I figured if I could just fuck her and get it out of my system, I could settle down. That was the plan. It would work. And then I’d be on to the next conquest as usual.
I pulled up to the wrought iron gate with the double L insignia along the top and pressed the speaker box.
A man with a British accent answered brightly. “May I help you, sir?”
“Yes, I’m here to see Ms. Carmichael.” I gave what I hoped was a winning smile to the small camera situated above the speaker. “I’m her date for the lunch.” Never hurt to add a little to the story.
Silence . . . Then some more silence . . . Silence to the point I just knew Scarlett and all her snobby friends were having a good laugh. But then the gate began to swing silently inward.
I winked at the camera and drove onto Lynch Lane, my tires rumbling over the cobblestones that wound through an estate full of azaleas and mature oaks. The sun filtered through the leafless branches and warmed the otherwise dormant landscape. A house, a brick antebellum number with wisteria climbing the Georgian columns along the front porch, came into view. I pulled around the circular drive and parked next to a row of cars—all of them pricey.
I wondered for a moment if I’d bitten off more than I could chew. Nah. Glancing in the mirror, I smoothed my hair down as best I could. Operation Penetrate Scarlett Carmichael” was a go.
The air was crisp, but not cold for early February. The sun warmed me as I climbed the steps to the porch and used a giant brass knocker on one of the doors.
A young man with blond hair and the whitest teeth I’d ever seen opened the door for me and waved me inside. “Welcome.” The same British voice from the speaker. “The luncheon is in the sunroom. Right this way.”
“Sure.” I glanced around, taking in the sort of splendor that one could find only in New Orleans or Europe. Everything was carved, shiny, or glittering—from the dark wood floors to the massive fireplaces and the opulent crystal chandeliers.
We veered off to the right through a music room with a grand piano and multiple family portraits lining the walls.
He stopped at a set of glass double doors and gave a slight bow. “Ms. Carmichael is inside. My apologies, but I was not informed she had a date for the occasion. I’ll alert the kitchen. Do you have any food allergies or preferences?”
“As long as my drink has alcohol in it, I’m good.”
He smiled. “Very well, sir.”
I took a deep breath and did what I’d always done—faked it till I made it.
The wide room was brightly lit from the sun streaming through the glass walls and ceiling. Three long tables were laid out with service and large bouquets of white hydrangeas and pink roses. Several people congregated to the bar off to the left, and I strode over like I belonged.
“Kennedy?”
I looked up and saw my brother Wash leaning against the bar. I couldn’t stop my smile. Having two Granades in the same place meant I was on home turf.
“What are you doing here?” I shook his hand and pulled it in for a chest bump before ordering a mimosa with extra champagne.
Caroline, Wash’s girlfriend, sidled up to him, her blond hair and wicked curves marking her as one of the prettier women at the party. “I didn’t know you had an interest in the Junior League.” She smiled and gave me a hug, whispering in my ear, “It’s Scarlett, isn’t it?”
Pulling back, she grinned big as Wash pulled her into his side.
“I’ve always had an interest in Junior League.” I took a gulp of my drink and scanned the crowd. Scarlett spoke to a couple of young men at the corner of the bar. She must have seen me come in, because she was already glaring by the time my gaze made it to her eyes. It took a while—I gave her shapely legs, hourglass waist, and generous breasts plenty of attention before making eye contact.
Caroline squealed and got onto her tiptoes, whispering in Wash’s ear before nipping at it.
He growled and pulled her into his chest. “Are you trying to get me hard at a philanthropy meeting?”
Hearing Wash, my big brother who was nothing if not a hard-ass, talk to Caroline that way had me pulling at my collar. Awkward. “Get a room, you two.”
Caroline pecked Wash on the cheek and turned to face me. “Working with Terrell and me, helping the helpless, defending the defenseless—it just has him all riled up. You know how he gets.”
