by Sylvia Frost
“There,” he said softly, smiling at her. “Now we’re even.”
His thumb traced over her wine-damp lip slowly, the edge of his fingernail grazing her upper lip. The gesture was simple; the reaction it caused in her was anything but. Her back tensed, even as some other part of her relaxed into the waves of heat emanating upward from her center.
She closed her eyes and nodded.
His touch left.
Well, at least all the photos of her on her company website were out of date. It wasn’t like she really expected them to have sex with the masks on anyway. There was still hope for her to get out of this alive and anonymous.
Cynthia opened her eyes, expecting to see him leaning over the table, wine in one hand, smirk on his lips. But his full attention was still on her, his blue eyes as dark as a night sky far away from city lights. “You’re too beautiful to hide your face from me.”
“Beauty is overrated. It fades. A work ethic and a sense of humor—those are forever.”
“I’ll let De Beers know they need a new slogan. Work hard, and get yourself your own damn diamond this Christmas.”
Cynthia was surprised to find herself grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. “I like that. Although diamonds are still a little too cliché.”
“Well, I’m not sure my slogan has quite the same appeal anyway.” Rex smiled, although it seemed planned somehow. Measured. “Or maybe you’ll say romance is overrated too.”
“I think it’s dangerous.” Cynthia tried to unscrew the cap of the water bottle, but her fingers slipped the plastic grooves.
“Dangerous?” He cocked his head. There was a reason Rex was one of the top venture capitalists in the world. He had an eye for detail, too, and now that laser focus was burning her alive.
“I-I just mean that I can’t really afford distractions right now.” The cap came loose, but Cynthia didn’t take it off, instead she twisted left, then right, then left again.
She was such an idiot. Smiling, joking with Rex West, as if he were her friend. Men that powerful were nobody’s friend. Especially not the women they slept with. If she was lucky, he’d just sleep with her and forget her, and if she wasn’t….
The cap sprang loose in her fingertips and popped up in the air, flying off to the side, over the railing and down into street below. She laughed in unease. “Whoops.”
“I’ll have my butler get it.” Rex waved a dismissive hand.
“What?” Cynthia asked, standing up from her chair and rushing over to the edge of the railing to peer down. “Please don’t tell me you have a butler just for lost water bottle caps.”
It was impossible to tell if he did. All she could see were the tops of people’s heads, and the blur of valet cars and cabs pulling up to the Plaza’s red-velvet covered steps.
“Not just for bottle caps. He’s in charge of lost keys and flyaway newspapers as well.” Rex’s hot breath tickled her bare neck. She could feel his long, lupine smile against her skin as he kissed her hairline.
“Funny.” Cynthia started backward, but only found herself colliding with his hard chest. He had taken his coat off at some point. Worse, she realized, her purse was pressing against him. She had snapped it shut, but if he had fast fingers, he could easily steal one of her business cards now and she wouldn’t be the wiser. A face and a first name was one thing—a last name and her company address was another.
Male investors talked. And whether she screwed him at this point wouldn’t matter at all. If he saw her card, she’d be the “Cynthia Cinders Rex West banged” not Cynthia Cinders CEO of Boxes & Broom.
You’re lying to yourself. You know he wouldn’t do that. You’re just afraid he’ll actually want to see you again. Or that he won’t.
His arms wrapped around her. They should’ve felt imprisoning, given that she knew he wouldn’t let her go. And they did. But faced with the endless chaotic city below, it was a comforting captivity.
“I’m taking you to bed now, Princess.” His hand pressed against her stomach, pushing her body into his, making sure she could feel the hardness in his pants. “But first, you have to promise me one thing.”
Chapter 11
As Rex pressed Cynthia against the railing of the terrace, his mate’s curves surrendered to his hard muscles and harder will. Only the thin fabric of her sparkling gown and his suit separated their naked flesh. Her pillowy ass teased the stiffening length of his cock, and pinot noir and champagne lubricated his blood, spurring his inner wolf on.
“Promise you what, Rex?” she asked.
“Nothing terrible.” Rex stroked her arm, calming himself as much as her. Demons, her skin was softer than a wolf’s pup fur. “Just promise that you won’t run away tomorrow without saying goodbye.”
“Rex…” Cynthia’s voice was small, almost lost in the dark stretch of New York night.
“I’m not asking for forever, just common courtesy. Unless…” His hands slipped from her arm to her wide hips. Unlike the bevy of models he had used to quench his libido before Cynthia, her body had heft to it. She was all natural. He groaned, his boxers stretching against his cock as he reached full attention.
“Unless what? Her back arched, pushing her breasts forward, over the railing. The strapless bodice of her gown slipped a little lower, revealing the profile of her breast, the hint of a dark areola contrasting against her ivory strapless bra.
He darted backward at the possibility of seeing her nipple, gripping the cold metal of the railing. It didn’t help. He was still dangerously close to tearing her dress into two and tossing the scraps over the edge of the roof until they fluttered down to the dirty street like below flags of surrender.
When he caught his breath, he said, “Unless you’d rather just give me your full name and phone number now. You’ll be leaving it tomorrow anyway.”
