King of Sloth (Kings of Sin, #4)

by Ana Huang

Xavier Castillo stared down at me, his handsome face etched with a scowl.

“Sloane?” “That is my name.”

“You will board that jet, attend the gala with a smile, and stay for the entirety of the event like a good representative of the Castillo family because if you don’t, I will make it my personal mission to ensure you never have another second of peace. I will crash every party you attend, warn off any woman stupid enough to fall into your orbit, and blacklist any of your friends who enable your worst impulses from my events. I can make your life a living hell, so don’t make an enemy out of me.”

it were anyone else, I would’ve admired the raw masculine beauty on display, but this was Xavier Castillo. The day I admired anything except his commitment to non-commitment was the day I could somehow physically cry again.

“I’ll attend the gala if you promise to join me on vacation after. Three weeks in Spain. No work, just play.”

That was the worst part about Xavier. He was smart, but he applied it to all the wrong things.

One week in Spain with one of my least favorite people on the planet. What could possibly go wrong?

Nothing brightened my day more than riling Sloane up. She was so predictable in her responses and so spectacular in her anger, and I loved seeing her ice-queen façade melt long enough to reveal a glimpse of the real person underneath. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, I added it to the mental drawer where I collected all things Sloane.

Objectively, Sloane was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met. Blue eyes, long legs, symmetrical face…Michelangelo himself couldn’t have sculpted a better female form.

She was prickly as hell, but she was also beautiful, smart, and accomplished. Even now, there were multiple men sneaking peeks at her from surrounding tables.

“Just shut up and follow me,” I snapped, wishing I had a wittier reply. “Yes, ma’am.” His cheeks dimpled. “I love a woman in charge.”

Vacation or not, I was still me. I didn’t let people see past what I wanted them to see, and nothing would change that—not even a forced week off with my client nemesis.

It was just a stupid dream. I wasn’t going to let it ruin my trip, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to dig deeper into what it meant. Ignorance was bliss.

Fortunately, the spa had one package available at the last minute. Unfortunately, it was a couples’ package, which was how Sloane and I ended up in a private igloo dry sauna together, kickstarting the first of many stops on our Signature Honeymoon Ritual.

“I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to who flirted with me.” “I’m your publicist. It’s my job to pay attention to everything about you.”

“You’re the one who said this trip is supposed to be relaxing.” She twisted the door handle. “Being interrogated isn’t relaxing.”

can’t,” she said. “The door is jammed. We’re stuck.”

On my list of worst ways to die, overheating half naked in a sauna with Xavier Castillo ranked somewhere between medieval torture and getting eaten alive by piranhas, which was why it was not going to happen.

“We survived death. It can only go uphill from here.” I pushed him into a nearby bush.

“Fine. I like fixing things. Solving problems no one else can solve.” Crisis management was only part of my job, but it gave me the biggest thrill. Writing press releases and managing media relations was fine, but I could do those things in my sleep. “So you like to be needed.” I turned my head before my therapist could stop me. Xavier met my gaze with a knowing one of his own, and…there it was again. A little skip in my chest, followed by the unnerving sense that he could see right past the shields I’d painstakingly built over the years.

“But I’m good at doing nothing, so I stick to it. It’s better than fucking things up.”

Xavier was unmotivated, but he wasn’t dumb. If he tried, he could probably run circles around the people sitting in the Castillo Group’s boardroom. Plus, he had an ample cushion of money and connections. Why would he be so afraid of screwing up that he didn’t try?

“Here.” He handed me an unopened bottle from a nearby table. “I have a feeling you’re going to need this.”

I wanted to stay in my room, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what Xavier said during our massage. So you like to be needed. Who didn’t like to be needed? Being needed meant we were good at and good for something. People didn’t leave those they needed. It wasn’t the same as being loved, but it was better than nothing. There was a lot to unpack there, but since I had no desire to do that,

Realization dawned. He was flirting with me. With his dark hair and olive skin, Luca was certainly good-looking enough, but I searched for any flicker of attraction and found none. Even if I were attracted to him, I had no interest in being a rebound hookup.

“Don’t bother.” My spine stiffened at the familiar voice behind me. “You’re so drunk, you’ll be lucky if you don’t take both of you down.” An edge ran beneath Xavier’s otherwise affable tone. “Why don’t you sober up and come back?”

“Look bad?” I covered up the momentary lapse in my defenses with a defiant chin tilt. “I’m the one who apparently can’t dance, not you.” “We can change that. I’ve been told I’m an excellent instructor.” “Doubtful.” “You always underestimate me.” “And you always provoke me.” He gave a casual shrug. “I like it when you get mad. Proves you’re not an ice queen after all.”

“Hey, I wasn’t⁠—” “I have to go.” I pushed past him, my chest tight. His hand touched my shoulder. “Sloane⁠—” “Don’t touch me, and do not follow me.” I injected my trademark coldness into my words. “Enjoy the rest of the party.”

I didn’t sleep well for the second night in a row. Instead of the bridge dream, I was haunted by images of Sloane’s face before she left last night.

I tried to put Sloane out of my mind and focus on Luca. He’d been pretty bummed since he and Leaf broke up, though my sympathy for him had dwindled when I saw him flirting with my fucking publicist at the beach. She wasn’t even his type.

