by Cynthia Dane
“What am I lying about?” I mouth at her. She signals to the balls on the ground. Now I’m forced to take my shot again, and I miss the hoop by about five miles. More chuckling. I feel like a jackass. When a server comes by with tiny flutes of champagne, I take one and down it in five seconds, giving me enough time to return it to the tray before the server goes on her merry way.
Mother waits until I’m properly humiliated and back at her side before replying. “Forgive me. Your taste for blondes has led to me making embarrassing assumptions.”
She’s not embarrassed.
“Your father was the same way. Had a thing for brown hair.” My mother tucks her hand beneath her brown locks and tosses them behind her shoulder. “He wouldn’t shut up about two things when we dated – my hair and my tits.”
“Is this going somewhere?”
She shrugs. This is not what I really mean, but sometimes I hate my mother, in that slighted teenage boy sort of way. It bothers me that she knows so much about me and my life, even though I’ve stopped telling her a lot about it. She’s damned nosy. You’d never guess she cares about the answers you give her, but she does. She’s that good at masking all emotions.
Drives me nuts.
The game ends before I have the chance to take my next shitty shot. Thank God. I’m done being too distracted to play a game. Time to get away from my mother and drink something harder than champagne. Thankfully, my father always has a wet bar on hand at these functions.
Since it’s so crowded around the bar, I don’t see who’s sitting at the far end, alone, because nobody ever wants to deal with her scary ass.
“Oh, good, about time I found someone in charge around here.” Eva Warren smacks her hand on my arm, and I nearly jump out of my skin and drop my glass. “Who do I talk to about a severe lack of vodka at the bar? I need it to get through crap like this.”
Eva Warren is almost worse than my mother. I say almost, because unlike my mother, Eva can’t hide the fact that she’s messing with someone.
“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that.”
Even though she’s wearing thick sunglasses, the twitch in her lips says that she’s borderline amused. “Kathryn told me that you know so much, though.”
Damnit, is today the day of harassing Ian about Kathryn? Are all these women in on some big secret together? Or maybe I’m going insane. “All right. I’ll indulge you. What do you want?”
“Touché!” Her long limbs slip off a stool, and now she’s standing next to me, nearly towering over me because the Warrens are ridiculously tall. They say her brother Henry has to sit in the lowest chair in the room to keep from intimidating his business partners during meetings. Meanwhile, men like Ken Andrews are probably stuffing lifts into their shoes to look taller. It takes all kinds in this rich world of ours.
Eva senses that I’m uncomfortable and slouches. How kind of the woman who is overdressed in a stylish white suit. Overdressed, and yet not even I can care because she owns it so well. Sometimes I think it wouldn’t be so bad being reborn a lesbian. I get to not give a shit about a single thing and still fuck women. Best of both worlds?
“I was merely wondering where that pretty blonde from last week was.” She shrugs, as if I shouldn’t be suspicious. “The two of you seemed to be having a lot of fun at the club. Not often a guy gets a polish that good.”
I’m lucky she’s keeping her voice down. “You liked what you saw, huh? Something you want to confess?” I can play her inappropriate game. In fact, I have to. Right now I have no idea if Kathryn has told her about what’s going on. I don’t know if she’s talked to her best friend about us having sex, or if she’s mentioned what else happened at the club. I’m not going to give that information away, but I also don’t want to act ignorant. Not in front of Eva.
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“Why do you care? I’m not seeing her right now.”
The way she looks at me is beyond unnerving, although I do my best to not let it show. Especially when we’re shortly joined by two people I could really live without right now.
“Eva!” Lana Andrews takes the woman’s hands and kisses the air around her cheeks. “So good to see you after so long. I didn’t know you were friendly with our man Ian here.”
She almost chokes, and I covertly roll my eyes. “He’s working with my friend Kathryn, you know.”
“Ah, yes, Kathryn.” Lana sounds so judgmental that I almost burst out laughing. “She’s, ah… interesting.”