“I don’t. Thank God.” I laughed as she smiled and glanced over to Scarlett. “She’s a good one.”
I leaned closer to her. “How did you know?”
“Do you honestly think there are any secrets in this town?”
“I guess not?”
“Definitely not—Terrell, there you are.”
A tall man entered the room and walked over to us, smiling and greeting everyone as he came.
“Where have you been?” Caroline whispered.
He bowed his head. “Lost track of time. Had too much dic—I mean fun last night.”
“Player.” She kissed him on the cheek as he smirked at her.
“Jealous.” He whispered before raising his voice. “Everyone ready to get started?” He popped her on the ass as he walked by and called the meeting to order. If Terrell hadn’t been Caroline’s best friend—and gay—I was certain Wash would have ripped his arm off. “Take your seats and we’ll get to the agenda.”
I watched Scarlett edge around the farthest table from me, the two young men she’d been chatting with sticking close to her.
“I’m going to, um—”
“You don’t have to explain. Go get her, tiger.” Caroline shooed me toward Scarlett’s end of the expansive sunroom.
“Try not to embarrass the family name,” Wash added.
“No promises,” I said over my shoulder as I maneuvered around the young, wealthy elite of New Orleans. Plenty of beautiful girls with trust funds and killer bodies swirled around me, but there was only one I wanted to talk to. She was currently giving me a look that had a very real chance of melting my face off.
One of the men with her pulled her chair out and she sat, though her eyes never left mine. He took the chair next to her. I stepped up to her side just as the other young man tried to sit.
“Sorry, man. Terrell told me he wanted me to lead discussion on this end. I’ll need this seat.”
He looked up, his Bieber haircut falling into his eyes. “Uh, okay.”
“Thanks. I knew you’d understand.” I clapped him on the back far too hard and pulled out the chair next to Scarlett.
As I sat, she whispered through clenched teeth, “What do you think you’re doing?”
I laid my arm across the back of her chair, knowing she hated it. “I just wanted to talk to you about our case.”
She turned and stared at me. Her blue eyes sparkled in the bright sunlight and her long hair shone a dark brown but with lighter strands around her face. With her hair down, her face was a heart shape, her chin making a cute little point and the dark pink bow of her lips a decidedly sweet lure.
Her eyes widened. “Did Carey break the encryption?”
“No.”
“Then what do we have to talk about?”
“You look nice.”
She opened her mouth to speak and then snapped it shut again. Color rose from the collar of her white blouse, creeping into her cheeks. Her pale skin was the perfect palette.
“Thank you.”
“—and if we’re ready . . .” Terrell stared at us from the head of the middle table. I hadn’t realized the room had grown quiet. Wash raised his eyebrows at me from one table over, silently scolding.
“My bad.” I waved.
“Oh my God,” Scarlett said under her breath.
“It’s cool. We have a couple of items. First, the spring gala. We’ve planned an even bigger event than usual this year, and we’ll have it here at Lynch Lane. The committee has worked hard to get the plans for a botanical show and auction in cooperation with the New Orleans Botanical Garden. That will be the last weekend
in May. Setup will have to be swift, because the prior weekend we intend to host a very special wedding. Evangeline Angel and Lincoln Granade.”
I still couldn’t believe my oldest brother was getting hitched. And to a firecracker, at that. Evan, his fiancée, could drink me under the table and out-swear me on the regular—neither of which were small feats.
“Your brother, right?” Scarlett whispered without turning her head as Terrell continued his charity event spiel.
“Yes.”
“So are there more. Or just the three I know about?”
“Just the three.” I slipped my hand down onto her shoulder. “I’m the best one, though.”
She snorted and slapped my hand off her. Then she turned the snort into a cough to cover it as Terrell gave her an unamused look.
“It’s true,” I protested.
“I think I’ll be the judge of that. Lincoln is a highly respected Assistant U.S. attorney, well on his way to be being the U.S. attorney for the district, and Wash is the number one criminal defense attorney in town. And you are?” She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye.
