by K. I. Lynn
“You’re interrupting her work.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s just dishes.” I watched his jaw clench. “Your plate is on the table.” I gestured to the covered meal. “Should still be warm.”
He walked over to the table and glanced back at me before picking up his plate and silverware. In a few strides he was next to me, setting his dishes down on the island counter. Amara slid a glass of wine over to him as he pulled the stool out and sat next to me.
I blinked at him and quirked a brow at Amara, who shrugged.
It was a move that reminded me of a guy I liked my freshman year of high school. I’d had a crush on him for over a year, ever since he transferred into my school. He was a popular guy, and I wasn’t. One day he stopped in front of my table at lunch and asked to sit next to me. I was floored and probably bright red. Nothing ever happened past that, but I held a candle for him for the rest of high school and after.
The moment with Atticus had that same feel. Maybe that meant he was trying to meet me halfway. Yes, ten million could make a person do almost anything, but I wasn’t going to let him bully me for the next five years. He asked me, so he was going to have to make concessions. Yes, I needed the money and it would make life so much easier, but it wasn’t like I was going to be on the street without it.
And that was why I was determined to make him work for it.
Loreno appeared and whisked Amara away, leaving us alone. The silence was deafening, accented by the clinking of flatware against ceramic.
“How was your day?” I asked the most benign question I could think of. It was a simple, cursory question—or inane chatter and gossip that he so despised.
Maybe I’d ask him about the weather…
Nope.
A sigh left him. “It started with a large investment in a product design being completely destroyed. Then my father visited me, topping it off with Genevieve asking for more money. Hamilton is angry about our arrangement, or maybe he just needs to work some frustration out. It could go either way. Holly left halfway through the day for an appointment, leaving me with Tiana and whatever the others’ names are. Therefore, Jack got my bad mood, and my usual lunch reprieve didn’t happen because you weren’t there.” He turned to me. “How was your day?”
I was shocked by his sharing, expecting a tight lipped, “Fine,” and not the torrent of information that spewed from his lips.
I bit down on my bottom lip. My day was much more laid back. “Swimming in a pool four hundred feet off the ground is really strange. The sloshing really highlights just how much the building moves. I’m sorry you had a bad day.”
He scoffed at that before taking a bite. After a sip of wine, he said, “It was par for the course.”
“What does that mean? I’ve heard it before.”
“Par is a golf term, meaning the number of average strokes for a hole or total for the course. A course is a round. Therefore it was what I encounter on an average day.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For explaining and not talking down to me.”
“Do I often talk down to you?”
“Here and there, but then I smack you down with some eloquent response.” I paused a moment as that made him chuckle before I continued my point. “In all seriousness, it’s not so much that you talk down to me, it’s that you don’t talk to me at all.”
With a raise of a brow, he looked at me more intently than he had since that night at Angelino.
“Compared to some of the things you say, it was very civil.”
He tossed his napkin down on the counter, his flatware crossed on his plate. I stood and reached for his plate, but he stopped me.
“The maid will get it in the morning,” he said.
I sat back down and mashed my teeth together as he reached for the wine and refilled our glasses.
“I’m not above doing my own dishes.”
“Will you please not fight me on this tonight?”
“Just tonight?” I asked. Having people do all the menial chores I was used to doing every day was unnerving. I felt weird, being perfectly able to do them myself.
“I want to brief you on what to expect at dinner,” Atticus said.
“The family dinner? It’s dinner.” How bad could it be?
“Yes, but I’m introducing you as my fiancée. Have no doubt my father will pull some stunt. He’s probably invited the woman he wants me to marry.”
“Wait, what? Your father already picked someone out for you? Like an arranged marriage?” It seemed archaic. I ignored the spark of unease that lit in my chest.
“Exactly. That’s not what I want, and I’m not going to be stuck in some loveless marriage with a vapid woman I can’t stand.”
“Instead you’ll be in a loveless marriage with a commoner who doesn’t know her place,” I bit back.
His jaw ticked. “Yes, though I have hope that one day we will no longer be in constant battle. It’s exhausting.”
“Relent and learn to compromise, and we won’t have any problems.”
He stood. “Speaking of relenting.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and tugged me against his chest.
I let out a squeak of surprise as I slipped off the stool and was pressed against his chest, eyes wide as I stared up at him. My heart beat rapidly, and I felt warmth fill my cheeks. “What are you doing?”
He leaned down, his lips ghosting across mine, sending a concussive wave of electricity pulsing through me. “Kissing you.”
All the memories of that night so long ago flashed through my mind, reminding me of the way he handled my body and how well we fit together. How natural we were, how at ease and affectionate.
“Why?” I asked in barely a whisper.
“Because we have to be desensitized to each other’s touch, and that includes more intimate gestures.” He trailed down my neck, nipping the skin and making me draw in a shuddering breath before moving back up. His lips were soft against mine, and I froze.
“Kiss me back,” he groaned.
I couldn’t. It would only feed the attraction I already felt for him. Feed the heat that was scorching between us already.
“Ophelia, behave.”
