“Eva!” Lana Andrews takes the woman’s hands and kisses the air around her cheeks. “So good to see you after so long. I didn’t know you were friendly with our man Ian here.”
She almost chokes, and I covertly roll my eyes. “He’s working with my friend Kathryn, you know.”
“Ah, yes, Kathryn.” Lana sounds so judgmental that I almost burst out laughing. “She’s, ah… interesting.”
For once, Eva and I are sharing a mutual look of defense mode. Except I have no idea why I feel this passionately about Kathryn’s honor.
Let’s set something straight. I have no problem with the Andrews. They’re a quirky couple who are a bit too big for their britches, but they’re smart, shrewd, and not afraid to go after what they want – even if that includes another person. Except right now they’re being a pain in my ass. Between this charade with The Grand and now snide comments about Kathryn, I’m feeling my blood boil.
God, why?
You know, I thought I got my burning need to fuck her out of my system Friday night. I was surprised that she went for it so easily, but hey, I wasn’t going to say no. Having her so willing to take me inside her so quickly was a boon to my ego and to the moment. Especially since she’s a Domme, and I thought she would resist, let alone a position like that. But I think we had a mutual understanding regarding our desire to finally accomplish what we set out to do twelve years ago.
I thought it would be all I needed to reset my brain and stop thinking about her so much. I had my fill, right? Yet I’m standing here like an idiot, wishing that I didn’t care so much that someone like Lana Andrews is even so much as implying that Kathryn doesn’t have her shit together. And it’s not like I feel guilty by association. I was flawless every time I presented. Shit, Eva has way more reasons to be angry. Kathryn’s her best friend.
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.