Groom: The Deceit Duet Book Two

by Logan Chance

  GROOM

  THE DECEIT DUET BOOK TWO

  LOGAN CHANCE

  Copyright © 2019 by Logan Chance

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  For all the people too afraid to swim in a world of sharks. Just keep swimming.

  “If I had a flower for every time thought of you… I could walk through my garden forever.”

  -Lord Alfred Tennyson

  I am a part of all that I have met.

  -Lord Alfred Tennyson

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  SNEAK PEEK COLD HEARTED BALLER

  SNEAK PEEK COLD HEARTED BASTARD

  About the Author

  Also by Logan Chance

  A Note From The Author

  ONE

  Gabriel

  * * *

  FUCK.

  I want to leave this art gallery with my dignity intact.

  Have you ever had your strings pulled like you’re a marionette puppet? My grandfather is my very own built in marionettist. A master puppeteer, pulling at my strings with my upcoming nuptials, moving me along in a manipulated dance where I assume the position of the jolly idiot while I picture my grandfather laughing maniacally.

  I have good days, and I have some bad. Today is one of those bad ones. The only good comes from the woman pretending to be in love with me while we charm the designer pants off all the elite socialites of this city.

  Was she pretending in the limo on the ride over?

  Was she playing the part of my doting fiancee when she moaned out my name?

  Was I pretending?

  That is one question I know the answer to.

  I wasn’t.

  I wanted her to come all over my hand. I wanted to keep kissing her all night long as I slid my cock deep inside her pussy.

  But, neither of those things happened. And now, I’m lost in a fantasy where it did happen, and my cock hasn’t stopped being rock hard since.

  I lost control, something I vow never to let happen again.

  I stand in this art gallery, not entranced by the art hanging on the walls, which is where my attention should be. No, here I am more concerned about my bride-to-be talking to some cowboy about sex. Of all the people to talk to Clementine about sex, I never thought it would be some old fuck. My blood boils as I try to remain in control.

  Control. That’s something I practice in everything I do. It isn’t enough to be in control, but to be controlling too. To have power over every outcome, good or bad.

  Since my grandfather’s death, I’ve been more out of control than I’ve ever been before, and a lot of it has to do with Clementine. She’s been pushing me to lose my control, and she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.

  And this cowboy, I don’t like the look of his bushy moustache. He sticks out like a sore thumb as he dominates Clementine’s attention with his cowboy hat in this sea of tuxedos. He has a criminal air about him, and a smarmy smile I want to punch off and bury six-feet under.

  I won’t lie, I never wanted this marriage. I didn’t. But the minute that boot wearing, big-buckle fuck said he was talking about sex to my fiancee, something happened. It’s like a switch flipped. It’s like a fuse ignited and I was useless to stop it. I wanted to plot out all the ways I could watch the asshole die. And I pride myself on being creative.

  When Clementine asked me to let it go, it went against everything ingrained in my DNA. Every bone in my body begged me to hurt him for disrespecting what was mine. It was hard to let something like that go. Yet, for some odd reason I did.

  I dropped the inquisition for her.

  It’s called trust.

  I’ve never trusted anyone.

  But for some reason, I trust her. For now anyway. And if this feeling is an indication of what trust is going to do to me, I’m smart for avoiding it as long as I have.

  For the rest of the evening, I play the part of generous benefactor, shaking hands with the different artists, and introducing my fiancee around, keeping her close and enjoying having her near. It almost becomes like a dance, the two of us, standing too close, mingling. All while the flashes of the media cameras subtly blind us. And without seeing the pictures, I already know they’re stunning.

  I work the room, like I was born to do, making sure to perform my duties as Clementine enhances my charm. I’m a Prince, and this is what I’ve always done as long as I can remember. Play the part. Be the philanthropist. Be the best. Be Gabriel Prince.

  “You ready to go?” I ask Clementine, when the event winds down.

  “Yes,” she answers, her eyes scanning the crowd like she’s looking for someone, and I bristle when I picture her searching for a man. A man that isn’t me.

  She’s been switching her attention from the attendees to staring at a painting that looks like an angry burst of bright colors.

  “You really like that painting?” I ask her.

  She gives me a faint smile. “I do. It’s very moving.”

  And now it’s hers. She just doesn’t know it yet.

  I nod to Kurt, calling him over. “Buy this one,” I whisper into his ear, pointing at the painting Clementine’s had her eye on all night, “and tell Stefan to get the car pulled around.”

