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“Faith, come on. This isn’t you.” Sage took hold of my arms. “You’re Faith goddamn Parisi. And if you want Harry, and he wants you, just say ‘fuck you’ to the naysayers.”
“I know,” I said, and I shook the doubt from my head. “But even the ballsiest of us can have a little wobble now and then, right?”
“Right,” Amelia said, hugging me to her side. “But then we face the world, unapologetic about who we are. Yes?”
“Fuck yeah,” Novah said and handed us our final shot.
We knocked it back and headed for The Plaza Hotel. As soon as the cab pulled up to the curb and we entered the foyer, we saw the place was dripping in opulent crystals, and carefully arranged bouquets were perfectly placed around the entrance and in the ballroom itself.
Music poured from the DJ’s mammoth speakers, and round tables dressed in white and gold filled the room, allowing a large space for a dance floor. The place was packed with every businessman in Manhattan, it seemed.
“Drinks?” Sage suggested. We made our way to the bar. Sage grabbed us four glasses of champagne (of course). I scanned the ballroom, but it was a sea of black and white tuxes.
“Couldn’t he have worn something red and white—like Where’s Waldo?—so he’d be easier to find?” I said, just as I felt someone move behind me.
“That color palette doesn’t really suit my skin tone, I’m afraid.” I spun around and Harry was there, right before me, looking all kinds of hot and sexy in a fitted tux that hugged all his best places. He held out his arms. “Tailored courtesy of Lucio Parisi.”
My chest warmed and my heart swelled. Damn, I was pathetic. Really friggin’ pathetic and really, really in deep shit when it came to this sexy-as-sin viscount.
A devastatingly handsome blond man arrived next to Harry. He passed him a glass of champagne. He smiled when he caught me looking. “Faith, this is Nicholas Sinclair, my cousin.”
“And best friend,” he added, before shaking my hand. “So, you’re the famous Faith. I’ve heard all about you.” He ducked his head closer. “And just between me and you, I’m an avid reader of your column. I’m in the London offices, and I have to say your weekly column is the highlight of my Sunday.”
“Why thank you, kind sir,” I said, admiring another ridiculously fancy British accent.
I heard Sage cough behind us and fell forward a step when he elbowed me in my back. I fired daggers his way but then painted on a smile. “Harry, these are my best friends. You know Novah, of course.” Harry kissed her on the cheek. “This is Amelia, she is my roommate and best friend.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Harry said, his charm causing Amelia to blush.
“And this is Sage, the third strand to our tripod, our best friend and across-the-hallway neighbor.”
“Heard a lot about you,” Sage said.
Then it was Nicholas’s turn to be introduced. He greeted my friends with beaming smiles, but when he shook Sage’s hand, it was like he’d just seen the sun for the first time in his life (which, coming from England, may have been true)
“Sage?” he said. “Like the herb.”
“The very one.” Sage held up his empty glass. “You need another drink, Nicholas?”
“Always,” he replied, and they moved to the bar. The sexual tension radiated off them like heat from a furnace.
“Well,” Harry said. “That didn’t take long.” He laughed and, discreetly taking my hand, squeezed my fingers. “Excuse us, ladies,” he said to Amelia and Novah.
Harry pulled me through the crowd and into a deserted alcove at the back of the room. “You look so beautiful,” he said and tracked his eyes down my halter-neck silver sequined dress. He admired my hair, falling in waves down my back.
“You look handsome too,” I said, and Harry cupped my face and crushed his mouth to mine. He moaned into my mouth.
“Tonight is going to be long,” he said and blew out a breath. “You’re coming home with me?”
“Oh, go on then. You’ve twisted my arm.”
“If it’s too much trouble,” Harry said, pretending to be offended at my jest.
“Fuck that. I want your massive cock in my mouth at exactly midnight. I—”
“Henry?” Harry stilled at the sound of his father’s voice behind us. King Sinclair rounded the corner and Harry straightened up, fixing his tie.
“Dad.”
King stared at Harry; then he slid his eyes to me. He smiled, but I felt the Arctic chill he was throwing my way. “And who is this?” he asked, holding out his hand.
I placed my hand in his and he kissed the back of it, just like Harry often did. But when Harry did it, I swooned like a damn lady. When King kissed me, I felt like wiping it on my dress but felt that response would be inappropriate and crass. Then again, he’d no doubt just heard me saying I wanted his son’s huge dick in my mouth, so I wasn’t sure how much further I could fall in his eyes.
