And I’m… her… what? Temporary business partner?

Lover?

I’m under no delusion that sex will happen again. I don’t think I’ll say no, but it’s up to Kathryn, and I don’t see her jumping my bones again.

But… shit. Let me tell you. I went home Friday night, tired and ready for a shower and bed. So that’s what I did. I then promptly dreamed about tying that woman’s smooth arms above her head and tickling her nipples with the tip of a riding crop. Her ass was bigger in my dream, and there I was, spanking her and listening to her whimper in between shouts of pleasure…

…Begging me to spank her some more, to spread her open and have my fill of her

…Just fuck me. I do not want things that will for sure never happen.

“Kathryn’s been so busy working on the project that she hasn’t even had time to return my calls,” Eva says with a taut mouth. “And I’m in grad school.”

“Oh, how is that going? Must be so exciting.”

“It’s fine. Henry says that during my break later this year I should start heading a small subsidiary he’s setting up. Jewelry. Good enough to get any girl’s feet wet, I suppose.”

“Speaking of your bother, how’s he doing?”

Eva gestures behind Lana. Both she and I glance in that direction, catching sight of the tallest Warren sibling gliding through a small crowd, wearing a white-brimmed hat and a smart suit made of crisp whites and pale browns. My father’s courting him to be a major investor in another project, which explains why she’s here tagging along with her brother.

What isn’t apparent right away is the woman attached to his hip, a petite feminine beauty with curly black locks and a white gown that drapes on her thin limbs so she looks like a beautiful, lost ghost. Well, a happy one, because Monica Graham can’t stop smiling whenever someone speaks to her.

I don’t know much about her. Just that she’s engaged to Henry Warren and runs the Château men like me sometimes go to when we need something a bit more private and fantastical than even The Dark Hour. Rumor has it that’s where they met. A scoundrel, that Henry.

Oh, and they put on quite the BDSM show. Don’t ask me how I know. Not in front of Eva, anyway, She vomits anytime someone in our lifestyle brings it up. Oh, and don’t bring it up in front of the Andrews. That’ll give them ideas, and they’ll be directed toward me right now. You’re beautiful, Lana, and I’m sure you’ll sub for me for a night, but I’m not super interested in your husband watching. Or involving himself. I’m dreadfully heterosexual to the point of being no fun for you two. Another thing Eva and I can commiserate on right now, because you keep leering at her, Lana.

“What an intriguing couple,” Lana mutters, and I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not. She won’t say anything, though. Not in front of us. That’s Eva’s family. And we both know what a damned hypocrite we’ll be, since the Andrews’ mistress works at the Château, and both Lana and Ken frequent the place.

“It’s going to be the wedding of the year.” Eva’s droll voice cuts between us. “Whips and chains instead of party streamers. Everyone in latex. Ball gags for everyone who doesn’t compliment the bride.”

We both know she’s joking, but neither Lana nor I laugh. Eva soon excuses herself, leaving me with one of the most relentless women in either business or pleasure.

“Before you go along your way, Ian,” Lana begins, touching her fingers to my shoulder. “A friendly reminder that Ken and I are looking so very forward to wiping our hands of The Grand. Bit of bother, that building is. The taxes alone… but I digress.” Her sneer for the situation does not give me confidence. “What I’m trying to say is that you need to make sure Kathryn has her shit together. You may not be her keeper, but if you and your father want any chance of getting that building from us, then you best make sure that Kathryn Alison doesn’t botch up your presentation. It’s bad enough we let her get away with screwing up once. We won’t stand for it again.”

Those are her parting words to me, before she goes off to make nice with Henry Warren and his blushing fiancée. I’m left by the damned bar with half my drink warming in my hand. I don’t care. I finish it off in one gulp.

If no one else talks to me about Kathryn today, I can die happy. Because I am so tired of hearing that name, even if I’m incapable of saying anyone’s name but hers.

Chapter 13

KATHRYN

It’s four on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I’m in my apartment, enjoying the breeze through my open window as I curl up on my couch and drink hot tea. Green. Just the right temperature.

Sure, I’ve got work crap sprawled across my lap. And sure, I’m watching the same movies I always watch on my days off. If you can call this that. I mean, I am working.

Yet everything feels so peaceful that I’m about to fall asleep on my couch with this mug of hot tea in my hand, and I don’t caaaare.

I’ve been in this state ever Friday night. Have you ever been so sexually satisfied that everything inside your body – and mind – has recalibrated, refocused your perspective, and now feels so at peace that you can barely even stand yourself? That’s me right now.

It’s been a helluva long time since I last felt this way after sex. Let alone two days after. Usually by now I’m starting to feel antsy again. Not enough to go stalking for some man-prey, but enough to curl up in bed with my plastic boyfriend and take a tour around a masturbatory world. Nope. I don’t even want to do that. In fact, I am so satisfied that the mere thought of having sex again abhors me.

Until I think about the way Ian slammed me against the wall, anyway. Or I think about how he sounded when he had me. Touched me. Kept going even after I came God knew how many times. Okay, so maybe I could have sex again. With Ian.

I laugh, because that’s stupid. We had sex because clearly we needed it. Not just because we’re two younger people with hormones raging in our 20s, but because it’s something we’ve both thought about over the years. Now we know. Now we can move on.

I’ll probably be ready to play by this weekend, after the public presentation. I’ll go to The Dark Hour and find Mr. Handsome again. This time I’ll finish the job. All over his face.

Cackling, I drink my tea and look over my notes for the presentation.

My phone buzzes. Someone is texting me. I already know who.

“Get me out of here. This is the most boring party e v e r.” Poor Eva. Dragged to the Mathers’ party along with her brother. Eva only likes rich people parties if she’s half-drunk or it’s likely to end in an orgy for her to amuse herself with.

“You made your bed. Lie in it.” I think I’m going to follow my tea up with some wine at dinner. There’s this Thai place I love. I think they deliver?

“I overheard Lana Andrews and Ian Mathers. They were talking about you.”

My heart stops. I put my tea on the table and sit up, blankets falling away from me. “Oh, yeah?” What is Ian saying? Surely he’s not going around bragging about fucking me. Or is he? No. He’s not the type. I haven’t even told Eva about it. I’m not sure I will… unless I have to.

It takes way too long for her to get back to me. During that time, I start sweating. So much for my relaxing afternoon. “Lana’s mad about you screwing up your presentation last week and is convinced it’s going to happen again. She wants Ian to be your keeper. That’s what I got out of it, anyway.”

“Fuck her. Only not really. Don’t actually fuck her, Eva.”

“Yeah, right. I ain’t going near that. She’d try to eat me alive, and then get her husband to film it. You hear they might be starting an adult line of something or other? God help us all.”