“Speaking of which, where’s Sloane?” An unpleasant burn ignited in my chest. “Probably reading a boring nonfiction book somewhere. Why?” Luca shrugged. “She’s hot. She’s single. I could use a distraction from the Leaf situation.” The burn exploded into a wildfire and set my teeth on my edge. “She’s not the rebound type.”

I’d convinced Sloane to come to Spain, hoping it would break her from her comfort zone, but I was turning out to be the one in over my head.

prevented me from going back on my word. Instead, I curled up beneath a blanket in the living room and watched the Spanish rom-com onscreen with increasing disgust. “Te amo,” the actor whispered in Spanish. English subtitles translated what he said. “Nunca te dejaré.” I’ll never leave you. “Ugh.” I scribbled furiously in my review notebook. “Film an after-the-movie special and see if that’s really true.” Romantic comedy was the most unrealistic genre in Hollywood. Falling off a seventh-floor balcony and getting up a minute later to chase after the bad guy was more believable than workplace rivals who suddenly “discover” they have feelings for each other and live happily ever after. The concept of happily ever after was the biggest scam since the advent of the overpriced college textbook industry.

Note to self: Buy more sunscreen ASAP. The continued burn on my skin wasn’t normal.

If someone had told me two days ago that I’d have a movie night with Xavier Castillo and enjoy it, I would’ve asked what drugs they were on,

“You know rom-coms aren’t supposed to be realistic.” Xavier wasn’t over my review. “They’re supposed to be entertaining.” “They would be more entertaining if they were realistic.” I pointed at the end credits rolling across the screen. “What are the chances longtime rivals would fall in love just because they’re thrown together on a work project?”

“Come on. It’s time for your dance lessons.” I crossed my arms. “Absolutely not.” That was even worse than getting wasted. “So you enjoy looking like a malfunctioning robot every time you dance?” “I don’t…” Breathe. I counted to three and tried again. “I rarely dance. Therefore, I don’t need lessons.” “You go out with your friends all the time, so that’s not true… unless you’re afraid of failing.” Xavier dropped his hand and shrugged. “I understand. No one succeeds at everything.”

“I take back what I said about the malfunctioning robot,” Xavier said. “I don’t want to insult robots.” I dropped my arms and glared at him. “If I had a better teacher, I’d be doing better.”

“What are you thinking about?” “Moving my hips in a circle.” “That’s your problem,” he said. “You shouldn’t be thinking about that.” “You just said⁠—” “You have to feel the movement. The more you think, the less natural it looks.”

Tousled black hair fell carelessly over one eye, shielding his thoughts as the silence stretched into uncomfortable territory. There was a pensiveness to him that I rarely saw, and it molded his features into a devastating portrait Michelangelo himself would’ve been proud of. The dramatic slant of his cheekbones, the thick dark brows, the sculpted mouth that seemed infinitely more inviting when it wasn’t wearing a provocative smile…his face dared me to look away, and I couldn’t. Electric awareness dripped into the air and snuffed out the oxygen. Xavier and I had been alone many times before, but this was the first time I recognized the danger in him. Beneath the layers of indolent self-possession, there was a man who could set my world aflame if he wanted.

“I’m naming it the Sloane. Bitter at first but with a sweet aftertaste. Just like someone I know.” “You don’t know how I taste.” His smile took on a decidedly more wicked slant. “Not yet.” My body reacted, instantly and viscerally, like he’d flipped the on switch in a long-untouched room. My breasts tightened as heat flickered between my thighs, turning my body warm and languid. Less-than-innocent images flashed through my mind before I wrestled them into a box and slammed the lid shut. No. Absolutely not.

People could call me a bitch or an ice queen, but there was one unshakeable, undeniable truth—I was the best at what I did. Hands down. That was why CEOs, celebrities, and socialites paid me the big bucks. They didn’t all like me personally, but they respected me and they needed me. So you like to be needed. Xavier’s observation floated to the surface before I brushed it aside. So what? Everyone liked to be needed. Those who said they didn’t were lying.

“One more for courage. Salud.” His hand brushed mine as he handed me my shot, and a tiny jolt zipped down my spine. The whiskey burned smooth enough to dampen any concerns over my body’s strange reactions tonight. “You didn’t answer my question truthfully,” I said. Warmth buzzed over my skin and pooled in my veins. I held my liquor pretty well, but the drinks were strong, and I didn’t resist the intoxication as fiercely as I normally did. It felt good to let my control slip. Just a little bit.

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.

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…

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.

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.

about

“We’ve worked together for years, and I don’t even know your favorite food.” That was a lie. I knew she loved sushi because it was neat and easy to eat on the go. I knew she preferred double cheeseburgers when she was on her period and steak, medium rare, at client dinners unless her client was vegetarian, in which case she ordered soup and salad. She liked her wine white, her coffee black, and her gin with a splash of tonic. I knew all of these things because despite her assumption that I paid attention to no one except myself, I couldn’t stop noticing her if my life depended on it. Every detail, every moment, all filed and categorized in the Sloane cabinet of my mind.

She walked away, leaving me to stare after her and wonder what kind of message was possibly bad enough to throw Sloane Kensington off her game.