King of Pride (Kings of Sin #2) by Ana Huang

I suppressed a smile. Riling him up was even more therapeutic than our weekly boxing matches. I just wish he didn’t make it so easy. One semi-critical mention of his wife or marriage and he reverted right back to his scowling, pre-Vivian self.

We typically boxed on Thursdays, but I’d convinced him to move our standing appointment up given yesterday’s CEO vote bombshell.

“Be my guest. I’d much rather spend my evenings with Viv anyway.” A short pause. “And I’m not fucking soft. We ended in a tie.”

We usually did. It galled my competitive side to no end, but it was also why I enjoyed sparring with Dante so much. It was a challenge in a world filled with easy wins.

“Honeymoon stage is still going strong then?” I asked.

Dante and Vivian had recently returned from their actual honeymoon in Greece. The Dante I’d known for the better part of a decade would’ve never taken two weeks off from work, but his wife had accomplished the impossible. She’d transformed him into an actual human being with a life outside the office.

His face softened. “Don’t think it’ll ever end,” he said with surprising frankness. “Speaking of which, what are you going to do about Clarissa?”

I’d told him about the CEO vote and my mother’s call earlier. As expected, Dante had displayed the sympathy of a chipped boulder, but he never missed an opportunity to hound me about my mother’s determination to marry me off.

“Take her out like I promised. Who knows?” I stopped at the entrance to the bar. “She could be the one. This time next month, we could be double dating and wearing matching couples’ outfits in Times Square.”

Dante grimaced. “I’d rather cut off my arm and feed it through a grinder.”

I swallowed my laughter. “If you say so.” If I convinced Vivian, she could get him to yodel naked on the corner of Broadway and Forty-Second Street. Luckily for him, I also found the idea of couples’ outfits and visiting Times Square abhorrent.

We usually grabbed a drink together after our boxing matches, but he excused himself tonight for a date with his wife, so I entered the bar alone.

I wove through the room, instinctively searching for a glimpse of dimples and violet, but I only saw Isabella’s blond friend and another bartender with red curls.

I settled at an empty stool and ordered my usual scotch, neat, from the blond. Teresa? Teagan? Tessa. That was her name.

“Here you go!” she chirped, setting the drink in front of me.

“Thank you.” I took a casual sip. “Busy night. Is anyone else working today?”

“Nope. We never have more than two people working the same shift.” Tessa’s brows rose. “Are you looking for someone in particular?”

I shook my head. “Just asking.”

Luckily, another customer soon diverted her attention, and she didn’t press further.

I finished my scotch and spent the next half hour engaging in the obligatory networking and information gathering—there was nothing like a little alcohol to loosen people’s tongues, which was why I had a strict three-drink limit in public—but I couldn’t focus. My thoughts kept straying to a certain room on the second floor.

Not because of Isabella, obviously. I was simply bothered by how she’d outperformed me, and I couldn’t rest until I’d perfected the piece.

I lasted another ten minutes in the bar before I couldn’t take it anymore. I excused myself from a conversation with the CEO of a private equity firm, slipped out the side entrance, and took the stairs to the second floor.

Unlike yesterday, no music leaked into the hall. A brush of what felt perilously close to disappointment skimmed my skin until I shook it off.

I reached for the door right as it swung open.

Something—someone—small and soft slammed into me, and I instinctively reached an arm around her waist to steady her.

I looked down, the scent of rose and vanilla clouding my senses before my brain registered who was in my arms.

Silky dark hair. Tanned skin. Huge brown eyes that melded to mine with surprise and something else that sent an alarming rush of heat through my blood.

Isabella.





CHAPTER 6


Isabella



Kai wrapped an arm around my waist, anchoring me against his torso. It was like being enveloped in an inferno. Heat seeped through my shirt and into my veins; a flush rose to the surface of my skin, which tingled beneath the sudden, heavy weight of my uniform.

I should do something—apologize for running into him (even though it hadn’t been my fault), step back, run the hell away—but my mind had glitched. All I could focus on was the solid strength of his body and the rapid thud, thud, thud of my heart.

Kai tipped his chin down, his eyes finding mine. For once, he wasn’t wearing a tie and jacket. Instead, he wore a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up and the top button undone. The shirt was so soft, and he smelled so nice, that I got the inane urge to press my face into his chest. Or, worse, to press my mouth to the hollow of his throat and see if he tasted as good as he smelled.

My breath escaped through parted lips. The tingling intensified; everything felt warm and heavy, like I’d been dipped in sun-kissed honey.

Kai’s expression remained indifferent, but his throat flexed with a telltale swallow.

I wasn’t the only one who felt the electric link between us.