, we were so tired she didn’t argue over sharing a villa with me, and I didn’t protest when she took the primary suite. I was simply happy to fall into bed and pass out.

Despite my exhaustion, it was a fitful sleep plagued by replays of the same dream. I was crossing a bridge with Hershey, my pet chocolate Lab from childhood, but every time I made it halfway, the gaps between the planks widened. No matter how hard I tried to jump the distance or cling to the railing, we fell through the gap. I plunged into quicksand and watched helplessly as the surrounding river swept my beloved dog away.

Hershey died years ago from old age, but that didn’t matter to Dream Me. The crushing anchor of failure weighed me down more than the quicksand.

The fall happened over and over and over until I woke up, heart pounding and body drenched in sweat.

Variations of the dream had haunted me for years.

Sometimes, I was with Hershey. Other times, I was with my mother, an old friend, or an ex-girlfriend. Whoever it was, the result remained the same.

I was stuck watching them die.

“Fuck this.” My harsh voice chased some of the ghosts away as I tossed my covers off.

It was only eight. I usually didn’t get up until past ten, but I couldn’t stay in that bed any longer.

I turned the shower as cold as it would go and washed away the remnants of the night.

It was just a stupid dream. I wasn’t going to let it ruin my trip, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to dig deeper into what it meant. Ignorance was bliss.

I scrubbed harder with the soap.

By the time I toweled off and threw on a shirt and pants, I’d corralled my unease to the back corners of my mind where it belonged.

I headed to the kitchen but stopped halfway when a flash of movement caught my eye.

I came to a dead halt.

Sloane was exercising on the back deck, wearing a tank top and yoga pants. Yoga pants.

It might seem normal to see someone wearing workout clothes to work out, but this was Sloane. I’d known her for three years and I had never, not once, seen her in anything other than an evening dress or business wear. I was convinced she slept in those knife-sharp suits she favored so much.

I walked closer, fascinated by the unnatural sight.

Sloane switched from one impossible-looking yoga pose to another. Sunlight gilded her lithe form and turned her golden hair into a halo. She hadn’t noticed me yet, which meant her expression didn’t hold disdain, frustration, or general annoyance.

It was…nice, but also a little alarming, like seeing a lioness stripped of her claws.

Her phone pinged with a new notification. My mouth twitched when she balanced herself so she could type out a reply with one hand before she resettled into her original position and closed her eyes.

“Impressive.” I couldn’t resist commenting. I leaned against the doorframe and pushed a hand into the pocket of my sweatpants. “But you know the point of yoga is to relax, right?”

Sloane’s eyes popped open again. Her head swiveled so she could glare at me. “How long have you been standing there?” she demanded.

Ah, there’s that comforting irritation. Let’s see if we can notch it higher, shall we?

“Long enough to see you answer your phone.” I tsked with disappointment. “It’s the first day, and you’re already breaking the rules. I expected more from you.”

My smile inched wider when she unfolded herself, stood, and came to a stop inches from me. This close, I could see flecks of gray in her blue eyes and smell a trace of her perfume. It was clean and light, like fresh linen with a hint of jasmine.

They were things I shouldn’t notice about a woman who tolerated me at best and despised me at worst. But I did, and once I noticed them, I couldn’t stop thinking about them.

“They weren’t rules,” Sloane said. “They were mutually agreed conditions. Plus, it wasn’t a work text. It was personal.”

“Let me guess. It was your date from the other night.”

“You’re strangely obsessed with that date.”

So it had been a date. I was unprepared for the little kick in my stomach, which I masked with a shrug. “Nothing strange about it. You’re notorious for turning down men.”

“Lucky me. Maybe they’ll get the hint and leave me alone.”

Sloane abandoned her yoga session and brushed past me into the living room.

I trailed after her. “So, your first vacation in years. What are your plans for the day?”

I’d made a wild guess about the last time she took off work, but she didn’t correct me, which was damn sad. People could scold me for “not living up to my potential,” but at least I wasn’t chained to my inbox and the whims of others.

