by Roxy Sloane
The silver sandals still look great, and the purse. I don’t need any jewelry with such a simple outfit, and I quickly wipe off my lipstick, too. My phone buzzes again, and I sprint for the door, feeling on top of the world again.
Look out, Mainwarings, you haven’t seen nothing yet!
5.
CHLOE
My good mood lasts exactly twenty minutes: long enough for the driver to deliver me to the front steps of the historic Boston Public Library building, where the gala is taking place.
Max greets me out front with a frown on his chiseled, tanned features. “What happened to the dress I sent?” he asks, before even saying hello.
“It’s beautiful, I just thought I’d wear this tonight. Why?” I ask, feeling a bolt of insecurity. “Don’t you like it?”
“You look beautiful, you always do.” Max says quickly, and presses a kiss to my cheek. “It’s just, I told you, tonight is pretty formal.”
Inside, I can see he’s right. The men are all dressed in tuxes, and the women are outfitted to the nines: expensive gowns dripping diamonds, even furs. Suddenly, I wish I’d stuck to the plan.
“Don’t worry, baby.” Max slips an arm around my waist. “Nobody will care what you’re wearing. That ring on your finger is your VIP pass.”
He collects us both a glass of champagne and steers us into the crowd. Immediately, we’re mobbed with well-wishers, and I can see that he’s right. Everyone is cooing over our engagement.
“You lucky thing,” one woman tells me. “We thought Max would be a bachelor forever!”
Max chuckles. “I was just waiting for the right woman.”
“So romantic,” her friend swoons. “And what’s your background, Chloe? Who are your people?”
“Chloe’s a former ballerina,” Max answers for me. “Her family’s in Chicago.”
“Oh, I just adore the ballet! I should have guessed, you’re so graceful. You’ll have to join me on the fundraising board,” she tells me. “We host all the best events.”
“What a great idea,” Max says. “Chloe is looking forward to being a patron of the arts.”
I am?
I wait until we’ve moved on until asking him about it. Max looks at me, puzzled. “Of course you’ll be sitting on charity boards, all the women in the family do.”
“But I have a job,” I say quietly. He laughs, and presses another kiss to my cheek.
“I’m not saying you need to quit work and stay home, this isn’t the 1950s. But the Mainwarings are very active in the community,” he adds casually. “So if you wanted to focus on charity work, I would support that. Whatever you want.” He smiles and squeezes my hand. “You know I only want you to be happy.”
“I know,” I echo, trying not to feel uneasy. Most women would love the freedom to quit work if they wanted, but hearing Max talk like this is still weird. I’ve been on my own, supporting myself for years.
I take another gulp of champagne, draining the glass.
“Look, there’s Sienna,” Max brightens, pointing to his stepsister. She’s holding court with a group of perfect blonde women, and I haven’t drunk nearly enough champagne to face them yet, so I shake my head.
“You go ahead, I have to powder my nose,” I say. Max kisses me again and then goes to join them, while I head down a hallway in the other direction. Just like that, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses melts away. I keep walking until I find a small courtyard, empty and hidden from the party, lit by just a few flickering lamps.
Finally, I have a chance to breathe.
I know this is part of the deal with Max—this is his life, society responsibilities and all. It’s a different world, and miles from my own family back in Illinois. My mom is a school teacher, and my dad is on disability now after an accident at the auto shop. I didn’t go hungry as a kid, but we never had much money, either, and even though they always wanted the best for me, it was still a fight when I decided to try to pursue ballet professionally. They didn’t understand my passion, or why I couldn’t just go to a regular school like everyone else. I scraped together scholarships to get to Chicago to study myself, and after I moved away at fifteen, the distance between us only grew. Now I call every month, send emails, too, but we’re not close. Not like Max and the rest of the Mainwarings, with all their family dinners, gala events, and summer vacations at the compound on Cape Cod.
“It’s a privilege, and a duty,” Max says all the time about his family, but maybe I just need to give it time before I can feel at home.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, right?
