Rebel North by J.B. Salsbury

Twenty-Two

Kingston

“Where are you going?” Coleman’s hissing voice stops me in the middle of my exit from the conference room mid urgent department meeting.

These are the first words she’s said to me since the dinner I walked out on, and I fully expect her to expose me to August any day now. After all, I didn’t deliver on my end.

I turn around, eye the eight other people at the table and then my boss, who stands with her hand on one hip and an iPad in the other. I point to the door. “I’m leaving. Thought that was pretty obvious.”

Her jaw hardens. “You can’t just leave in the middle of a meeting.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s going to stop me?” I swing my gaze around the table of men and women, who are shifting uncomfortably in their chairs while avoiding eye contact.

“Mr. North, a minute in the hallway.” Coleman hands off her iPad to one of her minions and stomps her heeled feet to the door.

I roll my eyes and follow her out.

She reaches around me to close the door, then shoves a long-manicured finger in my face. “You’re insubordinate.”

“Okay.”

“We had an arrangement last night.”

The reminder of last night has me grinning wide.

“You’re unable to follow through the simplest of my requests.”

“If you’re referring to you trying to blackmail me to get dirt on August—”

“Quiet!” Her eyes are wide and panicked as she searches for anyone within earshot. “Do you want me to go to August with your little secret?” She tilts her head, and the corner of her mouth tilts up.

I shove my hands in my pockets and lean a shoulder to the wall. Yesterday, her threat would’ve really got me thinking. But after last night, when I finally got Gabriella in my arms, her taste still on my tongue and my body still throbbing with memories of hers, there’s nothing this woman could say to upset me. “Go ahead.”

She blinks and tucks her chin. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m dead fucking serious. Tell him whatever you want.” I check my watch. “If you’ll excuse me. There’s somewhere important I have to be.”

I push away from the wall and head for the elevators.

“More important than your job? More important than your paycheck?”

I throw my head back and laugh so hard the sound bounces off the cold walls. I hit the call button on the elevator. “Do your worst, Ms. Coleman. I don’t give a fuck.”

I ride the elevator down to the lobby and step off into a crowd of executives returning from their lunch breaks. A big hand snags my upper arm, and Alexander glares down at me, Hayes looking annoyed at his side.

“Where are you going?” Alexander’s eyes dart between me and the elevator as if I made a mistake by heading out instead of in.

“That way.” I yank my arm free of my brother’s grip and point toward the street-level doors.

“It’s only one thirty.”

“Yeah,” Hayes says. “Shouldn’t you be up working your ass off for that new boss of yours?”

“She let me go early.”

“Bullshit,” Hayes says.

Shrug. “Don’t believe me. I don’t care.”

“What’s wrong?” Alex motions to my face. “You look weird.”

“Oh, this?” I Vanna White my face. “This, dear brother, is called happiness. Also known as joy, contentment, excitement, and anticipation.”

His brows pinch together. “Do you have a fever?”

“No, I’m happy. And I really have to go, so just be happy for me, okay?”

He grunts. Hayes shakes his head disapprovingly. And I slip between them and continue to make my way out to the street.

James, Alex’s driver, is leaning against his SUV, looking at his phone screen.

“You free to run a couple of errands with me?”

“I don’t have to be back here until seven, so, yeah.” He pops open the back door and climbs inside.

“A couple of stops and then to City Hospice by four.”

“Sure thing, Mr. North.”

“I thoughtwe were meeting at your place.” Gabrielle smiles warmly as she crosses the sidewalk in front of City Hospice toward me.

I push off the hood of the SUV and open my arms to receive her. She falls against my chest, and her hands grip the fabric of my shirt. I nuzzle her hair and breathe her in. “I couldn’t wait.”

When she leans back to look up at me, I take advantage and drop a kiss on her lips. A soft hum vibrates in my throat at the contact, a barely-there tease. “I couldn’t wait,” I say against her lips. “I had to see you.”

She pushes up on her toes, kissing me again. This time, she parts her lips. Warmth cascades like honey down my body as her tongue slides against mine.

“I take it you’re happy to see me?”

“I am, but I already called a car.” She pulls away from me to look at her phone. “Five minutes.”

“Cancel it.” I shrug.

Her eyes widen slightly. “No, I’ll just take it home to shower and pack a bag, and then we can meet back at your place like we planned.”

I tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Or… we can go to your place together, and you can shower and pack a bag—”

“No!” She seems shocked by her own outburst and attempts to laugh it off. “I mean, I couldn’t expect you to do that.”

I cross my arms at my chest. “What’s up with you not wanting me to go to your place?”

She sighs and shakes her head. “Whatever you’re thinking, I can assure you it’s not that.”

“You’re not hiding a husband and a handful of kids, are you?”

“No.” She grins.

“Roommates who are in the mafia?”

“No,” she says and gives me a playful shove.

“Oh, God,” I say and put on my most repulsed face. “Are you a hoarder?”

She laughs.

“Do you have dead cats stuck in your couch cushions?”

“Stop it. No,” she giggles.

I frown. “Freezer full of body parts.”

“Nothing like that, I promise.”

“Then let me take you home, Bee.”