For once, Eva and I are sharing a mutual look of defense mode. Except I have no idea why I feel this passionately about Kathryn’s honor.
Let’s set something straight. I have no problem with the Andrews. They’re a quirky couple who are a bit too big for their britches, but they’re smart, shrewd, and not afraid to go after what they want – even if that includes another person. Except right now they’re being a pain in my ass. Between this charade with The Grand and now snide comments about Kathryn, I’m feeling my blood boil.
God, why?
You know, I thought I got my burning need to fuck her out of my system Friday night. I was surprised that she went for it so easily, but hey, I wasn’t going to say no. Having her so willing to take me inside her so quickly was a boon to my ego and to the moment. Especially since she’s a Domme, and I thought she would resist, let alone a position like that. But I think we had a mutual understanding regarding our desire to finally accomplish what we set out to do twelve years ago.
I thought it would be all I needed to reset my brain and stop thinking about her so much. I had my fill, right? Yet I’m standing here like an idiot, wishing that I didn’t care so much that someone like Lana Andrews is even so much as implying that Kathryn doesn’t have her shit together. And it’s not like I feel guilty by association. I was flawless every time I presented. Shit, Eva has way more reasons to be angry. Kathryn’s her best friend.
And I’m… her… what? Temporary business partner?
Lover?
I’m under no delusion that sex will happen again. I don’t think I’ll say no, but it’s up to Kathryn, and I don’t see her jumping my bones again.
But… shit. Let me tell you. I went home Friday night, tired and ready for a shower and bed. So that’s what I did. I then promptly dreamed about tying that woman’s smooth arms above her head and tickling her nipples with the tip of a riding crop. Her ass was bigger in my dream, and there I was, spanking her and listening to her whimper in between shouts of pleasure…
…Begging me to spank her some more, to spread her open and have my fill of her
…Just fuck me. I do not want things that will for sure never happen.
“Kathryn’s been so busy working on the project that she hasn’t even had time to return my calls,” Eva says with a taut mouth. “And I’m in grad school.”
“Oh, how is that going? Must be so exciting.”
“It’s fine. Henry says that during my break later this year I should start heading a small subsidiary he’s setting up. Jewelry. Good enough to get any girl’s feet wet, I suppose.”
“Speaking of your bother, how’s he doing?”
Eva gestures behind Lana. Both she and I glance in that direction, catching sight of the tallest Warren sibling gliding through a small crowd, wearing a white-brimmed hat and a smart suit made of crisp whites and pale browns. My father’s courting him to be a major investor in another project, which explains why she’s here tagging along with her brother.
What isn’t apparent right away is the woman attached to his hip, a petite feminine beauty with curly black locks and a white gown that drapes on her thin limbs so she looks like a beautiful, lost ghost. Well, a happy one, because Monica Graham can’t stop smiling whenever someone speaks to her.
I don’t know much about her. Just that she’s engaged to Henry Warren and runs the Château men like me sometimes go to when we need something a bit more private and fantast
ical than even The Dark Hour. Rumor has it that’s where they met. A scoundrel, that Henry.
Oh, and they put on quite the BDSM show. Don’t ask me how I know. Not in front of Eva, anyway, She vomits anytime someone in our lifestyle brings it up. Oh, and don’t bring it up in front of the Andrews. That’ll give them ideas, and they’ll be directed toward me right now. You’re beautiful, Lana, and I’m sure you’ll sub for me for a night, but I’m not super interested in your husband watching. Or involving himself. I’m dreadfully heterosexual to the point of being no fun for you two. Another thing Eva and I can commiserate on right now, because you keep leering at her, Lana.
“What an intriguing couple,” Lana mutters, and I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not. She won’t say anything, though. Not in front of us. That’s Eva’s family. And we both know what a damned hypocrite we’ll be, since the Andrews’ mistress works at the Château, and both Lana and Ken frequent the place.
