His knuckles turned white, clutching his thighs. “Don’t.” He sent me a warning look that sent electricity scattering to every cell. “I’m struggling to keep my cock in order without you saying things like that.”
Sliding over the glossy leather of the backseat, I fluttered my eyelashes. “At least people can’t tell what I’m feeling.”
His breath turned shallow. “And what are you feeling?”
Boldly, I captured his wrist and brought his hand from his thigh to mine. The rustle of my skirts sounded excruciatingly loud on my over-sensitive nerves. “Put your hand up my dress and find out.”
He let out a strangled noise. Yanking his hand back, he growled, “You’re playing with fire, Buttercup.” The word “fire” sent his eyes darting to my scars—prominent and unashamedly on display. There was no mistaking that I wasn’t just a girl in a pretty dress. I was a woman who’d lived a story and wasn’t afraid to tell it.
“I like to play with dangerous things.”
He groaned, staring at the limo ceiling as if begging for deliverance. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
I whipped out my hand, ready to wrap around his cock.
I’ll find out.
In a flash he trapped my fingers, holding me millimeters away from touching him. “You’re going to pay for what you’re doing.”
I shivered. “How much will you make me pay?”
He smiled like a scoundrel—a rogue who was exactly in control even when he looked wildly out of it. Dragging me forward by my hand, he murmured in my ear, “Your payment will consist of whatever I deem worthy.” He pressed a kiss on my powdered cheek. “Until then, you can live in anticipation of what I’ll make you do.”
In a second, he was gone—springing from the car as an unseen chauffeur opened the back door.
I blinked. It’d been eerie being driven to an unknown destination by an unknown driver. The limo had magically appeared the moment Arthur returned home—already immaculately dressed and smelling divinely like woodsy smoke and seaside.
There was a few seconds’ delay as the driver came around to my side. With a flourish, he opened the door and revealed the most immaculate villa in all of the Florida Keys. My mouth fell open at the stunning façade of the stone home with sweeping porticos and pastel accents. Strategic lights illuminated shrubbery and pathways, turning night into starlight.
“Wow,” I breathed as Arthur appeared, holding out his hand. “This is the party?” I couldn’t stop staring.
“It is indeed.” His fingers clamped around mine, pulling me from the car.
The moment I tottered on insanely high turquoise heels—also courtesy of Arthur’s chosen boutique store—I self-consciously smoothed down the thigh-length strapless dress.
“Who owns this place?” Up till now I thought Arthur’s mansion was slick and beautiful, but it looked clunky compared to the feminine beauty of this timeless villa.
Arthur smiled secretively. “A friend.”
My hackles rose at the thought of any friend living in such a place. “A female friend?”
Placing his hand on the small of my back, he pushed me down the glowing path. “No, jealous Buttercup. A man.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. His ex-wife is an architect. Built this place, decorated it to rival any interior design magazine, then left him for a younger version.”
“Ouch.”
Arthur shrugged. “That was a while ago. Samson is now happily remarried and even has a brat or two, I believe.”
Carefully keeping my eyes on the decoration of white pebbles latticing the black pavers leading to the doorway, I asked, “You believe?”
Arthur’s touch turned protective as we scaled the three steps and stood poised at the front entrance. “We don’t talk about personal things. We’re friends because of mutual goals, but we aren’t about to go to each other’s birthday parties.”
Who was this unknown Samson? If he wasn’t a friend, why was he important in the scheme of things?
Standing on the threshold, I suffered nerves and butterflies. Was I enough? Had I done the best I could with my hair? My makeup? I’d taken the longest I’d ever done applying just the right amount of mascara and dusky pink lipstick, and I’d never fussed so much over my hair.
I’d even watched some online videos to attempt a fishtail braid, draping the tamed hair over my shoulder and finishing it with the black ribbon from the dress box.
But no matter how much I’d primped and painted, I still felt like a fraud—someone who looked the part but beneath was absolutely unprepared and a sham.
