King of Sloth (Kings of Sin #4) by Ana Huang

Whatever it was, it worked. I didn’t hyperfocus on moving exactly the way I should, and the ironic result was that my movements flowed so much more easily.

I wouldn’t win competitions anytime soon, but I no longer resembled a malfunctioning robot, as someone had so rudely pointed out earlier.

“Much better.” Xavier’s murmur grazed the nape of my neck, eliciting an involuntary shiver of pleasure. “There might be hope for you yet.”

The seeds of a witty reply died on my tongue when he lowered his head so his face came next to mine. A delicious earthy scent seeped into my senses, heightening taste, smell, and touch until my mouth watered and I could feel every beat of his heart against my back.

I turned my head a fraction of an inch, just enough to meet his eyes.

I wished I hadn’t.

Xavier’s gaze smoldered like a lit match in the dark, scorching every inch of skin and any semblance of distance between us.

Beads of sweat dripped between my breasts. It was an inferno out here, but he was so close, and my head was so light, that if I just…

My lips parted.

His eyes darkened, and—

“Luca!” A girlish squeal from the neighboring villa tore between us. “That’s my favorite bag!”

There was an indecipherable reply, followed by a riot of laughter and then…silence. But it was too late.

The interruption snapped me out of whatever trance Xavier’s drinks/unholy magic/suspiciously glorious cologne put me under.

I jerked away from him, the loss of body warmth as sobering as the bowl of ice water I’d thrown on him mere days ago.

What was I doing?

He was my client, and I’d almost…he’d almost…

Xavier stared at me, his expression unreadable. If it weren’t for the heavy rise and fall of his chest, I would’ve thought him unmoved by what just happened—or didn’t happen.

My heart crashed against my ribcage, but I lifted my chin, broke eye contact, and forced myself to walk calmly into the villa without another word.

He didn’t stop me, and as I closed my bedroom door behind me and slumped to the floor, I hated how a tiny part of me wished he had.





CHAPTER 9





Xavier





Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, triple fuck.

It wasn’t the most mature response, but it was the only one that accurately summed up my situation.

It’d been thirty-six hours since my movie night with Sloane. Thirty-six hours since our dance lessons.

Thirty-six hours since I’d discovered how perfectly her curves fit beneath my palms and how much more intoxicating her scent was compared to even the finest whiskey.

It was knowledge I could’ve done without because now that I’d experienced it, I couldn’t imagine not reliving it.

Unfortunately, the chances of that were slim, considering how badly I’d fucked up.

If my friends hadn’t interrupted us, I would’ve kissed her Sunday night, and I was certain, positive, that she would’ve let me. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be avoiding me like I was the devil out to corrupt her.

I glanced down the beach to where Sloane sat by herself, reading that damn communications book of hers.

With my friends’ help, I’d convinced her to join our boat excursion for the day, but she’d kept to herself the entire time.

Snorkeling in the crystal clear waters? No.

Taking advantage of the gourmet tapas and open bar? No. Saying a single word to me after we boarded the yacht?

Absolutely not.

“Where are you going?” Evelyn asked when I stood. Despite what Luca said about not hooking up with her again, the two of them had been all over each other all day.

I made a vague excuse and left my friends to their devices.

Other than Luca, I wasn’t particularly close to anyone in the group. We partied together often, but I wouldn’t spill my deepest, darkest secrets to them or anything. In fact, I was starting to resent their presence because they took time away from Sloane.

“It’s a shame to waste a beautiful day like this,” I said when I came within earshot of her. We’d stopped at one of Mallorca’s hidden coves for lunch, and while we weren’t the only ones on the beach, the early-October crowd was sparse enough to give us relative privacy.

“I have sun, sea, food, and a good book,” she said without looking up. “I’m not wasting anything.”

I sat beside her. “We have different definitions of good,” I drawled.

She didn’t respond.

When I was a kid, my friends and I used to argue over which superpower we’d rather have. I’d fluctuated between flight and invisibility, but right now, I’d sell my Ferrari for a glimpse into Sloane’s thoughts.

Fuck it. There was only one way to get her attention. “We should talk about our kiss.”

Her movements stilled. Then slowly, deliberately, she slid a bookmark between the pages, closed her book, and looked up. It was seventy-eight degrees, but goosebumps coated my skin like I’d walked into a meat freezer.

“We never kissed.” She enunciated each word with terrifying precision.

“Technically, no, but we almost did. So let’s talk about it.”

Sloane’s knuckles whitened. “There’s nothing to talk about. It was late, and we had too much to drink. Period.”