Coldhearted King: Chapter 18

Jonathan pulls the car up outside Delilah’s apartment building, where she’s waiting. She barely has time to pick up the bag at her feet before he’s out of the driver’s seat to take it off her and open the rear door for her. She smiles at him, then slides in to sit opposite me. I drink her in a little too avariciously. Her long dark hair is tied back in a ponytail. The green V-neck shirt she’s wearing deepens the color of her eyes, and her jeans fit like a second skin. It’s all very suitable for attending a future building site, and yet it’s still as sexy as hell on her.

Her gaze flits over me, probably taking stock of my clothing as well since this is the first time she’s seen me dressed casually. I hide my smile as she takes in my fitted gray T-shirt and jeans, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Realizing she’s been staring a little too long, her eyes dart to mine, then out the window, a slight blush warming her cheeks.

“Did you purchase a dress?” I ask, forcing her to make eye contact with me again.

“Yes. And thank you for arranging a card for me to use. I gave it back to Samson on Wednesday.”

I nod. Samson had returned it to me immediately after she’d dropped it off, looking just as curious as when I asked him to take it down to her in the first place. He knows better than to ask any questions though. The truth is, I didn’t have a good reason for giving her my personal card to use, except that the idea of her wearing a dress I bought for her, even if she’s not aware of it, appeals a little too much.

We pass the rest of the drive to the airport in silence. I answer emails on my phone, including one from Roman that has me firing off a reply straight away. Rumors that Berrington is considering pulling his investments are circulating again. We’ll need to meet and discuss how to handle it when I return to New York on Saturday.

After I finish replying to my urgent emails, my focus returns to the woman across from me. Delilah has her tablet open and she’s making quick, efficient marks on the screen with a stylus.

I watch her for a few moments, admiring the curve of her cheek and the fullness of her pink lips. A vision of those lips wrapped around me soon invades my mind, and I turn away, spending the rest of the trip looking out the window and thinking.

I need to restrain myself around her. Yes, I want to fuck her again. I’d be more than happy to spend every minute of our spare time in Chicago in bed with her. But I told the truth when I said I wasn’t inviting her for that reason. In a rare moment of conscience, I realized she might not be in the headspace to spend all night fucking her boss. Not so soon after Paul’s betrayal, anyway. And considering her reaction to me after what happened in my office, it’s obvious she isn’t comfortable with the idea of casual sex, despite what happened when we originally met.

I doubt I could sleep with her tonight and then send her on her way. I respect Delilah as a professional and I want to explore her body for as long as it takes to get her out of my system, but I don’t want to get involved in anything that will be hard to extricate myself from, and I get the feeling it would be hard to extricate myself from her. I want more time with her, even though I’ve already had her once, which means she’s piqued my interest more than any other woman I’ve been with. And that’s not something I’m comfortable with.

Even knowing all that, it’s hard to resist the urge to touch her when she’s so close. I curl my fingers around my phone to stop myself from doing anything stupid.

When we get to the airport, Jonathan drives us to the private airfield where the company jet shines bright white in the sunshine.

Delilah peers out the window, then turns to me. “This is an upgrade from what I’m used to.”

“Not having to fly commercial is definitely a perk.”

She quirks a brow. “Have you ever flown commercial?”

“Only first class.”

“You mean you’ve never experienced the thrill of fighting for overhead luggage space or dealing with the person next to you who doesn’t believe in personal boundaries?”

“No. Only the joys of massage chairs and a fully stocked bar.”

I don’t miss the little eye roll she gives before turning away, and I let a smile slip out. I bet she won’t be rolling her eyes once she gets a look inside the jet.

I follow her up the stairs, my eyes fixed on her ass in those tight jeans, and almost bump into her when she stops inside the door. She turns to look at me with her mouth open and I actually laugh. It’s impressive—all pale carpet, cream leather, and wood accents.

The flight attendant, Marigold, stands to the side with a wide smile on her face. It broadens when her gaze lands on me. “Good morning, Mr. King. It’s nice to see you again.” The familiarity and suggestion in her tone has Delilah‘s gaze bouncing between Marigold and me.

Despite what Delilah is obviously thinking, I haven’t slept with her. She’s made it known she’s up for it, but I’m not interested in seeing a woman I’ve had sex with every time I need to fly somewhere. I just give her a polite good morning and usher Delilah through to the seating area with a hand on her back.

She sits down in one of the leather window seats and buckles herself in, doing her best to avoid my gaze. Small, bright patches burn on her cheeks, and I wonder if they’re from anger or embarrassment.