Arthur squeezed my hip, sensing my anxiousness. “Relax, Cleo.”
“But what if I say the wrong thing? I’ve avoided parties and social gatherings all my life. I’m always terrified of meeting someone I once knew and not being able to place them, or making small talk only to find amnesia devoured that piece of information, too.”
Sweat rolled down my spine, spreading my panic. I didn’t know why I was so close to freaking out. It wasn’t like I didn’t have my memories this time, and I had Arthur by my side.
But that inescapable fear still clutched me.
Looking into his calming emerald eyes, I begged, “Please don’t leave me alone tonight. Promise you’ll stay by me?”
With a gentle smile, he dragged me into his embrace, cocooning me in his arms.
Instantly, I relaxed, feeding off his peacefulness, his capable, unflappable ease. “I promise I’ll never take my eyes off you.”
I exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”
Arthur’s jaw-length hair was swept off his face in a slick ponytail. From the front, he looked like a distinguished businessman in a tailored charcoal suit and tie, but from the side—with his rugged jaw, roguish hair, and bulging arms threatening the seams of the suit—the truth was visible.
He was dangerous.
He was a man not to be messed with.
He played with the ribbon in my hair. “You know me so well, Buttercup. You know my thoughts, my heart, my past. But you’re still blind to what my life truly entails.” He pulled me tighter against his body. “Tonight, you’ll see the truth. You’ll see the other world I exist in, the one run by politicians and democrats rather than bikers and gasoline.” Kissing my forehead, he magically smoothed away my final nerves. “This is yet another facet of my life.”
The door swung open, revealing a butler dressed all in black with combed balding hair. “Welcome, Mr. Killian.”
A security guard I hadn’t seen ghosted from the shadows behind one of the pillars. His eyes were shielded by dark glasses—even though it was far too gloomy to need them.
Why was there security detail for a simple house party?
Because this isn’t a simple house party.
I wasn’t stupid. Even though my lack of memory often made me seem that way. Whatever Arthur was coordinating relied on something to do with this evening’s success.
I don’t mean to ruin it for him.
“And who shall I say is accompanying you tonight, Mr. Killian?” The kind-faced butler smiled in my direction.
Arthur stood taller. “Cleo Price.”
My heart winged at the possession in his tone.
The butler looked at the guard who shifted on his toes and peered intensely behind smoky lenses. A clipboard magically materialized in his hands. After a quick glance, he nodded curtly.
I guess I’m approved.
The butler sidestepped into the grand entrance, beckoning us inside. “Please, come in.”
I mumbled thanks as Arthur and I stepped into the extravagant foyer and feasted on the oversized modern artwork and the three-meter-high driftwood horse dominating the space.
“Do you have any jackets or coats you wish me to take?” the butler asked.
Arthur shook his head. “We’re good. Thanks.” His height gave him an advantage, easily browsing over the milling guests in distinguished suits and bright dresses. The men were punctuations to their pretty
wives decorating the space like sugary confectionary.
“Mr. Samson is awaiting your arrival.” The butler pointed across the room where a punch bowl and delicate sandwiches rested on side tables. “He requested you speak to him first.”
Arthur stole my hand. “Will do.”
Leaving the butler in our wake, we weaved our way through the crowd. Bubbles of perfume and clouds of aftershave popped and swarmed as we brushed past men and women who would never step foot inside a biker compound, let alone mingle with one.
Squeezing Arthur’s fingers, I asked, “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
He looked down, his face cordial and cocky. “Soon.”
Happiness filled me to think he might be on the mend, but then I stared harder and saw past his walls. Whatever headache he suffered, it hadn’t dispersed yet. It was there with its fingers of agony and heartbeats of pressure.
A waitress appeared with champagne flutes. “Drink?”
I raised my hand to say no, but Arthur released me and plucked two sparkling glasses from her silver tray. “Thank you.”
She nodded, cast an appreciative glance at Arthur, then glided away to provide liquor to other parched individuals.