“Me? Oh, I’m just the hot plaintiff’s attorney who you desperately want to bend you over this table.”
She bit her lip and radiated disapproval, but I saw the pulse in her neck speed up. The rosy color intensified in her cheeks, and I just bet that if I could slip my fingers to the little patch of heaven between her thighs, she’d be wet.
My cock agreed, stiffening uncomfortably in my pants.
She stared straight ahead. “You are a total dick.”
I grabbed her hand from her lap and placed it on my erection. “For you. Yeah, I am.”
She pulled her hand back, but not fast enough. Her parted lips and her lingering touch gave her away.
I had her where I wanted her. All I needed to do was capitalize.
“—and without further ado, let’s eat.” Terrell sat and servers began entering from behind the bar and bringing out platters piled high with croissant sandwiches, chicken salad with grapes, shrimp, and numerous other dishes that were part and parcel of a New Orleans luncheon. Of course, they served more alcohol right along with the food.
I leaned over and whispered into her ear as conversations started up around us. “Now, about that table fuck we were just discussing . . .”
“Charles.” She turned to the man sitting to her left. “What were you telling me about how your firm is working on implementing a new associate training program with courses abroad?”
He smiled, his all-American looks—blond hair, light blue eyes, and a swimmer’s build—chapping my ass. “Yes. Since I became chair of the associate round table, we’ve started upping our game. We’re actually planning a Paris trip in two months. And it’s not just our associates. It’ll be an opportunity for associates from all firms. I’ve billed it as continuing legal education on the banks of the Seine. Sound good?”
She leaned away from me. Toward him. “I think that sounds fabulous.” Had her voice risen an octave?
“I—I’d love it if you could join.” His smiled widened.
She put her hand on his shoulder and moved closer. Was she pressing her body into him? I reached under the table and gripped her knee.
She jumped a little but told him, “Paris sounds wonderful. As long as you’ll be there, too.”
The same emotion that had colored my vision earlier when Carey spoke about touching Scarlett’s hair came roaring to life in my chest. Actually, it was more like a nuclear explosion of that feeling—jealousy. Ugly, prickly, sour-tasting fucking envy.
I ran my hand roughly up her thigh, pressing between her legs until I felt the silky material of her panties. Her pussy was already wet. The thought that it was wet for anyone but me made something short-circuit in my brain.
She let out a soft “oh” and pulled away from Charles as she sank her nails into the back of my hand.
“Stop,” she hissed through gritted teeth.
“What?” I picked up my fork with my other hand and speared a shrimp, chewing it as my fingertips rubbed back and forth across the damp material.
I pressed harder against her clit, and she let out a little sigh, her eyelids fluttering.
“You okay, Scarlett?” Charles asked.
“She’s fine. Enjoy your lunch.” I gave him a shit-eating grin and stroked her faster. “You, too, Scarlett. You should eat.”
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Charles Riesling. You are?” The challenge in his voice amused me.
“Kennedy Granade.”
His eyes brightened with recognition. “Oh, the ambulance chaser I’ve heard about.”
I slid my fingers beneath her panties, her nub hard and wanting. She no longer tried to pry my hand away, and her breathing became quicker with each of my caresses. My cock was painfully hard, but it would have to wait.
“The very one. I’ve even caught a few. What firm do you work for?”
“Mills and Everly.”
I smirked and slid my fingers lower, sinking them inside her as she bit her lip. “So you work for Bert Mills?”
“Yes. You know him?” He needed to work on his poker face—incredulous surprise never looked good on any attorney.
I moved my fingers back out and gave her clit the attention it needed.
I shook my head. “I don’t know him personally, no.”
He smirked. “I didn’t think so.”
“But his wife and I are well acquainted. Well, I guess she’s his ex-wife now.”
He swallowed hard. “You know Lily?”
I laughed. “Who doesn’t?”
