by Sylvia Frost
No, weirded out wasn’t right.
He looked pissed.
“I see.”
“It’s nothing to do you with you…”
The elevator doors slid shut, and Cynthia felt her stomach drop with the finality of the silence they left. Why should she be disappointed? If he asked her to leave right now because she had been too rude, or because he was, strangely enough, actually the kind of guy interested in more than one-night stands, she would be getting what she wanted. She’d already escaped from Lucille. “Cynthia…” He sighed. “What do you want me to say?”
“Say that you’re okay with that. That you understand the terms.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I won’t lie. When I want something, I pursue it, and I want you.”
“Rex, I don’t. I can’t—”
He stopped her by reaching for her hand again with a kind of purposeful slowness, to give her enough time to get out of it if she wanted to. She found herself surprised as she limply let him take her palm in his own.
“What I can promise is that I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. Whether that’s a second date or anything else.” He gazed down at her hand with tender fascination, his eyes focusing on the padding between her finger and thumb, and then her callouses from cleaning. “I’m not some impulsive frat boy.”
She tugged her hand to try to take it back, embarrassed. Her curves she had long come to peace with, but she knew how many men in this social stratum felt about women who worked. Oh, they pretended to be okay with it, but in the end, they always wanted someone to spoil. A perfect princess. But Rex held her firm as he bent down and pressed a kiss right over her callouses.
Her knees felt like water balloons. Wobbly. His lips were so soft. He held the kiss, his brow furrowed as if to prove to her how little it would take to eliminate her reluctance. Just a kiss. Not even on the lips. She swayed closer to him, and his other hand steadied her at the small of her back as he rose. Her ankle buzzed with a strange warmth.
He pressed the up button again, and the doors opened.
He has me. The thought was as unnerving as it was comforting. For all Rex’s speeches about impulse control, there was something brooding behind his clenched jaw and precisely tailored suit, biding its time to escape. That alone should’ve been enough to convince her to hightail it back home.
But she wasn’t eighteen anymore. She knew the real dangerous men weren’t the ones with thousand-dollar suits. It was the hackers in hoodies you had to watch out for. The ones investing billions of dollars all the while dressing like a teenager and considering a granola bar fine dining. The ones who swore they cared about “socially responsible business practices” even as they stole their competitor’s staff and innovations. The ones who promised they didn’t care what shape a woman was as long as her heart was kind, but still went to strip clubs on the weekends.
Old school machismo players like Rex? Those were easy. They didn’t even notice it when you left their bed the next day. As long as he didn’t find out her name or worse, her business, and go around spreading rumors, she’d be fine. Her life would stay simple. Clean. Uncomplicated.
Right?
“Cynthia.” Rex said her name like had invented it. “Come upstairs with me.”
There was nothing else she could do when he spoke like that. She followed him inside the elevator.
Chapter 9
Rex regretted installing mirrors on every wall of the elevator. Originally, it had been a trick to make his wolf think the space was larger than it really was, but now the effect had backfired. His mate’s body filled every reflective surface. Her lusciously thick thighs, her pale shoulders left bare and, of course, those red lips.
His wolf reminded him that if he took her now, he’d get the pleasure of watching her from every angle as he claimed what was his. And she’d have to watch, too. Once she saw herself coming undone at his hands, there would be no more of those little speeches of hers about “not doing relationships.”
She would do forever for him.
His matemark burned in encouragement.
Ding.
The light chime cut through the thick silence. Rex’s mouth twitched in relief as the doors parted, although by his side, Cynthia shifted from foot to foot. Her heels were surprisingly inconspicuous compared to her dress, no rhinestones this time, just blue ribbons wrapping up her ankle, holding up the shoe as if by magic. He noted the Band-Aid over her ankle. As if their bond was some kind of pimple.
“Wow.”
Rex looked up to watch as Cynthia tentatively stepped out of the elevator. Her hand fluttered to her chest as she peered down the long, dark hallway leading to his office. “Your home is beautiful.”