I reached up with shaking hands and cupped his jaw, pulling him closer. The moment our tongues met, an arrow of fire shot through me, igniting my blood.
I needed to pull back, but I couldn’t. Atticus’s arms wrapped tighter around me, pulling me impossibly closer as he deepened the kiss. His fingers dug into my ass, his lips leaving mine, trailing kisses down my jaw until he began licking and sucking at a spot just below my ear.
Blood was replaced by fire and my breath sped up as I pressed my body into his.
At one point I’d tried to convince myself that what happened that night was a fluke, but the way my body was reacting to his, I knew it wasn’t and if I didn’t pull away now, I wouldn’t have the will to do so in another minute.
“I think that’s enough,” I breathed out.
When he pulled back, there was a smirk on his lips. He knew he had me. His expression woke me up, and my lips formed a thin line.
“Happy?” I asked with an edge of venom.
“The day you’re on your knees begging for my cock.”
“What?”
“That’s what will make me happy.”
Fuck me.
All my bravado was gone, replaced by that heat. I turned around abruptly and stomped back to my room, his chuckles echoing off the walls.
Smug, hot bastard.
He was trying to break me down—I knew it—but it wasn’t going to work.
I flung myself onto my bed and stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the heat pulsing through me. One kiss, and everything from that night flooded back. It was like no time had passed.
His lips against mine did exactly what I was afraid of.
I slipped my hand under my waistband, continuing until my fingers brushed against my clit. I drew in a sharp breath, and my nipples tigh
tened. A little farther, and I could feel the wetness his kisses created. I slipped a finger in and then two as I focused on the sparks of his tongue against mine.
The bastard had turned me into a needy mess with one kiss. I threw my head back, a keening moan slipped between my lips as my finger tip pressed against my aching clit.
“Fuck,” I hissed, my hips rocking against my fingers. My breath hitched and my other hand gripped my breast, tugging at my nipple between two fingers. I was completely lost to the pleasure, to the need to clear my hormones down to a manageable level.
“Enjoying yourself?”
I shot up, my eyes wide as my legs slammed closed. “Fuck! You can’t knock?” Atticus was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes dark.
“The door was open and you were making the most erotic sounds. If you didn’t want me coming in, you should have closed it.”
Crap. I’d become so accustomed to being alone that I didn’t even worry about the door. Who would, with over eight thousand square feet?
“Did I get you all worked up?” he asked, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.
“No.”
“Do you need a hand?” he asked.
My pussy clenched at that idea, liking it very much. However, my anger took the front seat, reminding me that wasn’t going to happen.
I narrowed my gaze. “You can get the hell out.”
“No.”
“No?”
“We weren’t done with our conversation when you rudely ran away.”
“I didn’t run,” I grumbled.
“Fled my presence as fast as your legs could carry you.”
I rolled my eyes, hoping he would leave, but he just stood there, my hand still trapped beneath my waistband. “Can you give me a minute?”
“Why? You’ve already wasted ten of mine while you filled the hall with your lewd warbling.”
“Fine. What is it?” I ground out, wishing to erase this moment from my memories, and more importantly, his.
“Pack an overnight bag.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re going outside the city. We’ll spend the weekend there. I hope that will show my father that you aren’t going away.”
“Okay. Is that all?”
“For now. You can continue.”
“Out,” I growled. The moment I heard the door click I fell back against the bed.
Fuck, the weekend? Trapped with his family? Not only that, would we be sharing a bed?
If I wasn’t nervous before, I was now. Dinner was one thing, but the entire weekend was another. Talk about a cold shower. Nothing could have diffused my lust quicker.
The car decelerated, and I peered between the front seats. That moment in every Cinderella story when the female lead character made her way to the ball couldn’t have been more accurate as a huge wrought-iron gate slowly opened in front of us, flanked by tall stone walls.
The driveway was made of pavers laid out in intricate patterns, and in the distance, past the trees, I could see a few spires reaching up against the twilight sky.
The sense of awe that filled me when I first saw from Atticus’s condo paled compared to the overwhelming feeling that assaulted me. The wealth I knew he had was reinforced as I stared at the looming French-inspired chateau.
There were no words for the mansion that filled my field of view. From the window placements there were at least four floors, with the top floor probably for staff quarters.
In all my life I’d never seen such a place other than on a TV screen. The windows were dwarfed by the sheer size of the large exterior stone walls. Multiple large chimneys rose from the dark roofline.
Worried about being trapped in a house with his family? Not in a structure that massive. Besides, glancing around the lush, manicured lawns and landscaping, I knew that if I should need to escape, I could quickly lose myself in one of the most stunning outdoor spaces I’d ever seen anywhere.
“This is your house?” I asked in complete shock. I’d only seen houses like the de Loughrey estate in movies or on MTV Cribs, which I used to watch as a teen.
“This is the family house.”
“How many places do you have?” I’d already stayed at his Manhattan penthouse, and now I was standing in front of a fucking castle. There was no better way to describe the overpowering structure. It was a force in and of itself.