She pulled up her neckline, covering her breasts once more. “I told you I don’t do repeats. Consider my last name as my insurance policy.”
The hitch in her voice was maddening. He needed to see her face to give it a name and an emotion. With a touch at her elbow, he turned her to face him. “I own a couple of insurance companies. I’d be happy to offer you a different policy.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks were as red as her lips. Blonde strands of hair now stormed around her cheeks like a translucent hurricane, the up-do completely destroyed. She was no easier to understand face to face. Maybe tasting her would help.
He sidled closer, watching carefully to see if she’d start. This time, Rex would kiss her right. Like a man.
Gently at first, because lips as soft as hers were meant to be savored, he brushed his lower lip over hers. When she shivered, his tongue snuck out to slip into her wet warmth. Delicious. The combination of her natural sharp flavor of oranges combined with the headier berried notes of the Burgundy was well worth the damage he’d done to his cellar by removing the bottle.
As they parted, he hummed in gratitude, a rectangle of white catching the corner of his eye. Her purse. He had almost forgotten about it. The strings of it had gotten caught in the bars of the balcony. His wolf grinned inside of his chest, showing all of its teeth.
All he’d have to do was take her purse, which surely had her business cards inside, and he wouldn’t have to persuade her to come back or give him her last name.
No. She deserved more respect than that, considering she had forgiven him for his earlier mishap with the biting.
He cocked his head at his mate, enjoying watching her as she studied him. The way her gaze lingered on his wide jaw and strong features wasn’t surprising. Rex knew he was handsome. Most human men were soft, even weaker than their women. If his looks would get her to stay, he’d use them. He’d use anything.
“I want you, Cynthia. Not because you’re beautiful, although you are, but because you’re driven and ambitious. I want to help you. But I can’t invest in your company, if I don’t have your last name.”
Her eyebrows rose to stratospheric heights and the corners of
her eyes cringed in almost physical pain. Well, that hadn’t landed well. Rex would’ve worried that he’d made a mistake, but he knew he hadn’t. Everyone acted angry when it was implied they could be bought. But then, he told them how much they were worth.
“What’s a percentage point running for at your company?”
“I told you that’s not why I’m here.”
“Humor me.”
“We’re not taking investors on at this time,” she said, her voice cold.
“I thought you were courting investors downstairs.”
“That search ended at midnight.”
He shook his head. “What’s it run?”
“Two million for one percent,” she spat.
“Another lie.” He would’ve heard about any company getting that much funding, and he hadn’t. However, he’d indulge her. “But I’ll give you four.”
“You’ll give me four million dollars for a single percentage point of a company you’ve never even seen before?” she repeated. “Four million? Of course you will.” She laughed bitterly and pushed against his chest with her calloused palms. “After I fuck you.”
He didn’t budge or grab her hands. “You’ll fuck me because you want to. The money has nothing to do with that.”
“I don’t want to have sex with you anymore.” Her hands fell away from his chest after she realized the futility of fighting him. But she didn’t ask him to move.
“Lying again,” he said.
He could see the signs, the rising goosebumps perking up on her skin when he leaned in to promise a kiss. He didn’t need to tell her how much she wanted him. She knew.
“What does the money have to do with it then?” she asked.
It has to do with keeping you with me for as long as I can. With getting the chance to see you just one second more, because I’ll die, literally die, if I don’t. If we mate now and I can’t find you again, our bond will destroy me from the inside out. But it’s also because I’m hungry for you, and I’ll never be satisfied. If I have to pay four million dollars just for your last name, I’ll do it.
The matemark on his ankle was white hot.
“You’re special, Cynthia,” he said, meaning it. “Even if you weren’t my—even if I wasn’t attracted to you, I’d know you are worth investing in.”
“Oh come on, that’s bullshit.” She tried to smile, but she couldn’t quite force herself. The crinkling pain at the edges of her eyes hadn’t gone away even after Rex had proven exactly what he’d pay just for the hope of a second chance.
His head pounded with the realization of how monumentally he had messed up. But why? He closed his eyes, sighing, steepling his fingers on his temple.
Think.
He hadn’t made as much money as he had for as long as he had without being able to read people. She wasn’t just another CEO or stockbroker. She had taste for fine things. He had seen the way she looked at his suit and house, but her hands were rough and she had a dislike for diamonds. She had a purse full of business cards she only gave to the people weak enough to never be able really help her. He had watched her at the party, the way she had acted…
His eyes flew open.
“What?” Cynthia asked, glaring at him. She clutched her arms around herself, as if it were winter outside instead early spring.
He ignored her question. There was nothing more powerful than showing someone they were understood. If done too quickly, it could leave a person feeling as if they had been suddenly stripped naked and put on display, and as appealing as that thought was, Rex knew Cynthia was already feeling vulnerable.
He smiled gently at her, but instead of kissing her forehead as he longed to do, he took a step backward, giving her the space to maneuver away from him if she felt it necessary.
She shifted from foot to foot like a nervous colt, but she didn’t try and run.
“Do you know how many people have offered their souls to me in exchange for money?” he asked.