Her smile falls, and she blinks at the sound of my nickname for her.

“It’s okay. I don’t mean to push you.” I take another step back, wanting to give her some space. “We can meet back at my place.”

When she looks at me, the confusion in her expression disappears, and a hint of a smile returns. She’s about to say something when the Uber pulls up to the curb in front of us.

A woman steps out. “I’m Loreen. Are you Gabriella?”

“Yes,” Gabriella says but makes no move toward the car. “Um…” She looks at me, back at the car, and then at her phone screen. “Actually, I’m sorry, I’m going to cancel the ride.”

Loreen eyes me for a second. “Are you sure?”

Gabriella shifts a little nervously on her feet, and I can see Loreen is reading the signals.

“I’m sure, totally.” Gabriella’s spine stiffens, and she looks a little more confident when she turns and heads toward the SUV.

“Have a good night,” I say to Loreen, and she grumbles about losing money as she climbs back into the car.

James opens the door, and I slide into the backseat behind Gabriella. When he closes the door, we’re plunged into the semi-darkness of the tinted windows.

“I hope I didn’t pressure you to—”

Her head jerks around. “Not at all.”

I nod.

She picks at her fingernails, hands balled up in her lap.

“Where to?” James says from the driver’s seat.

I look to Gabriella to answer.

She rattles off an address and part of town.

“So,” I say as the SUV moves forward. “Tell me about your day.”

Gabriella

My stomach is in knots as we head in the direction of my home in Cobble Hill. To avoid dwelling on what Kingston might be thinking about me living in the wealthiest neighborhood in Brooklyn, I tell him about my day. He smiles, nods, and chuckles in all the right places.

When the driver turns the car onto Henry Street, my stomach sinks.

My family’s tri-level brownstone was built in 1844 but has been completely stripped and remodeled so that the interior looks more like something from The Jetsons while the exterior still screams founding fathers.

“We’ll be back in a few,” Kingston says to the driver, prompting me to scootch out of my seat.

His long legs eat up the stairs, and he gets to the door before me.

I stop before I hit the landing. “I live with my parents,” I blurt.

He casually tilts his head. “Okay. Are they here now?”

“No.” I fumble with my keys. “They only live here part-time.”

“Cool.” He rocks back on his heels, and his gaze swings up and down the street. “So… are we going in?”

“Yes,” I say and scramble up the remaining steps to the door. My face is hot and my palms sweaty as I unlock it and push into the foyer. I hit the code on the alarm panel that is hidden behind a small painting that my mom paid way too much money for. “I should’ve told you sooner,” I say and drop my purse on the mid-century modern sideboard.

He doesn’t look around the space, doesn’t gawk at the expensive fixtures, but keeps his eyes on me. “Are you going to show me your room?”

I should’ve expected he’d be comfortable around the auspicious show of wealth—like acknowledges like. But for some reason, I feel… ashamed.

Ashamed that I still live with my parents. Embarrassed for the luxury when so many others go without their basic needs. I feel stuck between worlds—the life of entitlement I lived before and the one I’m living now. A new life with new challenges and no map to help me navigate.

He follows me up the stairs to my room on the second floor.

I flip on the light, and nerves attack my stomach as he peruses the space. Hands in his pockets, he moves from my dresser to my bookshelf, studying my things.

“I’m going to take a quick shower.” I grab clean clothes to change into.

“Take your time,” he says absently while studying framed photos of me on the beach with my brother.

I close myself into the bathroom and lock the door. Having Kingston in my private space isn’t what has me on edge. The insight into my past and the questions he may ask are what I’m worried about.

I’m going to have to tell him my story eventually.

But even three years and a ton of psychotherapy later, I hate talking about it.

I pile my hair on my head and shower quickly. Dressed in a soft pair of joggers and a tank top, I step out of the bathroom to find Kingston sitting at the foot of my bed. My breath catches when I see what he’s holding in his hand.

“My pointe shoes.”

His smile is a little sad, but I can’t imagine why. He turns the tattered silk shoes in his hand.

“I—” my voice cracks. I clear my throat. “I used to dance ballet.”

He makes a humming noise, then looks up at me, and a million emotions race across his eyes. “Used to.”

“I quit. A few years back.”

He narrows his gaze. “You don’t strike me as a quitter.”

“I’m not.” My own heartbeat grows loud in my ears.

He shrugs. “Okay.”

I take the shoes from his hands and pull open a drawer to stuff them inside.

“You think you’ll ever take it back up?”

With my back to him, I close my eyes and breathe through the chest cramp that always accompanies talks of what I lost.

Be casual. Play it off.

I practice a smile, and once I feel that smile, I turn around. “Anything’s possible, right? I’m starving. Is it too early to grab dinner?” I shove pajamas and a sweatshirt into my bag. “We should hit up the Vietnamese place on Third. I’m craving pho.” I head for the door and hit the lights. “Have you been there—”

His arm wraps around my middle. The heat of his body hits my back, and his lips brush against my ear. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

I put my hand over his, against my stomach. “Who says I’m hiding?”

“Bee—”

“There are some things I’m not ready to talk about.”