  “On it.”

  Clementine can call it a wedding gift. I’ll call it unable to resist making her happy.

  I lead her out to the car and slide in after her. She scoots all the way to the edge of the seat, leaning against the window, staring out and putting way too much distance between us for my liking.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, as we pull away.

  The city lights illuminate the fake smile on her face. “Besides the obvious that we’re being forced to marry? Nothing. Why do you think something’s wrong?”

  “Just making sure. I didn’t know if you were able to hear me, from so far away.”

  The diamond on her finger flashes when she raises her hand to her temple. “I think I just have a champagne headache.” She turns to continue gazing out the window and it’s probably for the best she’s ignoring me.

  I wanted a redo of what occurred on the way to the art gallery to happen on the way home. It’s all I’ve thought about all night, even while I was imagining hurting that John Wayne wannabe. The way her lips felt so silky soft against mine. The way her body felt rubbing against me. My dick comes to life just thinking of Clementine’s legs straddling me in the back of this limo.

  I didn’t want it to end, and all I want right now is for it to restart. I want to show her what I can do with my tongue, my fingers, my cock, my creative mind. But, looks like I’ll be enjoying my hand later tonight instead.

  The rest of the ride home is silent, and when w
e arrive at the estate, she rushes off to her room before I can even say goodnight. Before I can convince her to ride my face, or my cock.

  Like a stalker, I watch her ascend the stairs, and then I move through the foyer into the living room. I yank off my tie and toss it on the leather sofa, along with my jacket, and grab my VTOL drone from the coffee table. Since there will be no fucking, I take it out into the back courtyard for a little late-night fun before I use my hand and pass out. I just need to clear my head first. From her.

  Stars dot the night sky as the drone takes flight. I maneuver in and out of all the shadows of the sprawling house. The 18th-century-inspired elegant mansion may look like it was transported from another era, but it’s all by design. It still has every modern convenience you could imagine, complete with a courtyard visible from every room in the house. With a Bacchus wall fountain and a private terrace overlooking a jasmine tree, the romantic courtyard is reminiscent of a backdrop from Romeo and Juliet.

  I walk further across the lawn and relax—until I turn around and see Clementine standing in her room upstairs. Undressing. So much for clearing my head.

  Frozen in place, I feel almost like Romeo, as I stand watching my very own Juliet.

  I’ve reached new lows, and I really don’t fucking care. I hold my breath, wondering if I’m going to get an impromptu peep show. Secretly, hoping I do. And secretly, hoping she knows I’m down here watching her.

  Even though, I’ve seen her completely nude. Even though, I’ve had my fair share of seeing all of her, it’s like I can’t get enough. Like I’m a modern day Romeo, accepting the tragedy before it begins.

  I turn the drone to the right, trying my best to pay attention to it while it flies overhead. At the moment she removes her dress, I lose control of my drone and it crashes into the glass of her balcony door.

  She walks closer, holding her dress against her, and peers out. I press the controls on my watch, lifting the drone from her balcony, flying it back to me, and she snaps the blinds closed. I guess she wasn’t aware I was watching her.

  I’m sure my grandfather is laughing his ass off from the pits of hell at my growing obsession. It’s not easy, but I block her out of my mind, and focus on the freedom of the flying drone. Until Clementine marches across the grass in black yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt. Her breasts bounce under the soft material, and my mind is right back to where it has been all night.

  “Were you spying on me?”

  “Spying? No.” I land the drone on the helipad, and click it off with the controls on my watch.

  “There’s no high tech camera on that gadget?” She stops a few feet from me and parks her hands on her hips, her posture screaming with accusations. “No x-ray vision where you can see through clothes or something?”

  I laugh. “There’s no such thing.” I place both hands in my pockets, thinking her x-ray vision is a good idea. “I wasn’t watching you. Swear.”

  “Your plane thing just happened to crash into my window?” She narrows her eyes.

  “My drones appear to be attracted to you.” I adjust my stance to hide my straining erection. It seems my drone isn’t the only thing attracted to her.

  “Speaking of attraction, here.” She slides off her engagement ring and holds it out to me. “You broke my contract.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “I never joke about contracts.” She lifts her chin, squaring her shoulders.

  I shrug. “That wasn’t a real contract.” My lawyers could kill that one piece of paper easily in a courtroom, we both know it.