Rex followed her, pressing the button to shut the doors behind him as he went. He wasn’t actually afraid she’d try to escape, but it couldn’t hurt to be careful. “I’m glad you like it.”
He had worked hard on maintaining the original spirit of the Plaza, resurrecting it from the ashes of some aging pop star’s pet renovation project filled with animal prints and big screen televisions. In its place were wood-paneled walls of dark cherry and a floor of pale green marble concealed with an oriental rug. Oil paintings of some of history’s greatest werebeast emperors watched from the wall with ancient eyes.
“I love the cut of this carpet. It looks like its straight, but it actually widens a little to make the space look bigger. Good trick.”
Cynthia was easy to sneak up on, even though Rex considered himself a clumsy hunter compared to the brothers. He got close enough brush the ribbon of her mask with his hand. “You have an eye for detail.”
Her hand shot up to protect the knot of the mask, and she turned to face him. “Comes in handy in my line of work.”
“And what exactly is that?” He stepped forward, crowding her against the dark paneled wall.
She cocked her head, trying not to let his effect on her show, but even with the mask, he could tell how much she wanted him from the way her hand pressed against her collar, as if she had to force herself not to reach out and touch him. “Same as yours. Running a company.”
“What kind of company?”
“I’d rather not say.” She raised her eyebrows, daring him to press the issue. It reminded him of the first time they had met, when he had held her shoe in his hand, and she had given him that same look. Practically begged him to kiss her.
Placing one hand on the side table, he slanted forward. “Would you like to get a drink on the terrace?” Or would you like me to take you right here, Princess?
“S-sure.”
“Follow me then.” Rex took off immediately, forcing himself to keep from looking back. He was already so pathetically besotted, thanks to his wolf. He didn’t need to make his weakness any more obvious. The matemark on his ankle pulsed with her nearness like a radar as he scaled a winding staircase to the second floor.
When they reached the top, they landed in his spacious living room. The right wall was entirely made of sloped greenhouse-like windows that overlooked a roofed terrace and Central Park. While the room itself was dark, city lights filtered in, casting the delicate antique furniture in a yellow glow. He stopped on the last step, but she kept walking, blithely striding into his domain, oblivious to how hard he had to fight his wolf to keep from never letting her out again.
“Do you always like to lurk in the dark or is there a light switch around here?”
“There is a light switch.”
However, Rex didn’t walk across the hardwood floors to the other side of the room to turn it on. He liked the look of her in the dark, how the light half silhouetted her body, emphasizing her curves as she rotated, taking in the room. Power surged through his blood, making his tongue feel heavy in his mouth. She was so painfully human. So easy to snare.
Cynthia finished her circle, facing him again, although in the half light, he knew that all she could see of him were his eyes, if that. He, on the other hand, could watc
h her throat bob as she swallowed back what Rex was guessed was unease.
Gods, was his wolf that obvious?
“You don’t have to do this, you know?”
“Do what?”
“This whole wine-and-small-talk song and dance.” She made a derisive gesture, as if their chemistry could be put in some compartment with just a wave of her hand.
Before he even realized it himself, Rex cut the distance between them from feet to inches, and finally centimeters, until his body was brushing against hers. “You’re right.”
“I…”
His wolf howled for joy. Take her. Rip off that damn mask.
“I don’t have to.” Leaving her mask, he tucked one of the wisps of blonde hair that had again escaped her up-do behind her ear and kissed her cheek. “But I will. I’m going to take my time with you.” After his lips left, he lingered by her ear. “Because when I fuck you… and I will fuck you tonight, Princess… I’ll do it right.”
I’ll do it as myself.
Cynthia took in a sharp breath of surprise, swaying suddenly as her knee buckled. Her mark. His own felt like it was burning his sock to cinders, and he knew what to expect. She must’ve been caught unawares, and as a result, she tipped forward into his arms.