I’m looking forward to finding out.

Even though there are several seats available, I buckle myself in opposite her. The jet is spacious, but our legs are still within touching distance. Delilah looks over at me, then out the window, and I rub my hand over my mouth to hide my smile.

Now that we’re on board, the engines start to warm up. Marigold appears at my side, putting her hand on my shoulder. “What can I get you to drink, Mr. King?”

I glance up at her. “Just a tonic and lime this morning.”

She nods and looks at Delilah. “Anything for you, ma’am?”

“An orange juice would be nice. Thank you.” She smiles at Marigold, who nods and heads to the galley to get our drinks. Delilah meets my gaze and tilts her head. “What’s that look for?”

“You’re very polite.”

Her brows arch. “Aren’t most people?”

I shrug. Not the people I spend my time with. The competition to always be on top—to be the richest, the most powerful, the most beautiful—means they can be vicious if they think someone is vying for whatever it is they have or want. Not that Delilah seems to want me that way. Maybe that’s the difference. But I don’t miss the hitch in her breath when the plane jolts forward and my leg presses against hers.

“Are you looking forward to seeing the site?” I ask.

“I am. 3D models are all well and good, but there’s nothing like being on the ground and seeing how the building is actually going to exist in its environment.”

Her enthusiasm is obvious and infectious, and her smile is bright. I’m only visiting the site because I need to be in Chicago for the gala anyway. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered. I certainly don’t have time to visit all future development sites. Although it might also have something to do with it being a good excuse to have Delilah come with me.

She’s like an itch I can’t scratch. I can only hope that more time with her will ease that itch, make me stop lusting over her. Or maybe it will only make things worse.

Who the hell knows?

Marigold brings our drinks, passing Delilah’s juice with a warm smile. When she meets my gaze, the smile she gives is perfectly professional and polite. She must think Delilah is my girlfriend.

As the engines spin up and the jet roars down the runway, Delilah closes her eyes, her fingers tightening around the armrests. I wasn’t expecting this reaction from her. “Are you scared of flying?” I ask.

She blinks a couple of times, then focuses on me. “A little. It’s manageable. Just the takeoff and landing, really.” A minor bump as we rise through an air pocket has a gasp falling from her lips.

It bothers me that she’s scared. “Our pilot’s an ex-naval pilot. He’s incredibly experienced.”

The corners of her mouth lift. “That’s reassuring. Thank you for telling me.” But her fingers don’t relax until the plane levels out and the engine noise drops.

“Better?” I ask.

She gives me a smile. “Better.”

I relax as well. “So tell me, why did you decide to become an architect?” I find myself genuinely interested in her answer. In my experience there are very few licensed architects of Delilah’s age. I’m curious about what’s behind that level of hard work and commitment.

“I was always good at math and art in school. Architecture seemed like a natural combination of those two things. And there’s something amazing about imagining a structure in your head, putting it on paper, then seeing it converted into a reality that will hopefully last long after you’ve gone. Knowing your work has a long legacy is an incredible thing.”

I nod. I can understand that.

“Plus it pays well,” she adds.

“Always an important consideration.” I tap my fingers on the leather armrest. “How did you get your license at such a young age?”

She laughs lightly. “It’s called not having much of a life.”

“So explain why a smart, young, beautiful woman would put her life on hold to achieve that.”

She looks down at her glass and runs her finger around the rim, then lifts her gaze to mine. “My mom had me when she was young and raised me on her own. She had to work multiple jobs to earn enough to keep a roof over our heads and food on our plates. Growing up, seeing how hard she worked, how she put aside her own dreams to take care of me, all I wanted was to take care of her. The sooner I could become licensed, the sooner I could start earning the money to do that.”

Her upbringing is the complete opposite of mine. It takes me a moment to realize that the sharp tug in my chest is another surge of regret over accusing her of trying to manipulate me. “That’s admirable.” I take a sip of my drink. “Do you mind me asking what happened to your father?”

Her expression shutters. “He didn’t want to be in the picture.”

It’s obviously an uncomfortable subject for her, so I change back to safer topics. “How did you manage to pay your way through college?”

“I was lucky and received a scholarship. That meant I only had to work part-time to cover my remaining expenses. I interned the rest of the time so I could get a head start on logging my practical hours.”

“I’m impressed.” And I am. Very few people surprise me, and even fewer impress me. Delilah’s just done both.

She puts down her empty glass. “Anyway, that’s enough about me. Why did you decide to go into the family business?”