Scarlett stiffened and gripped my wrist, wrenching my hand away and closing her legs. Her glare told me I’d fucked up.
“I’m not sure what you’re suggesting,” Charles sputtered.
“It’s simple, Charles.” I brought my fingers to my mouth and licked Scarlett’s taste from them, never dropping her gaze as I did so. “The food at these things is always so delicious, don’t you think?”
She squirmed, rubbing her thighs together. I needed to be between them.
“What’s simple?” Charles pressed.
“Oh, sorry. Forgot what I was saying for a moment there. It’s simple that I fucked Bert’s wife when I was a law clerk at his firm. That’s where I was going. No real mystery.”
“Kennedy!” Scarlett turned to Charles. “I am so sorry. He’s lying.”
“I am?” I leered at Charles. I was. I didn’t actually fuck Lily, though she made a pretty hard pass at me after a firm party one night. But I had good information that Bert’s star associate had been fucking her for quite some time. Charles’s reaction told me that he was the “star associate” I’d heard about. The New Orleans rumor mill was always churning, especially in legal circles.
Scarlett stood and tossed her napkin down next to her plate. “I have to get back to the office. Big case. It was lovely to see you, Charles.”
He stood. “I’ll walk you out.”
“I got this. We’re going to the same office, after all.” I stepped back to let Scarlett pass and then blocked Charles from following. “Give Lily my regards.”
He blanched, finally realizing that I knew. “I—I . . .”
“Good man.” I turned and followed Scarlett, giving Wash and Caroline a wave as I left. Wash shook his head as Caroline smiled and gave me two thumbs up.
I caught up to Scarlett in the foyer and grabbed her elbow, whipping her around to me. “You don’t have to run.”
“You don’t have to be a prick!” she shot back, her eyes flashing.
“I don’t know if that’s exactly true.”
“You invade my private life, embarrass me in front of my friend, and y-you—”
“Get you all hot and bothered?” I filled in for her.
“Fuck you, Kennedy.” She turned on her heel and stalked out of the house.
I’d seen her, the fiery woman hidden behind the prim façade. I’d broken through her exquisitely
crafted exterior to the point I had her vehemently cussing me in one of the finest houses in the city. I smiled, but then shook my head, remembering how I felt when she’d touched Charles.
I’d gotten to her. The only problem was, she’d gotten to me, too.
Chapter Nine
Scarlett
The wrought iron gate to my family estate receded behind me. I hadn’t been out of the luncheon for fifteen minutes before my phone rang. Mother. Somehow, she’d already heard about my quick exit from Lynch Lane. Word traveled fast when a Carmichael didn’t behave properly at an event, even one as small as the Junior League planning luncheon.
I pulled to the right and parked under one of the oaks that skirted the two-story Tudor home. My palms grew clammy, and I wiped them on my skirt as I stepped from the car. She would be in her sitting room waiting for me, a tight smile on her lips. Mother had the singular ability to make me feel like a twelve-year-old again, awkward and in some sort of nebulous trouble for a breach of decorum.
I strode through the front door and gave our longtime butler a small nod. His kindly smile did nothing to stop me from schooling my face into an impassive, calm mask. She wouldn’t get to me. Not today.
“Scarlett?” Her high voice chirped and echoed through the lofty foyer.
I straightened my back and strode inside. She sat with a drink in her hand and, Matisse, her Pomeranian, on her lap. He growled at me, as usual. I sat on the uncomfortable sofa across from them and crossed my legs at the ankle.
Mother took me in from head to toe with her sharp gray eyes. Her silver bob didn’t move, every strand sprayed into a prison of perfection. She wore a cream top and a beige skirt, her skin tan from mornings of tennis practice.
“You need a necklace with that, sweetheart.” She smiled and took a sip of her cocktail. “And earrings. What have I told you about a woman who leaves the house without earrings?”
Total D*ck (Bad Bitch #3) Page 8