“Who are you hiding from?”
I yelp in surprise and spin around. “You scared me,” I exclaim, before I realize who it is.
Jase Banner.
I freeze, my pulse suddenly racing. A few hours ago, he was dangerously sexy in a black T-shirt and jeans, but now, in a black tux, he’s downright lethal.
“What . . . what are you doing here?” I manage to stammer. We’re alone in the courtyard, noise drifting out from the party, far away.
“Supporting the orchestra,” Jase says in his sexy accent.
“You like classical music?” I blink.
“Why is that surprising?” Jase looks amused. “You think a man like me can’t enjoy the finer things?”
I blush. “No,” I say quickly. “I just didn’t . . . I guess I shouldn’t have assumed.” I look at him again, intrigued. “Who are your favorite composers?”
“I run to Mozart sometimes,” he says casually, leaning against the wall beside me. “Schubert is relaxing. And Handel, of course.” His gaze doesn’t waver, teasing. “I like to save that for a good, hard fuck.”
My heart stops—and blood rushes through my body. “What did you just say?” I blink in disbelief.
Jase’s gaze doesn’t waver. His eyes are on me, hot. “You heard me.”
I swallow. Suddenly, I can feel the heat everywhere. “You can’t go around talking like that.” My voice comes out a whisper.
“Why not?” Jase steps closer, and somehow, I can’t move. He fixes those blue eyes on me, and I shiver. “You like it when I talk dirty.”
“What? No!”
“Oh yeah?” Jase reaches out and slowly, deliberately tucks a piece of hair behind my ears. “So if I said I’ve been imagining your lips wrapped around my cock since the moment we met, it wouldn’t make you wet?”
I open my mouth to deny it—but my body has other plans. I feel my thighs tighten, and that heat spiral lower. All the way down.
Oh God, he’s right.
Jase leans closer, until his voice is low and sexy in my ear. “What about if I touched you? Slipped that dress up and stroked your clit until you’re begging for it.”
Lust crashes through me. I can’t believe what he’s saying, I should pull away, but somehow I’m frozen in place.
Jase chuckles, like he knows how turned on I am right now. “That’s right, darlin’. I could make you come with just one finger, but we both know, you’ll like it better with two. Thick inside you, pulsing just right. Do you want that, Chloe? Knuckles-deep, stretching you out, getting you ready to take all of my cock.”
I shiver. I can almost feel his hands on me, even though he’s not touching me at all.
His mouth on my skin.
His body hard against me.
His hands, possessing me. Demanding. Fingers sliding deep inside—
Laughter suddenly echoes from the open doors, and I snap back to reality.
What the hell are you doing?
I jolt back, out of reach. “You’re wrong.” I shake my head, trying to shake off his hypnotic promise. “I don’t know what you think, but you’ve got the wrong idea about me.”
“I don’t think I do, love.” Jase gives me a smug grin. “Because your lips can lie all they want, but your body always tells the truth.”
His gaze slides over me, triumphant. I glance down, and find my nipples pressing stiff against my dress, broadcasting my desire to the wo
rld. I cross my arms quickly.
“It’s cold out!”
“Keep telling yourself that.” He winks. “But when you’re in bed tonight, slipping a naughty hand between those thighs, you’ll be thinking about this, right now. And I can guarantee you’ll wish you’d stayed a little longer.”
“That’s not true,” I insist, guilty. I turn to leave, but his voice follows me out.
“You’ll think about me, and you’ll come your sweet brains out, every time.”
I hurry back down the hallway, my skin on fire. Who the hell is this guy? And what am I doing even listening to his filthy words instead of heading straight back inside to my fiancé?
My sweet, respectful fiancé.
The thought of Max is like a cold shower. Oh my God, I’m the worst girlfriend in the world! Sure, I didn’t do anything with Jase out there, but I still feel guilty as sin.
I quickly find a bathroom and run cold water over my wrists, trying to cool down. My cheeks are flushed in the mirror, but finally, I start to feel like I’m back on solid ground.
