by Amelia Wilde
Another message.
Jess is married to an actual prince—king now, I guess. They’re in town, and there are parties. Come out with us.
I don’t know why the hell Eli Pierce would text me out of the blue, years after we last talked—was it college? I can’t remember—and invite me to a party, but maybe I don’t care.
With the movie paused, the silence of the penthouse is so deafening that it presses against my eardrums. My jaw tightens just thinking of how much more life there would be here if Elisa was with me. If she was still in the world. If the rest of my life wasn’t going to be consumed with vicious lies and speculations about what happened between us in Italy.
Damn it, Ace, you cannot let that take over the rest of your life.
I have to face the outside world someday, or else—or else what’s the alternative? That I rot in this penthouse? That I finally go back to the penthouse on the Upper East Side and rot there instead, a billionaire hermit who reduces all those years of working out in the gym turn to flab?
What the fuck is the point of my life then?
Does it even really matter if Eli Pierce has some kind of agenda? I doubt that he does, although my last impression of him is probably 10 years old at this point. And the Swan—an exclusive place like that, with membership fees so high they’d make a normal man’s eyes bleed, isn’t going to be swarming with paparazzi. Whispers, maybe. Photographers, no. They’ll have security to keep them on the outside.
The elevator door opens, admitting the butler, who’s wheeling in another tray. I stare at him for a second. Right. Dessert.
My life cannot be reduced to room service, even if it’s the best, most lavish room service New York City has to offer.
At the same time, I don’t want to seem like I’m fucking desperate. Even if it’s the truth.
I could probably make it.
Be there at 9.
My escape from this gold-lined prison is set in motion.
Chapter Five
Carolyn
The minute I step into the lobby of the Swan on Friday night—after another week at the boutique, surreptitiously checking in on Rainflower Blue in between choosing some new winter items and chatting with Natalie—Jess comes flying up to me, hooking her arm through mine and chatting a mile a minute as she leads me to the same table we were seated at last week.
“You’re finally here! I’ve been waiting for you to get here—Alec got here before me, so he’s already at the table….”
I nod at all the right times, but my focus is really on the room—on the rumors circulating about.
There’s been a little buzz on the site about Ace Kingsley, but everybody’s being pretty cagey about the reason for all the excitement. It can’t be that he’s rich. Every site member is ultra-wealthy or wealthy by association—I know, because I leak information about it very, very carefully. You have to separate the wheat from the chaff on sites like these.
I checked my ad revenue before I left to come to the Swan, and not for the first time my stomach tightened. Most days, I don’t have any qualms about profiting off of my acquaintances’ gossip. In fact, it’s practically a public service. I do my best to prove or disprove the heaviest and juiciest rumors using my admin account, username Magnolia.
I do it so other women don’t have to suffer, wondering, like I did—and I only touch the rumors that matter.
It’s a fine line, obviously. There’s almost never 100 percent proof of someone’s guilt or innocence when it comes to cheating or other harmful activities, which is the kind of rumor that sets my alarm bells off…and brings in visitors to the site faster than you can say boo.
There’s a strange intensity to the energy in the Swan’s main dining room tonight, even more vocal, more pronounced than last Friday. Heads are turning, trying to be discreet and failing, and I follow their eyes….
Directly to the table we’re heading towards.
He’s sitting next to Eli Pierce.
My stomach drops straight into my toes, and my nerves light up on fire at the sight of him.
Broad shoulders sheathed in a perfectly tailored suit; gray eyes that cut across the space separating us, locking on mine; a chin that could cut diamonds. He leans to the left, eyes never once leaving mine, and my eyes trace the line of the muscled arms hidden beneath the fabric of his dark suit.
The sound of the chatter, of silverware clinking against plates, of the band, fades out like I’m underwater.
My breath catches in my throat.
Holy shit.
Who is this man, and what do I have to do to go home with him?
It’s been too long since I last enjoyed myself with a man, and I want this one. Him. Who is he? Who is he?
The noise of the room crashes in again like thunder, and I blink once, twice, finally focusing on Eli’s face. “…remember Ace Kingsley, Carolyn? This other lovely lady is Alec’s wife, Queen Jessica.”
Jess laughs. “You don’t have to call me that in this company.” She slips gracefully into an empty seat. “It’s been a long time, Ace. How were things for you after school?”
“Mostly good. Some shit.” He shrugs, but his eyes are still latched on me. He hasn’t looked at Jess once. Then his face breaks into a smile that makes the space between my legs pulse with heated desire. “It’s a life.”
Jess nods sagely, then looks over her shoulder at me. “You don’t have to stand on my account, Carrie.”
I give her a light slap on the shoulder, then sit down in the empty seat to her left.
Something in my chest is quaking, trembling. I want to reach across the table and run a finger down the sharp lines of Ace’s jaw. I want to unbutton every button on his jacket and strip it off, then repeat the process with his shirt until there’s no fabric left between us. Even fully clothed, he’s sporting a killer body.
Get a grip, Carolyn. The waiter comes by to fill my water glass, and I raise it to my lips, sipping slowly. I tear my eyes away from Ace as Eli starts a conversation with Jess about signing autographs and how many pictures she has to take every day with the babies of Saintland. The words go in one ear and out the other, muted by the buzzing in my mind.