Suddenly, all of her curves were plastered against him. Soft, real, and his for the taking. A human man might’ve struggled holding up her weight, but to him, it was easy to control her body. She was nothing compared to the force of the wolf inside of him. She didn’t struggle either, but let him enfold her into the hard muscle lurking underneath his tuxedo.
His human side was glad for her compliance. He was more than a little dominant in bed, and he had worried that Cynthia might not be receptive, but the submissive tilt to her neck hinted she was only a few caresses away from begging.
He ran his palm down the column of her neck.
A low moan hummed in her throat, vibrating against his skin. Her orange scent spurred him on and, at the same time, cleansed him of his wolf and clarified his thoughts. Delicately, he lowered his lips to her throat, ready to tease her with a chaste kiss, and then swoop them back out to the terrace where they’d drink Burgundy until she gave in, revealed her name, and agreed to a second date. Then he’d hint at the fact they’d met before, carry her off to his bed, and claim her. Eventually, perhaps after the third date, he’d tell her the truth about the bond and his werebeast nature, and then they’d marry on the fifth.
That was his plan.
But the moment his lips touched her skin, his whole plan went to demons. Sweat still lingered on her body from the heat of the ballroom, and in it all he could taste were her pheromones. His cock was rock hard in his luxuriously silken boxers.
Mine.
He nipped at her neck. Not a kiss. Not a caress. There was nothing human or in control about it.
“Ah!” Cynthia’s knees completely gave out from under her. “Rex. Please, stop.”
When Rex drew back, his wolf was satisfied to note the blossoming bruise already forming. But Rex felt only a numb horror. Gods, what have I done?
He staggered backwards, mouth opening and closing, not knowing the words to apologize. He had promised her. He had promised he wouldn’t hurt her. And look. He ran his fingers through his sandy hair, trying to calm the rising tide of panic, but he only succeeded in loosening the dark ribbons holding up his black mask. When it slid down his nose into his trembling hands, he still managed to catch it with his wolf’s reflexes. “I shouldn’t have done that. I hurt you.”
“Really, I’m fine,” she said, but the trembling of her shoulders gave away the lie. “You just surprised me.”
“Cynthia.” Like the cleanness of her scent, saying her name calmed him. The whole world was complicated, but saying her name, that felt simple.
“You get the wine and glasses and meet me outside?” Cynthia inclined her head to the wine cabinet next to his mammoth refrigerator. “I think I need some air.”
“Of course.” Rex’s hand fell to his side, where he tapped his pant leg. She wasn’t leaving. He exhaled through his nose, trying to keep himself from showing the giddy sense of relief loosening his joints.
He realized a beat after Cynthia had already begun walking that he still hadn’t turned on the light, but Cynthia managed to find the door to the terrace herself just fine. Secure in the knowledge that she couldn’t see him, Rex allowed himself to not quite smile—he was still too shaken up by his lapse with his wolf from before—but grimace pleasantly.
He hadn’t ruined things completely. Or perhaps not even at all. When he reached the wine chiller, he plucked out a bottle of premier cru Burgundy pinot noir he had bought at auction. The glass was cool in his hand, and he turned it to read the label.
Domaine de la Romanee-Conti. Originally, the bottle retailed for a mere thousand dollars, but since Romanee-Conti only gave small allocations to very few wine stores, the bottle went for much, much higher at auction. If you could get it at all.
This particular bottle had battle for its back story. Bane Stilskin had tried to bid it out from underneath Rex —not because the bastard actually wanted it, but because he knew Rex did. Rex had ended up spending a clean hundred thousand for the privilege of wiping the smirk off that cat’s face. He’d promised to save it for something else that was worth victory at any cost.
For Cynthia, it was perfect.