That’s twice now in one day the guy has gotten under my skin. But it’s going to be the last time. If I see Jase Banner again, I’m going to run in the other direction. Fast.
The bathroom door swings open, and a trio of immaculate blonde women sashay in. They’re laughing about something, but stop when they see me.
Oh crap, Sienna.
“Chloe!” she exclaims, her face immediately smoothing into a bright smile. “Max was just wondering where you were, we were about to send out a search party.”
“You shouldn’t leave him alone,” one of the other blondes says. “You never know who’s going to snap him up!”
They all laugh, and I fake a smile, even though I’m cringing inside.
Sienna Mainwaring: Max’s stepsister, so gorgeous and polished she’s been named on Boston’s Most Beautiful People list five years running, and the model of the kind of woman I could never be. Her blonde hair falls in a sleek wave, while my curls are always one step away from crazy. She has a successful career in PR, plus sits on all the boards and charities Max is always talking about, while I’m still a glorified assistant. I’m not usually insecure, but something about this woman puts me on edge, like the way her eyes are drifting over my outfit, and a smug little smirk tugs on the corner of her perfectly made-up face.
“What a cute little dress,” she coos, going to touch up her hair in the mirror. “Who’s the designer?”
“Dolce and Gabbana, I think.” I straighten up a little. At least I don’t have to be ashamed of that, I could hardly believe it when I saw the label sewn in back.
She snaps her fingers. “That’s right, it’s from their collection from five years ago.”
I force myself to give a little shrug. “I’m not sure, I just like vintage.”
Sienna laughs. “Oh, honey, no. It’s only vintage if it’s a classic. Otherwise, it’s just old.”
I barely have time to recover from that blow before she gives me another smile and links her arm through mine. “Let’s go find the boys!” she declares, and pulls me out of the room. “You’ll have to come out to the house this weekend. Nona’s back from Paris.”
My heart sinks. Their grandmother, Sylvia, rules the Mainwaring family with an iron fist. It’s not surprising she’s such a blue blood: the temperature drops ten degrees just when she walks into the room. I’ve only met her the once, and I was so nervous, I barely said a word. “Great,” I manage to reply. “It’ll be nice to see her again.”
“Don’t worry, first impressions aren’t everything,” Sienna coos. “I’m sure you’ll make up for it next time.”
I stop. “What do you mean? What did she say?”
“Oh, nothing,” she says. “Just that you seemed a little . . . standoffish, that’s all. But like I said, you have plenty of time to make amends!”
She whirls off to Max before I can reply. Great, now Nona hates me, too. I look around at the fancy party—the glitter of the chandeliers and champagne glasses. I should be in a fairytale, but right now, I couldn’t feel more out of place.
Then I see Jase across the room. He’s laughing with a group of people—he seems to know them well. His muscular physique stands out, even in the well-cut tuxedo, but he looks totally at ease, greeting people like old friends and flirting with every woman who looks his way.
Which is basically all of them.
I wonder what his story is, where he came from—and why we seem to have this crazy sexual chemistry. I shouldn’t even be looking, not with my fiancé waiting close by, but I can’t help myself.
It’s only looking.
Then Jase glances up and catches my eye. He smiles across the room, but it’s not smug or flirty, the way he’s been looking at me before. This is something quieter, almost like we’re in this together: two strangers out of place in a world where we don’t belong.
I feel a moment of connection, but I quickly turn away. I don’t know his game, but that man is trouble, and I need to stay away.
“There you are, babe.” Max slips his arm around me, and I take a breath of relief. “Come meet some more people. I want us to host a party soon, and you need to know who to invite.”
He steers me away across the room, and soon we’re surrounded again. Max keeps his hand on my back, and soon there’s another glass of champagne, more congratulations for us, and more names for me to try to keep straight.
I push the guilt down and focus on how lucky I am right now. This is where I’m supposed to be: with the solid, sweet man who loves me.
So why doesn’t this feel right?
6.