“It’s going to be the wedding of the year.” Eva’s droll voice cuts between us. “Whips and chains instead of party streamers. Everyone in latex. Ball gags for everyone who doesn’t compliment the bride.”
We both know she’s joking, but neither Lana nor I laugh. Eva soon excuses herself, leaving me with one of the most relentless women in either business or pleasure.
“Before you go along your way, Ian,” Lana begins, touching her fingers to my shoulder. “A friendly reminder that Ken and I are so looking forward to wiping our hands of The Grand. Bit of bother, that building is. The taxes alone… but I digress.” Her sneer for the situation does not give me confidence. “What I’m trying to say is that you need to make sure Kathryn has her shit together. You may not be her keeper, but if you and your father want any chance of getting that building from us, then you best make sure that Kathryn Alison doesn’t botch up your presentation. It’s bad enough we let her get away with screwing up once. We won’t stand for it again.”
Those are her parting words to me, before she goes off to make nice with Henry Warren and his blushing fiancée. I’m left by the damned bar with half my drink warming in my hand. I don’t care. I finish it off in one gulp.
If no one else talks to me about Kathryn today, I can die happy. Because I am so tired of hearing that name, even if I’m incapable of saying anyone’s name but hers.
Chapter 13
KATHRYN
It’s four on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I’m in my apartment, enjoying the breeze through my open window as I curl up on my couch and drink hot tea. Green. Just the right temperature.
Sure, I’ve got work crap sprawled across my lap. And sure, I’m watching the same movies I always watch on my days off. If you can call this that. I mean, I am working.
Yet everything feels so peaceful that I’m about to fall asleep on my couch with this mug of hot tea in my hand, and I don’t caaaare.
I’ve been in this state ever since Friday night. Have you ever been so sexually satisfied that everything inside your body – and mind – has recalibrated, refocused your perspective, and now feels so at peace that you can barely even stand yourself? That’s me right now.
It’s been a helluva long time since I last felt this way after sex. Let alone two days after. Usually by now I’m starting to feel antsy again. Not enough to go stalking for some man-prey, but enough to curl up in bed with my plastic boyfriend and take a tour around a masturbatory world. Nope. I don’t even want to do that. In fact, I am so satisfied that the mere thought of having sex again abhors me.
Until I think about the way Ian slammed me against the wall, anyway. Or I think about how he sounded when he had me. Touched me. Kept going even after I came God knew how many times. Okay, so maybe I could have sex again. With Ian.
I laugh, because that’s stupid. We had sex because clearly we needed it. Not just because we’re two younger people with hormones raging in our 20s, but because it’s something we’ve both thought about over the years. Now we know. Now we can move on.
I’ll probably be ready to play by this weekend, after the public presentation. I’ll go to The Dark Hour and find Mr. Handsome again. This time I’ll finish the job. All over his face.
Cackling, I drink my tea and look over my notes for the presentation.
My phone buzzes. Someone is texting me. I already know who.
“Get me out of here. This is the most boring party e v e r.” Poor Eva. Dragged to the Mathers’ party along with her brother. Eva only likes rich people parties if she’s half-drunk or it’s likely to end in an orgy for her to amuse herself with.
“You made your bed. Lie in it.” I think I’m going to follow my tea up with some wine at dinner. There’s this Thai place I love. I think they deliver?
“I overheard Lana Andrews and Ian Mathers. They were talking about you.”
My heart stops. I put my tea on the table and sit up, blankets falling away from me. “Oh, yeah?” What is Ian saying? Surely he’s not going around bragging about fucking me. Or is he? No. He’s not the type. I haven’t even told Eva about it. I’m not sure I will… unless I have to.
It takes way too long for her to get back to me. During that time, I start sweating. So much for my relaxing afternoon. “Lana’s mad about you screwing up your presentation last week and is convinced it’s going to happen again. She wants Ian to be your keeper. That’s what I got out of it, anyway.”
“Fuck her. Only not really. Don’t actually fuck her, Eva.”