I may have peppered her with questions, but I’m not particularly interested in answering any about me. Still, I guess I owe her the same honesty she gave me. “It wasn’t really a decision. We were born and raised into it.”

She nods, her eyes intent on mine. “Do you enjoy it?”

The question gives me pause. Do I enjoy it? It’s not really something I’ve ever asked myself. “I enjoy making decisions, being in control. I enjoy having power, and I enjoy having money.”

Her eyebrows rise and a smile flirts with the corner of her lips. “That sounds like something a rich and powerful man would say.”

I shrug. “It works for me.”

She laughs quietly, and it hits me then. This is the most relaxed I’ve seen her since we met. The two of us have spent every meeting either rubbing up against each other or rubbing each other the wrong way. As much as I enjoy seeing the sparks flash in her eyes when she’s angry, I like this side of her too.

“I guess I could get used to this,” she says as she runs her fingers over the seat’s soft cream leather. “If you have to fly, this is the way to do it.” Her eyes wander to the back of the plane, to the closed door behind me. “What’s back there?”

“The bedroom.”

Her eyes shoot back to me, and a faint blush tints her cheekbones. “Oh.”

I give her a lazy smile as I picture taking her into that room and making her cheeks flush for a different reason.

She looks down at where she’s fidgeting with her seatbelt.

Marigold returns to take our empty glasses and ask if we want something else. Delilah looks from Marigold to the bedroom door, then back to Marigold again, before her gaze lands on me. I can almost see the wheels turning in her mind. She’s making an assumption. Probably a logical one, but in this case, incorrect.

We both decline another drink, and after Marigold leaves, neither of us seems inclined to continue the conversation. Delilah pulls out her tablet again and goes back to work. I decide to join her, taking out my phone and answering the new emails that have come in. They never seem to stop.

Two hours later, the pilot lets us know we’re about to descend into O’Hare. Delilah stashes her tablet and gives me a self-conscious smile as she grips the armrests. I distract her by asking questions about her work. It seems to be effective, her shoulders relaxing and her expression becoming animated as she tells me about the first building she worked on and what her favorite design has been so far.

I’m so absorbed in watching her that the mild jolt of the plane’s wheels bumping down onto the tarmac surprises me.

Delilah also starts and looks around. “We landed?”

“I told you he was a good pilot.”

“You did. Thank you again for that.” Her lips curve up, and her green eyes sparkle. Something tightens in my chest. I can’t recall the last time someone smiled at me with such genuine happiness.

I look away, watching the airport pass through the window as the plane taxis off the runway. I’m not used to feeling something for the women I’m with, or have been with, in Delilah’s case. It’s . . . disconcerting. When we halt at the terminal, I unbuckle my seatbelt and wait for Delilah to unbuckle hers, then follow her out of the jet and down the stairs to the waiting car. We slide in next to each other and the driver starts the car, heading out of the airfield.

“We’ll go to the hotel and drop off our bags, then head straight to the site,” I say.

“Okay.” Her gaze skitters away from mine. Probably because I’ve avoided looking at her since she smiled at me on the plane.

When we get to our hotel, and I mean ours as in it’s a King-Group-owned hotel, we head straight to our adjacent rooms. After settling our things, we return to the car. As soon as we reach the site, Delilah is out the door.

There’s not a whole lot for me to get excited about—it’s an empty space between two other buildings and when I look at it, all I see are numbers, the potential for profit—but Delilah’s face glows as she turns around, looking up at the surrounding buildings, her eyes rising to the roofline.

“Can you picture it?” I ask.

She turns to me and the brightness of her smile sparks through me like a static shock.

“Yes. And I already have an idea to make the design even better.”

“What sort of idea?”

She points at an angle across the street. “The buildings on the diagonal are smaller. In that direction, the lower floors will get a better view. I’d like to try curving the northeastern corner of the hotel to maximize it.”

“And that’s going to cost me more money.”

Her face falls. “Should I stop making structural changes? I—”

I let my smile escape. “I’m kidding, Delilah. Why do you think you’re here? Draw up any modifications and send them for estimates.”

She stares at me, then lets out a short laugh. “I think that’s the first time you’ve made a joke. I mean, it was an awful one. But I like that you tried.” She throws a smirk over her shoulder as she turns to walk further onto the plot.

The curve of her lips and the sway of her ass merge together to make me want to bend her over the hood of the car and fuck her. Apart from the company not needing its COO getting arrested for public indecency, if I get the chance to have Delilah again, it won’t be on the hood of a car in the middle of a busy street.

But the way the urge to touch her is taking over my mind, I’m not sure how reckless I might get.