JASE
I can’t stop thinking about Chloe. Even with that blonde from the bar straddling me, gyrating her wet pussy up and down my dick like it’s a goddamn Twizzler, I can’t get those soulful brown eyes out of my mind.
“Oh my god!” The blonde’s shrieks go up another level, her epic breasts bouncing as she rocks. I grip those babies tight, sucking a stuff nipple in my mouth, but still, it’s not her body I’m imagining.
Lithe, long legs. Small, pert tits. Those pretty little nipples that played peek-a-boo with her silky dress—
Focus, Jase. It’s not like you to lose your head.
I thrust up into the blonde, deep, and I’m rewarded with another scream. Man, this girl likes to make a racket, but hey, I’m not complaining. With every moan, she clenches around my cock, getting me closer to the climax that’s the only goddamn thing that can wipe Chloe Archer from my mind.
There’s nothing special about Chloe, I tell myself. Hot, willing girls are a dime a dozen. Good, quick fucks come even cheaper.
Like this one.
I flip the blonde suddenly, rolling her onto her back. Now I’m pounding balls-deep, all the way to the hilt, so hard her headboard crashes with every thrust.
“Ohmygod!” she screams again. “Ohmygodohmygod!”
She’s flailing like nobody’s ever fucked her this deep, and maybe they haven’t, but that’s not my problem. Not tonight. I tune her out, focusing everything on the slick grip of her pussy and the tension building, hard in my balls now, that tell-tale tingling spreading to my root. I’m close, fuck, so close.
I close my eyes and picture Chloe instead.
God, the way her cheeks burned up as I whispered in her ear, how her breath slowed to those shallow little pants. It was intoxicating: She wanted me, every filthy moment I promised her: my fingers thrusting thick inside her, making her beg for it like never before. But I wouldn’t give it to her right away. No, I’d make her wait. Savor every taste. Lick those pretty breasts until she’s moaning. Find out how she likes her clit stroked, the sweet rhythm that would take her to the edge and back.
Yeah, I could have hours of fun with that lithe body, teach her limits she doesn’t even realize exist. I bet she’d make a pretty picture with my cum painted over her naked breasts, or better yet, dripping from that sweet, innocent mouth—
The
image pushes me over the edge, and fuck it, I explode. Grinding up inside of her, unleashing hard and fast as she spasms around me, screaming.
But when I finally pull myself together and open my eyes, the blonde is gazing up at me. “That was incredible,” she whispers, and reality comes crashing back.
Shit.
Right fantasy, wrong cunt.
I roll away. “You weren’t so bad yourself.” I wink, then go searching for my clothes.
“You don’t have to go.” She props herself up, bare breasts hanging free. “Stay the night. I make a great omelet . . .” she says right on cue.
It’s always the same. They’re always up for a no-strings quickie—until they know what a Jase Banner orgasm feels like. Then it’s nothing but rope and bungee cord, trying to tie me down for another round.
“I’m sure you do, love. But I’m not a breakfast guy. That’s why I gave it to you good enough to last until morning.” I give her a slap on the arse to let her down easy, and her pout turns into a giggle.
“Maybe some other time?”
“I’ll call you,” I say, then make a quick exit before she realizes I never took her number.
*
The next morning, I drag my hungover arse out of bed and hit the streets for a run. I head down to the River Charles and pound the path that winds around the bay, pushing myself harder. I need to clear my head. This Chloe girl has thrown me off my game, and I don’t like losing control.
But I can’t figure it out: what’s her deal? At the party, she was the most beautiful woman in the room, but she was hiding out in the shadows like she didn’t want the attention. And watching her with Maxwell Mainwaring, something didn’t add up. Sure, he was making all the right moves, but it didn’t look like they were madly in love.
Because she’s after the money, stupid.
Either she’s a gold-digger, or lying to herself about happily-ever-after. Either way, she’s off the table. I don’t fuck up cases by sticking my dick places it shouldn’t go. A hot client? Maybe. But the subject of my investigation? Never.