It fit the definition with its sheer size and stone adornments.
“My great grandfather built this in 1896.”
“Wow. How big is it?”
“Somewhere around forty-seven thousand square feet.”
“That isn’t a house.”
“It is for us. Up to fifteen de Loughreys have lived under this roof at one time.”
The car slowed and stopped at a huge covered front door atop a small tier of steps.
After helping me from the car, he pulled me inside, leaving Michael and Damien to deal with our bags. What we stepped into was not what I would think of as a foyer but most definitely an anteroom. That fact was accentuated by the large set of wrought-iron and glass doors before us. The space that held us was at least twice the size of my apartment, and its sole purpose was to have people wait before entering the home.
Something we didn’t have to do as the doors were splayed open, beckoning us through.
My mouth had been wide when I saw Atticus’s condo. I was frighteningly aware that it was nothing compared to the palatial palace I found myself in. The walls were a dark, rich wood with dimension. The staircase was the same, and at least eight feet wide, if not more, with a deep red runner. It only went halfway up before splitting in half, opening the second floor to the hall below.
The central staircase and entryway were enough to let me know I was in a place beyond measure of any place I’d set foot in before. Marble, dark woods, crystal, and gold decorated every inch that laid in front of me.
What awaited me farther in? I wasn’t so sure.
Atticus told me there would be resistance, that my welcome wouldn’t exactly be celebrated. It wasn’t reassuring, but it did prepare me for the battle to come. I wasn’t going to be blindsided by insults, chased away by their laughs to cry in a corner.
Not that I would anyway. If Atticus hadn’t scared me away yet, his family wasn’t going to.
“Good evening, Mr. Atticus,” a woman in a black dress said as we entered. She was just standing there, waiting for us. Weird, but Atticus didn’t seem to think it was out of the ordinary.
“Daniella. What has Chef prepared this evening?”
“On the menu this evening is pan-seared duck breast, roasted filet, and jerk-seasoned chicken.”
His eyes narrowed, and he sighed. “Gen?”
She nodded. “Miss Genevieve requested.”
“What did she request?” I asked.
“Of those three, you have one guess.”
“Jerk chicken?” I guess. From what little I’d heard about her, it seemed the most likely.
“You’ve never met her once, and you know her well already.”
“Who is she calling a jerk?”
“Who isn’t she, is the more apt question. It’s just another one of Genevieve’s plays for attention.”
We took a few slow steps in, and I had to focus to keep my gaze from bouncing around and my jaw from hanging slack.
“So why did you ask what was for dinner? Are you that hungry?” It felt like more than a mild interest in what he’d be stuffing his face with.
He shook his head. “The menu informs me who is either already here or will be.”
I nodded. “Jerk chicken and Genevieve.”
“Precisely. She probably arrived yesterday.”
“Atticus?” an older woman called out as she finished the remainder of the stairs before her. She was the picture of elegance and grace, with an aura of superiority. Her once blonde hair was streaked with white, but styled in perfect waves that framed her face. A pearl necklace filled the space b
etween her neck and the conservative opening of her silk shirt that ended tucked into a black, knee-length fitted skirt. Naturally manicured nails adorned delicate hands each laden with a large ring, and diamonds circled her wrists. Her blue eyes were just as intense as her son’s, and I could see where he got his lips and the thin-lined expression he often wore.
“Who is this?” She eyed me up and down, her lips pursed.
“Mother, this is my fiancée, Ophelia.”
I held my hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. de Loughrey.”
Her eyes widened as she stared from my hand to her eldest son. “Fiancée?”
“Don’t seem so surprised.”
She looked me over again. From the sound of it, she’d been told about me, but she wasn’t impressed by my looks.
“Yes, well, your father prattles on incessantly about this Harris girl. He’s going to have a field day when he sees the street cat you’ve brought in.”
I froze as the first insult hit me. Street cat. Wow.
“Mother,” Atticus admonished.
She looked down her nose at me, literally, and sighed. “She’s so…” She trailed off, then made a hmph sound before walking off.
“Well, that could have gone better,” I mumbled.
“Actually, it went quite well.”
I threw him a dubious glance. “How was that well?”
He looked down, our eyes meeting. “She at least looked at you.”
“Because you already put a ring on it.”
“She didn’t have to acknowledge you at all. It’s actually a good thing that she did.”
“If you say so.” I looked down at the dress I’d chosen for the night. It wasn’t over the top or ostentatious, nor was it plain and overly conservative. The hem hit mid-thigh and the scoop neck wasn’t too low.
A spark drew my attention as Atticus slipped his hand in mine. “Come.”
My heels, which I was still getting used to, clicked against the marble flooring down the wide corridor. We passed large rooms with elegant furnishings. A parlor, maybe a drawing room, living room, possibly an office? I wasn’t sure of their purposes and had only a brief second to glance inside as we flew by, but after some weaving he pulled me into a room of similar décor.
It was as elegantly appointed as every inch I’d laid eyes on since we pulled into the driveway, filled with antiques and intricately carved pieces.