Chapter 10
Once Cynthia stepped out onto the balcony, the cool, March night air dampened her lust and confirmed that she had made the right decision. It breezed against her cheeks, stealing away the wisp of hair Rex had only just tucked in and sending it flying. The sounds of the city drifted up to the rooftop from the streets below, cutting through the whirring of her own thoughts. Her knees straightened.
The door she had shut behind her creaked open, and she could feel Rex’s gaze on her half-naked back, but she ignored it the best she could and focused on the view. Central Park was laid out nineteen stories below. The trees looked as tiny as a model train set, but the actual square footage of the park itself was larger than she remembered. It was a spot of dark wilderness in the insomniac neon of the rest of the city. Much like the man standing behind her.
The easy mastery he had over her body unnerved her, but not as much as how good it had felt when his teeth had pinched the skin of her neck. A warning. A promise. If she had thought Rex was dangerous when he was in control, she had no idea how badly her body would burn for him when he was out of it.
Behind her, a cork popped, and she turned to see Rex standing over a small table, pouring a dark red liquid into a wide-bellied wineglass that looked large enough to hold a full bottle. His long-fingered hands worked with calm precision once more.
“What are we drinking?” she asked.
“Pinot noir,” Rex said, not looking up as he topped off one glass and started on the other.
Carefully, Cynthia ambled over to the chair on the other side of the table. She pulled it out and kept pulling until she had about a foot of distance between it and Rex. The scraping sound it made against the brick of the balcony made her cringe, but Rex didn’t even waver.
She sat. “I don’t really know that much about wine. My father used to collect Bordeauxs, I think.” Cynthia winced, knowing she was mangling the French, grateful he didn’t correct her. Grateful, in fact, he didn’t say anything at all.
Most men were usually eager to get a humble brag in at any given opportunity, but all Rex had to do was tell you his name, and you’d know exactly how important he was.
Cynthia watched as he topped off the second glass and found herself continuing to speak. “My stepmother sold his entire cellar after he passed.”
He set the bottle down. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Rex said, his tone carefully neutral. He was actually listening to her, not passing judgment. Just listening. That was a feat for any man, let alone a billionaire.
“Yeah,” Cynthia said. “Art, wine, books, music scores. She sold anything
that was older than her marriage and not nailed down.”
Rex slid over the glass of wine to the edge of the table, but Cynthia still had to lean over to grab it. She didn’t miss the way his gaze devoured her when she did.
She took the glass and sipped it so daintily she couldn’t even taste the flavors. “Anyway. Enough about me. What about you—any family?”
“Two brothers.”
“Are they in investing too?” Cynthia swirled the wine in the glass, stalling. A hint of its blackberry aroma wafted up to her. But alcohol was the last thing she needed.
Rex gave a thin smile. “Far from it. My older brother is something of the family patriarch, if that’s a profession. Mostly, he manages the land near our old childhood home. My younger brother, Luther, he’s well… into motorcycles.”
“Is he a professional racer?”
Rex grimaced. “Something like that.”
“You sound like the most together of the bunch.”
“I like to think so.”
“Hmmm,” Cynthia hummed, making eyes at the water bottle Rex had brought out next to the wine. Thoughtful of him. Her gut wanted her to keep sipping at the wine, but it was her gut that had landed her with terrible man after terrible man all these years. So water it was.
However, to get the bottle, she would have to scoot her chair in, reach over the table, and get perilously close to Rex in the process. She didn’t think she could take another one of his surprise attacks. He might not be able to either.
Rex grabbed his own glass and took a sip.
Cynthia stole the moment to dash forward. Her heart pounded as she snatched the water bottle, and just as she thought she had gotten away, she felt his fingers close around her wrist.
She looked up, flushed, realizing how close she was to Rex again. This time, his eyes weren’t wild, and his mouth was set in a thin, determined line. Before she could stop him, his other hand tugged at the ribbons keeping her mask in place. Cool air brushed against her cheeks as he spirited away her mask, leaving her face naked and open to his prying eyes.