“Yeah, right. I ain’t going near that. She’d try to eat me alive, and then get her husband to film it. You hear they might be starting an adult line of something or other? God help us all.”
No, I hadn’t heard that, but it doesn’t surprise me. They’d start an escort business if they could get away with it. “Has Ian been saying anything weird about me?”
“Huh? No. Why? You guys have a row?”
“You could say that.”
“Don’t worry about that jackass. He’s probably preoccupied looking for his next blond squeeze. Hey, maybe it could be you!”
I don’t say anything for a while. Not until I see her getting ready to type something else. “Don’t even joke about that.”
Eva disappears for a while. Probably talking to someone. Probably drinking. Probably answering for the umpteenth time that, no, she wasn’t there to watch her brother fuck his girlfriend in public. Why do people ask her that? I was there. No way Eva would have hung around for more than five minutes after the festivities began. Speaking of, I have yet to get a wedding invitation from the Warrens. I’m slighted.
My evening is ruined. Not because something bad has happened, but because now I’m no longer able to enjoy the afterglow I’ve been simmering in since Friday night. I don’t want to have sex, but I’m thinking weird things about Ian. And my work. He’s going to ride me hard about my presentation all this week. What will happen when we see each other tomorrow? Will we acknowledge what happened? Or are we going to pretend it’s all in the past… like what happened a decade ago?
Against my better judgment, I text Ian.
“We need to talk. About Friday.”
I hit send before I lose my nerve.
Unsurprisingly, I don’t hear from him for a long time. He’s at his family’s party, and I’m here working to keep me distracted. I order in dinner and double up on that wine to settle my nerves. Soon enough I’m in the bath, relaxing in a plethora of bubbles and staring at my Ziploc-covered tablet trying to read a book.
My phone, which is perched safely on a shelf, buzzes.
At first I forget that I texted Ian. Which is good, because otherwise I may not have picked up my phone and looked at his message.
“What is there to talk about?”
Seriously?
I’m gonna I don’t even know.
“You know what. Unless it was so terrible that you’ve blocked it out of your mind.”
“Hardly.”
That’s it for a minute. He wants me to c
ontinue the conversation.
“Is it going to be weird tomorrow?”
“Only if you’re the one making it weird.”
“So we’re good?”
“We’re good.”
I watch my bubbles bob on the water, my teeth playing at a hangnail. “See you tomorrow.”
“Good night.”
For some reason, this exchange hasn’t made me feel better. If anything, I’m more anxious than ever. Because… well, you know. Ian and I had sex. Not just any sex. Really, really hot sex that nearly ate me alive and left him absolutely breathless afterward. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care if you’re the most hardened man in the universe – emotionally, that is. If you have that kind of sex with a woman, it’s going to affect you. You’re going to treat her differently.
And this is Ian Mathers we’re talking about here. A man who, even back when I first decided to sleep with him, is known for going through a lot of women quickly. That doesn’t mean he treats them with disrespect, of course. I have never heard about that, but it does mean that I’m no longer an interest to him. He’s conquered me. He knows what it’s like to fuck Kathryn. He knows what my nipples look like and what I sound like coming from his cock, and what it’s like to have my stupid horny cunt squeeze him half to death. Fuck me. I am so stupid.
Excuse me while I try to finish my bath in peace. It’s going to be a long week, and I need all the relaxing I can get right this second.
Chapter 14
IAN
Monday morning. Cloudy. Drizzly. Enough to make me carry an umbrella until I reach the building we’re still sequestered in this week.
Naturally, I run into Kathryn in the elevator.
The operator hits the button for our suite and then steps out again, the doors closing in front of us. Kathryn is fighting between looking relaxed and tensing up around me. I don’t blame her, but I wish she wouldn’t. It’s making me tense.
“Good morning,” I finally say, wrapping the plastic wrap around my umbrella as securely as possible. I text my assistant – who is in the building with me this week – to bring some coffee from my favorite café down the street. The coffee pot isn’t going to be enough today. “Have a nice weekend?”