I scowled. “You’re not going to drink that, are you?”
His eyebrow rose. “Uh, I’d thought about it, yes.” Offering a flute to me, he added, “And you, too. Unless you’ve stopped drinking after being spoiled by Melanie’s concoctions last night?”
I took the glass, rubbing my thumb through the icy condensation. “No, I’ll sip one. I just don’t think it’s a good idea that you do.”
He scoffed, deliberately taking a swig. Somehow, he made sipping golden champagne from a dainty glass rough and tough and utterly masculine.
My throat turned dry.
Licking his lips, his eyes shot to a forest green. Desire sparked, lacing around us and shunning everyone else in the room. The unfinished business in the limo only grew more intense. “You were saying.”
All I could focus on was a glistening drop on his bottom lip. “I was saying?”
Taking a step toward me, Arthur twirled the ribbon from my braid, gracing my décolletage with his knuckles.
I shivered.
“You were saying I shouldn’t drink. If your concern is because of my head, I told you—stop worrying about me. I’m fine.”
I twirled the stem of my flute. “I’m worried that you aren’t taking this seriously. Alcohol can’t be good for your condition.”
His shoulders braced. “I drank last night and it didn’t bother you.”
“That was different.”
“How was it different?”
My knees wobbled beneath his scrutiny. “We were surrounded by people who care about you. Plus, you only had two beers all evening. I watched you.”
He scowled. “Can’t get anything by you, can I?”
“Nope.” I swallowed hard. “You’re still in pain. I can tell.”
His jaw clenched but he forced himself to relax. “It’s nothing, Buttercup.” Kissing me swiftly, he whispered, “Forget about what happened. Forget about what’s about to happen. And let’s just enjoy tonight, okay?”
I nodded but I didn’t agree. How could I forget about what’d happened when his father had started this mess? How could I forget when it was all I thought about?
For the first time, I let my thoughts slip through my iron control.
My worry wasn’t just about his concussion. Or his pigheaded belief he could extract revenge without being hurt. It wasn’t even about him living a life still shackled so heavily to the past.
It’s because I’m worried he’ll die. That he’ll arrange a war and perish because of it.
I threw a mouthful of chilled wine down my throat. I hated worrying. I hated not knowing. I’d lived for far too long not knowing and I wouldn’t do it any longer. Arthur was mine—therefore he was my responsibility and I would be damned if I let him get hurt again.
“We could just leave …,” I whispered, twirling the stem of my glass.
Arthur froze. “You want to go home?”
Home. Where was home? Dagger Rose was gone. Pure Corruption was still too new. We can start a new home.
Looking into his eyes, I begged him to understand. “We could go somewhere, just us. We’re together again. We always said we were each other’s home.” Urgency filled me. I grabbed his wrist, sloshing his champagne. “We could just go. Move overseas. Start again.”
Like I did.
Become new people.
Hide.
Arthur stiffened. His eyes hooded. “You want me to just walk away? After all this time? When I’m so fucking close?” His voice never rose above a whisper but the steely tone whipped my heart.
“Why would that be so terrible? You’re beyond wealthy. You have no reason to stay—”
“No reason?” Arthur ran an agitated hand through his hair, disturbing his ponytail so he looked even more untamed and unpredictable. “I have so many fucking reasons.”
How on earth had this happened? All we seemed to do these days was go from closeness to clashing.
Then again, I had just asked if he’d drop everything and run away with me—in the middle of a war and who knew what else. Not exactly fair.
Whoops.
I only did it because I’m petrified.
“Forget I said anything.” I laid my hand on his sleeve. “It was selfish of me. I know you have responsibilities here. I’m just—you can’t be mad at me for loving you so much that I want to keep you safe. To never share you.”
The fib rolled off my tongue and I let the truth sink into darkness. I loved him; that was real. But I was also worried that he would go too far. That his thirst for vengeance overshadowed everything—even me.