  Her eyes look like they could shoot laser beams as she closes the distance. “That contract is real. You signed it.” She pokes her finger into my chest. Ow. “And you broke it.” Her voice has a desperate tone to it.

  I laugh. “No. We’re getting married.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  “Clementine, I’m not doing this right now.” I’m sure we could go back and forth like this for hours. There’s another way I’d like to spend countless hours with her, and it’s not arguing.

  “Take the ring.” She holds the rock out again.

  I lean closer. “No.”

  “Yes. Take it.”

  “No. We will be getting married.”

  “I’ll sue you.”

  I try not to laugh at her determination. It’s cute.

  I lean into her space, inches from her lips. “You going to tell the judge how you were so wet for me?”

  She swallows, her eyes wide. “That’s not fair.”

  I never agreed to play fair, so I keep going, “You going to tell him how you rode against my cock?”

  “I..umm,” she breathes out.

  “Are you going to tell the courtroom how I had you moaning my name? How you were practically begging for it?”

  Her eyes are on fire. “You’re an asshole.”

  “An asshole you’re going to marry.” And then I do something I don’t plan. I grab her around the waist and press my lips against hers. Hard.

  I can’t stop kissing her, and she doesn’t push me away. Instead, she pulls me closer, dancing her tongue along mine. I can’t get enough of her, and I press my growing hard-on against her. The moment she feels it, she backs away, breaking the kiss.

  “The wedding is off,” she breathes out.

  “Let’s get one thing straight.” I swipe my thumb against my bottom lip. “This wedding is very much on.”

  Without another word, she walks away.

  Before she can get very far, I call out to her, “I’ve set up a meeting with you and a wedding planner on Monday.” I can’t hide the amusement in my voice.

  “I’m not going.” She stops walking and turns around, crossing her arms, and I wish I could kiss the stubborn out of her.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Will you be there?”

  I smirk. “I won’t pretend I know anything about planning a wedding. And I know my presence at that meeting would only hinder your decisions, delaying the whole process.” I step back. “So, I think it’s best you handle the wedding preparations yourself.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  She crosses her arms against her chest. “No, we’re in this together, buddy.”

  “Buddy?”

  “Yes, you and me. Husband and wife. Bride and Groom. This is a joint effort.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Can’t I just promise you your dream wedding and call it a day.”

  “No. And if you don’t accompany me, I’ll make this the wedding of your nightmares.”

  “Fine, I’ll text you the details. Monday at three.”

  “I’ll be there,” she says, walking back across the grass. “Be ready to pick flowers and all that fun stuff.” Now she’s the one unable to hide her amusement.

  I shamelessly watch each step she takes back toward the house. There’s no way I’m letting her go with some silly breach of contract. My phone rings just as she steps inside.

  “What’s up?” I answer it.

  “Sir,” Stefan says, “there’s a problem.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “It’s your brother.”

  “And?”

  “He’s missing.”

  TWO

  Clementine

  * * *

  I THINK I’ve made a grievous error trying to convince myself that I can work this forced marriage to my advantage. I should’ve known Gabriel was going to make this arrangement difficult, he’s been making my life harder since the moment he walked into it.

  “Ronin, danger from who?” I text again, when I’m back in my bedroom.

  Seconds tick by. Then minutes. Still no response. Just like the previous five messages I’ve sent. Does he know about Bishop?

  I’m a fool to think this would be easy. Being a fiancee to a Prince means social obligations, like the art gallery gala where I met the cowboy who mentioned Bishop Blackstone. My nerves have been shattered ever since. Living i
n the limelight, letting every photographer take photos of me, is not a good idea. I loved my simple life. Away from Bishop Blackstone. And now I feel like I have a beacon shining on me wherever I go.

  When I received the cryptic text from Ronin, stating I was in danger, my perfectly crafted world crashed at my feet.

  I toss my phone on the night table and trek across to the window. Gabriel is nowhere to be seen when I peek out at the shadowy backyard illuminated by lights from the house.

  Earlier, when that drone crashed into my window, I nearly had a heart attack. That was nothing compared to when he kissed me again. The power Gabriel holds in his lips and tongue makes me more nervous than Ronin’s warning. And that is very careless, but my body doesn’t heed the warning.

  I move away from the window and retrieve my phone before slipping into bed. I call Erin to check on Tennyson, and if I’m being honest to get my mind off of Gabriel’s magical kiss.

  She answers on the first ring.

  “I want all the dirty details,” she says as if she’s psychic.