His breath is hot against my skin. He runs his lips along my neck and drops a kiss on my shoulder. “I know.” He continues to kiss up my neck to my jaw with soft, deliberate presses of his lips. He ends at my earlobe. “Relax.”

I close my eyes and release the tension in my shoulders. He continues to paint my shoulder and neck in worshipful kisses until my whole body throbs, and my legs feel like Jell-O.

“Kingston?”

I feel his smile against my skin. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

He interweaves our fingers and spins me around. My back hits the wall, and his mouth comes down on mine. With powerful lips and a wicked tongue, he sucks and nips and pulls a moan from my throat. His hand slides up my shirt, over my bra, and he palms my breast. His thumb runs circles over my nipple, the barrier of the fabric between creating a brutal tease.

“You can trust me with your past,” he whispers against my mouth.

His words wrap around my ribs and squeeze. The mention of my life before, of who I was, is a cold wash to my heated flesh.

I push the thoughts away and reach for the waistline of his pants. My fingertips brush the hard, blunt head of his erection. He hisses at the contact and rocks against my hand.

“You’re trying to distract me.” He buries his face in my neck and unfastens his pants.

I grip him in my fist.

“It’s working.” He pulls a foil packet from his pocket and rips it open with his teeth. I roll the condom on and drop my pants. I kick the fabric off one leg, then hook my ankle around his hip.

“So fucking sexy,” he growls when he sinks two fingers inside. Testing. Tempting.

I guide him closer, reaching for what I want most. Him. Thick and long, filling me. Possessing me. Holding my mind to the present.

He probs. Glides. Works his way inside. He grips my ass and lifts me higher, my back to the wall, pinning me in place with his hips. His kiss is desperate. Inflamed. As if he somehow knows I need his violence. I let him in—to my home, my bedroom, to who I was. I want to slam the shutters down, hide what he might see, avoid the questions he’s compelled to ask. And for now, he lets me.

“Need to move.” He turns us around, and we fall to the bed. With one hand braced by my head, he tilts his hips in such a way that I see stars dance before my eyes. “You like that?”

I dig my heels into the bed, open wider, and arch my back to deepen the—oh my!

He doesn’t let up. The sensation builds. He picks up the pace. I grip his shoulders and rake my nails across his skin.

“Fuck, yeah.” His hips piston forward.

The intensity in his eyes is captivating. His gaze penetrates and reads me in a way that makes me feel shy. Vulnerable. I turn my head only to have him catch my jaw. His warm palm on my cheek, long fingers in my hair, he holds my eyes to his.

Don’t hide from me.

He doesn’t say the words, I only hear them in my head.

“I won’t,” I say softly.

I hold his gaze. Fiery hazel eyes warm with acceptance pour over me. I melt around them, around him.

“That’s it, baby.” He runs his thumb along my lips. “Stay with me.”

“I’m here.” And I am. Mind, body, soul, and most dangerously, heart.

I shove up on an elbow and claim his mouth. He groans against my tongue and the vibration travels through me.

With only a seconds warning, my release surges. I gasp against his lips. He chases my mouth and kisses me deeper. Harder. A divine invasion that gives more than it takes.

His muscles tense. His hips flex, freeze, and he shudders against me. A soft sigh drops from his lips just as he lowers his weight on top of me. Our kiss slows, from frantic to lazy, we glide gently back to earth. We stay like this, connected, and he takes his time kissing my neck, jaw, and cheek. He drags his lips along my skin, causing goosebumps to jump on my arms. Back and forth, up and down, he bathes my skin in worshipful kisses. “Thank you for letting me in.” There’s no humor in his tone, no hint of innuendo. Only a sincere gratitude and reverence.

This was so much more than sex. More than two bodies coming together to satisfy a physical need.

What we did felt a lot heavier and had a connectivity that bound more than our bodies. We’ve crossed the barrier of casually dating into more complicated waters.

My skin still tingles along my neck and face where he spent so much time kissing me. I run my fingertips along the tender skin and realize he kissed along the full length of my scars.

“Kingston, I—” My stomach rumbles with hunger.

He props himself on his elbows and looks down my body. “Shit, I’m sorry. You said you were hungry, and I attacked you when I should’ve fed you.”

I save my heavy thoughts for later and run my hands through his hair. I push back the long pieces that fell forward into his face. “It’s not all your fault. I was an equal participant in the attack.”

He kisses me quickly and then slides off me. “Don’t move.” He ducks into my bathroom, and I hear the toilet flush and the faucet run.

When he comes back, he helps me slip on my panties and pants and then gives me a hand to pull me off the bed.

“You good?”

My eyes feel dreamy and my head light as my post-orgasm bliss wars with my thoughts. But I’m good. “So good.”

He looks at me, his brows slanted as if he’s concentrating hard. With a quick nod, he grabs my hand. “We’re getting pho to go.” He grabs my bag and drags me from the room.

I grin. “Why the hurry?”

He whirls around halfway down the stairs, his face level with mine. “Because you’re looking at me like you want to fall back into bed, and I’m fine with that, but I want to feed you first.”

He scoops me into his arms, and I laugh as he rushes us out the door and into the waiting car.