“A lot if your ego is anything to go by.”
“Yes. Women with faces that could have launched a thousand missiles. Men with more mistresses than wives. Politicians. Presidents. I know mothers who would’ve dropped their own children right off this balcony to get a deal half as good as the one I just offered you.” Rex casually patted the pointed tip of the balcony’s iron posts.
“Uh-huh,” she said, but her fluttering pulse betrayed her. His wolf had grown stronger. Usually, he couldn’t hear heartbeats and had to rely on his human intuition to suss out the truth, but hers was like an out-of-time drum.
“But you—you can’t even be bothered to give me your last name, and I know why.”
“No, you don’t,” Cynthia said. She tilted her head, giving him a look of pity so condescending that it made Rex’s wolf roar with prideful rage.
“Oh, but I do, Princess,” he said. Even with his superior control, he wasn’t able to keep himself from growling. He liked the way she squirmed at his nickname for her, almost as much as he hated the raspiness of his voice.
He cleared his throat. “Most of my guests spent as much time drinking champagne as they did handing out business cards, but you barely took a sip. You didn’t approach any of the larger investors either. Not me or Bane Stilskin. It’s because you want help without having to worry about someone coming in and messing up your company.”
Judging from her parted lips and wide eyes, Rex knew he had pegged her perfectly. He should’ve been able to—she was his mate. But her shock was still satisfying.
He brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckle, relishing its silky texture.
She whimpered a little. No doubt, her resolve was weakening in the face of the bond’s insistence that they mate. “H-how did you guess?”
“I didn’t guess, Princess, I knew.” He gave a wistful smile as his hand reached her jaw, and he tilted her face upward. “I know,” he whispered, “because I am exactly the same way. If you want me to stay out of your company, I’ll completely understand. To be honest, I even respect it. I understand the need to keep control.”
He brought his lips to hers and grazed her mouth with his. “But I also think,” he said, “that tonight, you’d be surprised by how good it could feel if you just let me take it.”
Chapter 12
Sex Checklist
✓Have you followed the “To Bang or Not to Bang Workflow” while picking a partner?
✓Have you brought protection?
✓Have you asked him if he’s been tested?
✓Have you verified that he is telling the truth, by either extended friend network or paper records?
✓Have you discussed the fact that you don’t do relationships?
✓Have you established an alibi for Lucille?
Have you confirmed with partner that you do none of the following…
✓Blowjobs
✓Being Tied Up
✓Spanking
✓Werebeast Play (Who knew this was even a thing? Apparently people like to pretend to be mythical creatures in bed. Well, I guess there’s dinosaur erotica, so are we really surprised?)
Have you followed the “To Bang or Not to Bang Workflow” while picking a partner?
✓Yes, it’s on here twice. Follow the workflow
Cynthia Cinders didn’t like to be wrong. Being wrong led to mistakes. Complications.
She knew this from experience.
She had been wrong when she was seven and so sure her mommy would love her forever. Forever only lasted until Mommy got too tired of her family, moved in with her boyfriend in Paris, and did so much coke one day she didn’t wake up the next morning.
When she was eight, Cynthia had sworn to everyone in her ballet class that her dad was going to video their spring performance and send it to his friends on Good Morning America.
Dad never even showed.
His assistant did though, with a video camera. Her name was Lucille Miller, and a year later, it was Lucille Cinders-Miller. Oh, how Cynthia had lo
ved Dad’s assistant.
Cynthia’s stretch of “wrongness” didn’t end with puberty, unfortunately. When she was eighteen, she was wrong to assume that her father trusted her enough to leave her any real amount of money.
She was wrong when she was twenty-three, when she got an invitation to the Supercharge incubator, which promised that it’d connect her new cleaning company with all the best investors in Silicon Valley. Instead, she ended up dating a billionaire named Daniel Hawthorne who promised her the whole world until she finally confessed she loved him. Then he cheated on her, broke up with her by telling her she was too fat, and proceeded to blacklist her from receiving any and all funding on the West Coast, while suing her for copyright infringement.
She had spent a year embroiled in lawsuit hell, losing all of her savings before she tucked her tail between her legs and ran back home to live with her stepmother to try to salvage what remained of her company.
And she was wrong now.
About Rex.
Only this wasn’t the old kind of wrong.
This was the good kind.
As Cynthia felt his body crushing her own, his kiss stealing all hope of oxygen from her lungs, she reveled in her wrongness. Whatever he was, Rex wasn’t another Daniel Hawthorne. He saw her for who she really was. The pauper in the princess’ clothes, determined to become a queen. He wanted that woman.
So fuck the consequences. Even if this could only ever be just a moment, she’d seize it with both hands and squeeze until it hurt.
And fuck Rex.
Literally.
Her hand, which had been clutching the railing, let go, and she tumbled into his arms. The strange tingling on her ankle was too much to bear. She couldn’t stand. He accepted her weight with ease. His breath was loud in her ear, drowning out the faraway drone of the cars below. “Cynthia.”
She melted into him. The way he groaned her name was so simple. So pure. It made all of her questions into a series of statements. Rex wanted her. She wanted him.