“I haven’t decided yet. Perhaps I’ll finish my book.” Her eyes flicked around at our luxurious surroundings. The three-bedroom villa boasted an infinity pool, a Jacuzzi, and access to a private beach, but she seemed unimpressed by all of it.

“The book you were reading on the plane?” I asked in disbelief. “25 Principles of Crisis Communications? That book?”

Pink colored her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. “It’s the latest edition.”

“Jesus.” The CIA couldn’t torture me into reading that book, and she was doing it for fun.

I’d assumed that once she arrived in Mallorca, the island would work its magic and she’d automatically loosen up. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

If I wanted to see a different side of her, I had to coax it out of her; otherwise, she’d spend the week buried in some boring nonfiction book and the entire trip would go to waste.

The chances of me convincing Sloane to take off work again in the future were slim to none, which meant this was my one opportunity to drag her out of her comfort zone.

I chose not to examine why doing that was so important to me. Sometimes, it was better not to ask questions I wouldn’t like the answers to.

“Fuck that. You’re at the best resort in Mallorca. You need to take advantage of it.” An idea popped up in my head. “I have just the thing. Let’s go.”

Sloane didn’t budge. “I’m not day drinking with you.”

“Not everything I do involves partying.” My grin made a wicked return. “You’ll love this. I promise.”

“I do not love this.” The heat of Sloane’s glare rivaled the one-hundred-fifty-degree air billowing around us. “I do not love this at all.”

“See, that’s exactly the type of frustration we’re working on today.” I leaned back and laced my hands behind my head. “It’ll be tough, but we will pull that stick out of your ass.”

Sloane’s eyes narrowed, and I almost patted her down to ensure she hadn’t smuggled in a hair pin that she could fashion into a weapon. Since that would be rude, and I valued my life, I kept my hands to myself.

After I convinced her to leave her ridiculous nonfiction book in the villa, I dragged her to the resort’s restaurant for breakfast followed by a trip to the spa. If anyone needed a good massage, it was her.

Fortunately, the spa had one package available at the last minute. Unfortunately, it was a couples’ package, which was how Sloane and I ended up in a private igloo dry sauna together, kickstarting the first of many stops on our Signature Honeymoon Ritual.

Sloane had put up a hell of a fight, but between my irresistible charm and the spa concierge’s firm but gentle insistence, she’d reluctantly caved.

“Is this all you do with your days?” She glanced around the cedar-paneled room.

“No. I also eat, sleep, and fuck.” My lips curved when she stiffened at the word fuck. “If you tried it some time, you might be less uptight. Newsflash, Luna, your headaches aren’t from your hair.” Even now, her blond locks were slicked back in a bun tight enough to cut off circulation. “It’s from pent-up tension.”

“Wrong. My headaches are from dealing with you.” She shifted, and I tried not to notice the way her towel slipped the tiniest bit—not enough to reveal anything scandalous, but enough to make my imagination run wild. “Besides, I’m plenty happy with my sex life, which is more than your bedmates can say, I’m sure.” Something dark and unidentifiable stirred behind my ribcage.

Fucking breakfast. I should’ve known better than to eat the last piece of sausage at the buffet.

I better not have food poisoning, or I was suing the resort. “They’ve never had complaints, but is that any way to speak to a client?” I drawled.

“You’re not my client. Your family is. You’re merely the tradeoff for one of my most lucrative contracts.”

“Ouch. Treat a girl to a luxury spa and get verbally attacked in return. Decorum doesn’t exist anymore.”

Sloane rolled her eyes. “I’m sure there are plenty of women here who’d be happy to stroke your ego. Our server at breakfast, for example. I was afraid she’d fly away from how fast she was batting her eyes at you.”

A smile stole across my face, erasing the surprise sting from her trade-off comment. “I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to who flirted with me.”