What’s the story with Ace Kingsley? I’m dying to know, and it’s not all because of Rainflower Blue.
No wonder every woman in the room is sneaking looks over her shoulder at our table. He radiates confidence and sex, and I want it.
I flick my eyes back to him for a split second—and those piercing grays are still watching me, though his hand is wrapped absently around a glass of champagne.
There’s an empty seat to his right, and a battle rages in my mind.
If I find out tonight what the big story is, then I’m going to profit off of him—there’s no question about that. If my site is where the discussion happens then at least I have some measure of control. I could protect him—though he doesn’t look like the kind of man who needs protecting—or I could protect other unnamed innocents who might want to know that he’s back on the prowl in New York City.
My stomach turns over.
What the hell is wrong with you?
Why is this desire for him sweeping over me like a tidal wave? Why is it making it hard to think, much less decide anything?
I straighten my back.
No. I’m not going to be the kind of woman who sits back like a timid little mouse and doesn’t take what she wants.
I’m going to go after it, consequences be damned—at least this time.
In the middle of a joke Eli’s telling, I stand up, walk the few steps around the table, and sit down in the empty seat next to Ace. I unfold the napkin from its signature swan shape and drop it into my lap. Then I lean in toward him.
“So, Ace, formerly Aaron, tell me all your secrets.”
Chapter Six
Ace
Carolyn Banks is not the gawky, quiet girl I vaguely remember from school, mostly an accessory to Christian and Eli, laughing along with Jess—who, it turns out,
actually is a queen of some European country. The security in this place must be tripled tonight.
But I can’t think about that. The moment I see Carolyn, I can’t think about anything else.
She’s in something elegant and red, the fabric softly reflecting the candlelight in the room, and her dark hair is swept back in a style that highlights the pristine structure of her face, her huge dark eyes, the full lips that I instantly want molded to mine.
I can’t take my eyes off her.
She’s the opposite of Elisa in every way.
Elisa was tall and willowy and had a Nordic kind of beauty, all blonde hair and blue eyes and legs that went on for days. Her voice was light, like the champagne I’m toying with right now.
I’m focused so hard on the vision in red in front of me that I almost don’t hear what Jess says to me. I catch on at the last second, responding just a beat too late.
“Mostly good. Some shit.” I shrug like some kind of smug bastard, my heart pounding in my chest. My instinct—be charming, asshole—kicks in with a roar, and I don’t hide the smile that comes on its heels. “It’s a life.”
I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me right now.
When I left the Four Seasons to come here my stomach was a lead weight in the middle of my torso, my legs were heavy with the loss of Elisa, all my earlier optimism sucked right out of me the moment my shoes hit the sidewalk.
But now, seeing Carolyn….
Shit.
What the hell do I do?
I want her. I want to peel the red dress away from her skin and kiss the curve of her shoulder where it joins her neck. There’s something electric in the air between us, and she doesn’t turn her eyes away from me.
Then Jess says something to her and she sits down, her eyes still on mine. Every movement of hers seems precise, deliberate, so unlike the way Elisa flitted from place to place, never staying long.
That should have been a warning.
When the waiter leans down in front of her to fill her water glass, Carolyn looks away with great effort, finally settling on Eli, who begins an animated conversation with Jess—something about autographs and babies, I have no fucking clue. The words swirl around me, meaningless, blending in with the crowd noise that consumes the room, utterly pointless because I can’t take my eyes off Carolyn’s face.
She steals another look at me, and her eyes narrow, just slightly, and she presses her lips together, dark eyes glittering in the light from the candle centerpiece.
Time slows, stretches out.
And then she stands up, breaking the moment. She’s made a decision, and my entire body tenses. What’s she going to do? If she leaves, I’m going to have to follow her out of here. I know it like I know that if I text Noah right now, he’ll have the car out front in four minutes. It’s an absolute certainty.
But she doesn’t leave. She doesn’t signal to Jess that she wants to talk privately. She doesn’t make an excuse about going to the bar. She walks directly around the table and slides into the seat next to me, shakes out the napkin, and drops it in her lap, another finely honed movement that she’s had to have done a million times before.
Her body displaces the air as she sits, and the scent of her washes over me, clean with a hint of something floral and bright. My cock is instantly at attention, straining against my pants.
I almost burst when she leans toward me, the curve of her breasts peeking over the neckline of her dress. The hint of that soft skin is enough to drive me wild, even more than if the dress had the kind of plunging neckline that’s in vogue at the Swan tonight.
My head is screaming at me to stay cool, to stay distant, not to let myself get drawn in by this woman. Don’t forget Elisa, shouts the voice in the back of my mind, and there’s a flash of stabbing pain in my chest.
It’s a searing reminder that this is the outcome of falling in love.
But this isn’t love. What I feel for Carolyn, right now—it’s not love.
It’s need, urgent and raw and primal.
“So, Ace, formerly Aaron, tell me all your secrets.”
Her voice is low and rich and sultry, and there’s a glimmer in her eyes that makes me want to fall right into them, to block out everyone else in the room.