He sucked in a breath, his eyes never leaving mine. He knew I offered an olive branch, but at the same time he was wary that I wasn’t entirely happy.
Sighing, he nodded. “Buttercup, you have my ultimate word. When this week is over and everything has gone to plan, we’ll go away. Just the two of us. We’ll go wherever you want. England to visit your foster family, or some tropical hideaway in the middle of nowhere. Whatever you need, I’ll do.” Bringing me close, he breathed, “Okay?”
I swooned into him, pressing my cheek against his tie. “Okay.”
Just please let this week go smoothly. Please don’t get hurt.
The tension between us disappeared as quickly as it’d arrived. Arthur let me go, taking another sip of his drink.
His throat tensed as he swallowed and once again desire thickened my blood. His chest rippled as he moved, every inch of his tailored suit hugging his incredible physique. Women watched him, interest sparking in their gaze despite wedding rings wreathing their fingers.
I’m completely out of my depth.
And completely possessive.
“You’re far too handsome for your own good dressed in that …” I waved at him as if his perfectly sewn suit offended me.
My petulant voice rose Arthur’s eyebrow while a sexy smirk twisted his lips. “What did you just say?”
I narrowed my eyes. “You heard me.”
A sly glint glowed in his gaze. “You’re right. I did hear you.” Taking a step, our bodies aligned like colliding asteroids. “Are you jealous of them looking? Doesn’t it turn you on knowing you’re the only one who gets to see what’s under my suit? That you’re the only one who holds this.” Stealing my hand, he placed my fingers over his heart.
He brushed his lips against my ear. “Because I get hard seeing the way men look at you, knowing you belong to me and only me.”
His breath sent goose bumps splattering down my arms.
Chuckling, he let me go and I took a reinforcing sip of chilled bubbles. “Let’s just say I prefer you in mud-stained jeans and weathered leather.”
“Why?”
“Because a biker president scares the bejesus out of everyone.”
My lips part
ed as Arthur wrapped his arm around my waist, pressing me hard against him. The rapid thickening in his trousers made my insides melt. “I’m still scary … even if I’m wearing a tie.”
I struggled to continue with the conversation. We’d bounced from lust to anger and back again. And now all I wanted to do was drag him away from this hoity-toity crowd and prove to myself that despite his plans and headaches and stubbornness he was still the boy from my past.
Nothing was complicated as long as we remembered that.
I whispered, “Not to me.”
His eyes burned deep emerald holes into my soul. “No, not to you.” He kissed me quickly. “The minute I’ve spoken with Senator Samson, I’m having you.”
Having me?
As in sex?
“What, here?” I squeaked.
He inhaled deeply, dragging my spritz of perfume—orchids and summer sunshine—into his lungs. “Here.” Laughing softly, he looked around the room as if seeking a dark corner in which to carry out his threat. “I’m going to sink inside you somewhere inside this house and prove to you that it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing or what situation we find ourselves in, I’m still yours.” His eyes shadowed. “For some reason, I think you need reminding of that.”
My heart expanded with love.
Letting me go, his hand disappeared into his trouser pocket. Opening his fingers, he said, “See?”
My muscles locked. The worn Libra eraser rested like a talisman in his palm.
I couldn’t take my eyes off it. “Do you take it everywhere?”
Tucking it away safely, Arthur nodded. “Every day. It started off as something I hated because it reminded me too painfully of you. But every time I went to throw it out, I couldn’t. I couldn’t remove you from my life.” He shrugged. “It became a good luck charm and I grew superstitious that if I didn’t have it with me, my luck would run out and I’d end up even more alone.”
Right there. What he just said. That was why I was petrified of the future, of what he planned to do. That after all this time apart we would end up more alone than before—all because he couldn’t move on.
Closing my hand over his, I pushed aside my worries.
With a ruthful smirk, he linked his fingers with mine. “Come. I think it’s time I introduced you to Samson.”
Sin & Suffer Page 27