“I’m your publicist. It’s my job to pay attention to everything about you.”

My smile melted into something slower, more languid. “Everything, huh?”

I’d meant it as a joke, but when her gaze touched mine, oxygen thinned in a way that had nothing to do with the heat.

Sloane was beautiful. Fact.

I’d been physically attracted to her since the moment we met.

Also fact.

But it’d been a low-simmering attraction, the type I could brush off by focusing on something else. Recently, however, it’d ramped up to the point where there was nothing else.

I didn’t know the reason for the change, but I knew that right now, as we sat in the sauna I’d stupidly insisted on going into, I looked at her and couldn’t breathe.

Sloane swallowed. Beads of sweat trickled down her throat and disappeared into the shadow of her towel.

She didn’t respond to my innuendo, and the silence hummed beneath my skin like tiny bolts of electricity.

If I stood, it would take five steps to reach her.

If I lifted my hand, it would take two seconds to touch her. If—

“You never answered my question yesterday.” My abrupt statement severed the spell, but my pulse continued to pound and my hands instinctively curled around the edge of my seat.

Fuck, this wasn’t what I’d had in mind when I’d dragged Sloane to Spain with me. I enjoyed flirting with her, but there was a difference between flirting and…whatever the hell happened in the past two minutes.

She blinked, seemingly thrown off by the sudden change in atmosphere. “About what?”

“Your bracelet.” She wore the same friendship bracelet from last night. Sloane was a Cartier girl; friendship bracelets weren’t exactly her vibe. “You left the gala without it and showed up at Neon with it. If it’s a gift from your mystery lover, you might have to upgrade. Find someone who can buy you real jewelry.”

“It’s the thought that counts, not the carats.”

“The only people who say that are people who can’t afford carats.” But even the stupidest guy wouldn’t gift someone like Sloane a piece of kid’s jewelry. Unless… “Who did you really go see?” I asked softly.

Sloane’s face darkened.

I didn’t get a reply, nor had I expected one, but I could guess. There was only one topic that made her shut down: her family. Everyone knew about the Kensingtons’ estrangement. They were New York society staples, and barrels of ink had been spilled over the rift between investment tycoon George Kensington III and his eldest daughter. The cause of said rift had been a topic of speculation for years.

Had she visited her family after the gala? If so, who’d gifted her that bracelet and why? Obviously, it had to be someone she cared about or she wouldn’t wear it, but from what I understood, her separation from her family had been ugly. She hadn’t talked to another Kensington in years.

Sloane’s eyes stayed on mine, her emotions inscrutable beneath their wintry blue depths. It was as if she were physically restraining herself from looking away lest I mistook the move for weakness.

Little did she know, there was nothing she could do that I’d mistake for weakness. She was one of the strongest people I knew, and only a fool would think otherwise.

The minutes ticked by. The longer the silence stretched, the more I wanted to dig beneath her stoic façade until I reached the real her—the one with flaws and insecurities like everyone else, not the perfect CEO she projected to the world.

Come on, Luna. Give me something.

A shadow crossed her face, and just when I thought she’d provide some sort of answer, the heater shut off, indicating our time in the sauna was up.

I blinked, ending our unwitting stare down.

Sloane’s expression hardened again before she stood and walked to the exit.

“Okay, good talk,” I said, following her. My voice sounded abnormally loud after the silence. “I learned a lot about you. Thanks.”

“You’re the one who said this trip is supposed to be relaxing.” She twisted the door handle. “Being interrogated isn’t relaxing.”

“Interrogated is a strong word,” I muttered. But fair enough. Honestly, I didn’t know why I cared so much about a stupid bracelet. So what if it had to do with her family? My own family dynamics were shitty enough without me worrying about someone else’s.

“You can open the door anytime now,” I said when Sloane didn’t move. “I don’t want to miss a second of my massage.”

She turned, and my stomach dropped at her tight expression. “I can’t,” she said. “The door is jammed. We’re stuck.”