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“Question is, which are you more terrified of?” Ty goes on, the other two content to observe this absurd assessment. “From where I’m standing, it sure looks different than it ever has before. But be sure before you make a move. You can’t fuck and forget Ivy’s best friend. That’s off-limits shit.”
That serves as well as a brick wall terminating my steps. As if he’s some goddamn saint who only seeks relationships—not one, mind you.
“Are you fucking serious right now?” I snipe. “You and your off-limits code of conduct, Ty. I wouldn’t do that.”
I totally would’ve done that last night. No question. The fucking part. Not the forgetting part because it isn’t forgetting in the sense of casting aside, if both parties know a night of mind-blowing orgasms is the only expectation. Plus, she’ll always be around in some regard because of Ivy. And she’s got plans, so … but that final prove it challenge she dished out confuses me. That wasn’t about sex. That was about proving I’m more.
Why does that matter to her? Why did it matter to me?
“Fucking hell,” I mutter.
Wells saunters closer, waving the guys off. “You know what Frank wants for her.” Not me. “And if things went poorly between you two, it would break Ivy. She’s already on edge with the way you interact, but it’s salvageable.”
“Roger that, Chief. Loud and fucking clear. I’ll give the princess a wide-ass berth.”
“Jesus Christ. I wasn’t done, Liam.” He grips the back of my neck again, his gaze as gentle as it gets. “We’ve always got you. If there’s more to this, you need to tell me, so I can get out ahead of it.”
“We can barely stand to be in the same room,” I say, exasperated, steeling my features. “What more could there be?”
It’s true, and yet, even when she was irritating, I felt drawn to whatever space she occupied. And now? After seeing how smooth and victorious she was last night, I’m more enamored than ever. But none of that is worth mentioning because it’s not what they’re making it out to be.
Celeste Carver and I would be a disaster.
Explosive.
In every imaginable way.
Images of her detonating assail me—her whimpers and moans and bellows of ecstasy, the feel of her trembling in my arms, both of us accelerating until we crash in a unified shattering.
Sweaty. Spent. Wrecked.
Her begging for more.
My cock twitches. Fuck.
“Fine,” he says, tone leery. “Make sure she keeps her date this week then.”
That is a prime example of how the Chief is a royal asshole sometimes. My molars grind at the thought of sending her out with another man. At least it will be that name-not-worth-screaming loser this time. Dustin.
“Will do,” I manage, fingers diving into my damp hair as we resume our trudge to the house.
When we close in on the final stretch, Ty smacks me on the back. “By the way, speaking of Lettie, I need you to take her to the stables on Monday. I’ve got a conference call with Ivy that interferes.”
“Done,” I say, ignoring his use of Lettie because aside from that grating on me, I’m torn between elation and torment. I’m not sure I can keep my word to not fuck her if I spend time alone with her. No need to share that though.
The second half of yesterday was spent nursing my foul mood and appeasing Ivy. We researched Jensen for hours—family tree, past deals, cabinet members, shopping habits. An exhaustive deep dive. She was right. She is obsessing. Unfortunately, I haven’t dug up anything of use—harder to gather on a guy in his mid-fifties. A lot of life was lived before the onslaught of accessible internet documentation. Paper trails are far more challenging to locate. But I trust Ivy’s gut. He’s not a good presidential pick for KORT, so that’s reason enough to oust him, but she also believes there’s something ominous to uncover.
We could simply manufacture a scandal to tank the polls—a tactic the O’Reillys, the family Ivy heads, and KORT have used in the past. But High Society is too pure for that. She won’t risk taking down a good man regardless of the benefit to her business endeavors. And she’s concerned the pregnancy has her instincts faltering, so she’s extra cautious. The other KORT chairs are mixed with how they view her honorable maneuvers. Balzano, the hospitality mogul, has a negative opinion on every move she makes. That only causes Ivy to dig her heels in more though, which is damn fun to watch.
Today, the housekeeping staff is here. On Sundays, Wells barricades Ivy in a room with one of us while the rest of us keep a diligent eye on the maids, chefs, and groundskeepers. None of them speak English or have US citizenship. We pay them an exorbitant amount of money and compile a hefty file on them and everyone they know and love. Wells doesn’t mess around with safety and security.
That means I’ll have limited interaction with Celeste since she’s holed up with Ivy, Ty, and Natasha, which is for the best. My head is pounding from the endless loop of confusion berating me over that fucking girl.
I barely slept last night, replaying everything the guys threw at me. So what if I like to seize the gold? I’ve earned that. No one’s ever handed me a damn thing. Until Wells, everyone I ever knew used me, stole from me, threw me away. Treated me like I was nothing. So, yes, I have a penchant for the out-of-reach prizes, especially with women. It serves a dual purpose. I entice a girl who shouldn’t be interested—winning—and she can’t get attached because of it—freedom.
While I haven’t partaken in any enticing for quite a while, the accusations weren’t out of left field. But Ty’s question about which terrified me more—Celeste wanting or not wanting the politicians courting her—was a shock to my system. Her anchoring to another future is the situation I’ve always sought—an easy one-and-done, in-and-out scenario—but the thought makes my stomach sour. And I fucking hate it.
So, I’m immersing myself in all things Pruitt Lancaster instead. He’s your typical coddled, rich-kid douchebag. Not much out of the ordinary there. He’s a junior associate at a cocksucker law firm, he still parties like he’s in college, and he enjoys extravagance. Looks like Pruitt has a proclivity for attending parties with blow. I doubt that’s a Skulls connection though. They tend to specialize in arms dealing over drugs, although there’s often some crossing of worlds. And while the recreational use fits, he didn’t exhibit signs of an addict. Could be a dealer. Had the confident swagger of one, and that would certainly give him false confidence.
