Page 2 of Vivacity
Truly, I’d rather she thought I was monstrous than the remotest bit predictable. It’s that revelation that has me pushing back my shoulders and widening my stance.
This is my fucking hotel, and I’m no one’s foregone conclusion.
The two women stop in front of me, and I feign impassiveness as Sophia openly checks me out. I’m not sure why that irks me—after all, if I’m assessing her for her carnal potential, then it makes sense that she’d want to assess me, too.
Perhaps it’s that I prefer more awe and less cockiness on a woman’s face when she does.
‘Mr Kingsley, meet Sophia Petrakis,’ Camille murmurs.
I don’t tear my eyes away from Sophia. ‘Thanks. I’ll take it from here.’
As she slinks off, no doubt to broker another lucrative deal between one of my business associates and one of her seraphim, Sophia extends her hand.
‘Charmed, Mr Kingsley.’ Her accent is cut glass, but there’s a sarcastic inflection I don’t much care for.
I take her hand—slim, warm, soft—and shake. ‘It’s Ethan. How do you do.’
Observing her from less than a metre away is quite the experience, and it serves to underscore my first impression: that this woman is indeed lush. Her skin is tanned an even olive; her coral-coloured mouth is ripe; her brown eyes are huge and thick-lashed and half-hidden under a very long, very feathery fringe, the effect of which is alluring and coquettish and all sorts of other things that randomly chopped segments of hair have no business being.
At least it’s keeping my gaze off her tits.
For now.
‘Beautiful hotel, Ethan,’ she says, breaking eye contact to glance at the stunning roof terrace with its waterfalls and ancient potted olive trees and panoramic views sweeping from the Houses of Parliament to the London Eye and beyond.
‘Thank you.’
‘I hear you’ve been on quite the tear with assistants this year,’ she muses, toying with the cocktail stick in her martini. She holds it up to her lovely mouth and sucks an olive off the end, looking back up at me through those eyelashes and that hair. She’s watching for my reaction—though whether that’s to her provocative comment or her little oral teaser, I’m unclear.
‘It’s unfortunate.’ I slide my free hand into my pocket. ‘None of them were the right fit.’ I linger on thedouble entendreof that final word.
There’s a flash of something in her dark eyes as she swallows the olive. She strikes me as the type of woman who takes everything as a challenge. ‘Is that a fact?’
‘None of them had what it took to succeed as my EA.’
‘Which is… what, exactly? Masochistic tendencies? A teflon coating? Wait—a degradation kink?’
So Talia hasdished the dirt. ‘Resilience. Backbone.’
‘Right. Of course. I’m sure it wastheywho were lacking.’
If there’s a happy medium between the seraphim who behave like a wet ladies’ blouse at the slightest sign of pressure and those who are snarky little smart arses, then Camille hasn’t done me the courtesy of serving those Goldilocks candidates up to me yet. It’s only my dentist’s voice in my head that stops me from grinding my teeth in frustration.
‘I need someone who’s unbreakable. Anything else is a spectacular waste of my time.’
This woman is not destined to play poker in her lifetime. The distaste on her face is palpable.
‘Funny. From what I’ve heard, I’d have thought you’d enjoy breaking people. Or at least breaking them in.’
‘I enjoy showing them who’s boss. But I need them whole and fully functional for my purposes.’
‘No time for broken things,’ she muses. ‘Got it. You know, you really should be more careful what you wish for.’
I narrow my eyes at her. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
CHAPTER 2
Sophia