So, fuck it, I do.
“I don’t have any secrets.”
She gives me a half smile. “Don’t you? Then why is everybody in the room talking about you right now?”
I lean in close, like I’m about to reveal something, and her breasts rise under the dress. “Look at me.”
Carolyn takes me at my word, rakes her eyes down my face to the front of my suit. “I’m looking.”
“That’s why they’re talking.”
She laughs. “Oh, so you’re God’s gift to humankind?”
“To womankind, at least.”
Fuck. The heat between us is scorching. Every breath makes me want her more.
She cocks her head, considers me. “What brings you back to New York?”
“Change in circumstances.”
“I won’t pry.” She purses her lips.
“Does it really matter why I’m here? All I care about is that I’m here. Next to you.”
The smile returns, and my chest turns to molten heat. For a split second, I think she might fish for a compliment, blush and turn away, shaking her head, but no. “Is here really the best venue for an intimate conversation?” The sentence is dripping with possibility.
“Do you have somewhere else in mind?”
“Your place.”
Damn.
Chapter Seven
Carolyn
This is exactly how I end up getting hurt. I go all-in on a man at the Swan, or at some other party, and I fall hard. I fall for his body, and then I fall for his mind, and then I’m swept up in the heat of it, the romance, and it’s all over. It’s over even at the beginning, before it starts, because inevitably problems arise, like he turns out to be a selfish asshole who can’t keep his hands off of other women, even when I’m staying at his place four nights a week with a toothbrush in one of his bathroom drawers.
That kind of man is exactly why I started Rainflower Blue—so that women could warn other women. Most of the traffic there focuses on confirming or refuting that kind of rumor.
The website swirls at the back of my mind, a pest that won’t leave me alone. Is that why I want to know Ace’s secrets? Or does it run deeper than that?
But none of that can eclipse the hum beneath my skin, the goose bumps pricking up on my arms when Ace stands up, in full view of everyone at the Swan, and offers me his hand.
The table goes silent, Eli breaking off his story and looking across at us with a quizzical expression, mouth half-open. But he doesn’t speak and the silence grows, the gap in the sound spreading from our table to the next.
If I don’t make a move, the entire room is going to be staring at us in a matter of seconds.
I’m frozen in my seat. This is the point of no return. If I take his hand, I’m going to leave with him. The sun is going to rise in the east and set in the west, and if I say yes right now, all the dominos are going to fall, one by one, until there’s nothing left but me and my website….
My body won’t take no for an answer.
I put my hand in Ace’s and heat crackles between us. It’s all I can do to stand.
I’ve left my purse hanging over the back of the seat next to Jess, so, with my breath coming fast and hard, I tug at Ace’s hand, both of us moving pointedly around the table. Jess grins up at me, beaming, her teeth biting at her lower lip, and as I give a clipped goodbye, heart racing, she gives me a subtle thumbs up.
She wouldn’t be if she knew how this was going to end.
Right now, in this moment, with my hand in his, I don’t care at all.
As we step away from the table, Ace calls back over his shoulder, “Thanks for the invite, Eli. I’ll stay longer next time.”
Eli’s laughter fades away behind us,
the conversation closing around our wake.
The momentum carries us through the lobby and out the main entrance. Usually, Eli prefers to go out through the side entrance—less chance of paparazzi—but we get lucky tonight. There’s nobody out here, just a gleaming black Bentley with a uniformed driver standing by the back door. Ace goes toward it at full speed, pulling me along behind him, and at the last moment the driver swings the door open. “Four Seasons,” he says, and the driver, a stocky dark-eyed man, nods. Is there a glint in his eyes? Hard to tell in the dark.
The leather seats are cool and smooth. The driver closes the door and jogs around to the front, but before he can open his door, Ace’s hand is on my cheek, turning me to face him.
Our eyes lock again, his gray eyes stormy in the low light in the back of his car, and I don’t wait for some awkward discussion. I don’t wait for anything at all. I lean in and I kiss him, hard, the way I wanted to when I saw him tonight.
He is not some gawky schoolboy anymore.
His strong hands go around my waist, pulling me toward him, and as the car pulls away from the curb, I throw my arms around his neck, crushing my lips against his. He tastes like champagne and mint, and the spicy smell of him, expensive, light cologne, fills my lungs with every gasping breath.
One time, I promise myself. One time, I’ll let myself enjoy him, and I won’t get sucked into this, and I won’t fall in love. Not with Ace Kingsley, not with that wicked smile, not with the hard body I’m aching to touch. His unbelievable body is just a gateway to heartbreak, and I’m not going to invite any more of that into my life. Men like Ace—rich men who are used to getting what they want—they always stray.
None of it matters tonight, when his body is responding to mine, when he’s yanking me toward him like I can’t get close enough, when the back of his Bentley is hot, so damn hot. I don’t know how his driver is keeping his eyes on the road.
Ace pulls back, his eyes laser-focused on mine. “I want you. I’m going to have you.” The words spill out of him, rough and raspy, and the hair on the back of my neck rises, a tremble of desire shoots rockets through me.