“Turbo,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “Nought to sixty in two-point-two seconds.”
I laugh. It’s such a Kingi thing to say. As a boy he was always into extremes—he wanted to be the fastest runner, the best climber, to hit the cricket ball the furthest. Speed and power were his answer to everything, and his favorite saying was ‘no risk, no reward.’ It doesn’t surprise me that he’s now one of themost powerful men in the city, if not the country. He was always destined for greatness.
He’s come an awfully long way since our childhood, whereas I’m still the same old Chessie—normal, ordinary, and slightly awkward.
Ahead of us, a group of men and women is making their way toward the lobby. They’re all wearing suits, and everything about them screams money, from the guys’ handmade shoes and sharp haircuts to the women’s coiffured hair and designer handbags.
My step falters, and Kingi glances at me and slows. He looks at the group, then down at his bare chest, then at me. “This way,” he says, and he turns and leads me along a side path that curves around the complex to a plain door in the side of the hotel building.
He punches in a code, then opens the door and stands back to let me pass. I have to turn to the side to slip by him, and even though he’s right—he does smell a bit like a farmyard—as I move close, I get a whiff of his delicious cologne. Mmm. Gone are the days when he’d smell of supermarket-bought deodorant like the rest of the boys his age. Now his scent is something expensive and classy, with cedarwood, that makes the skin on the back of my neck prickle.
Gosh, I’d forgotten how tall he was. I’m only five-four, and I’m wearing flat walking boots, so he towers over me. My eyes are level with the greenstone pendant that rests on his chest, which would normally sit beneath his shirt. He’s almost as wide as he is tall, with huge shoulders and a broad chest covered in curly hairs. I don’t think both of my hands together could circle his biceps. His left forearm bears a full Maori sleeve tattoo which is immensely attractive. Wow.
I make it past him unscathed into the stairwell, and he closes the door behind him, then gestures for me to go up. I climb the stairs, with him following me.
“Are you looking at my butt?” I tease as we climb.
“What? No, of course not.”
“Fair enough. Nowadays a guy can have his eyes put out for something like that. Did you know that on the London Underground there are signs warning against intrusive staring of a sexual nature?”
He snorts. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I sort of get it,” I say thoughtfully. “I mean it’s no fun when a stranger stares at your boobs…”
“My point is that signs shouldn’t be required. Young guys should be brought up to be respectful and not stare at strangers’ tits on the train.”
“Good point. We’re not strangers, though.”
“True. So I can look at your butt?”
“Feast your eyes, my friend.”
We both laugh.
“Actually,” he says in a mild tone a few steps later, “you have a rather nice ass.”
“I… ah… oh.” Words fail me as, with that one sentence, our childhood relationship falls away, and suddenly I’m intensely aware that I’m a grown woman and he’s a man, and my pulse starts to race.
But that makes me think about the kiss, and I remember what happened after that, and my heartbeat slows once again. The fantasy will always be light years away from the reality.
We reach the door at the top of the steps, and I open it to reveal a long corridor ahead of us. He leads the way and stops at a door marked with the number 104, touches a key card to it, and goes in.
I follow, letting the door close behind me, and stop to take off my filthy boots. We’re in a large suite that overlooks the gardens. It’s open plan, with a living room, kitchen, and dining room all in one, and a bedroom visible through a doorway. It’s like a hotel suite, and I guess most members of the Midnight Circle have one for when they don’t want to go home after a late meeting.
“Interesting design.” I leave the boots by the door and walk further in. The furniture is all made from natural materials—bamboo, wicker, rattan—and there are lots of plants, making it feel very homely and fresh.
“It’s called biophilic design.” He tosses his keys and wallet on the kitchen counter. “The whole hotel is like it. We’re keen to be environmentally friendly here.”
Obviously, I’m aware the gardens have won a sustainability award, so I know the environment is important to the Circle, but I’m impressed that their interest extends to the hotel itself.
“The bathroom is through there.” He gestures at the bedroom door. “Have a shower if you want—you can use anything you find in there, and there are plenty of towels. Would you like a coffee and a muffin? I’ll place an order while you’re in there.”
“That would be great.”
“Okay.” He winks at me, then goes over to the phone on the counter.
I take my change of clothes into the bedroom and close the door behind me. Then I pause a moment.