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12
I stepinto a world of pure opulence. Of pure elegance, wealth, privilege, and power.
It’s a freaking castle. Like an actual, legit, fourteenth century castle, converted to an absolutely staggering mansion. Everything glitters and shines. Low, glamorous lighting gleams from golden chandeliers and silver trays of crystal champagne flutes.
But as I step into this world, suddenly, any fear of being recognized is gone. The anxiety and the tight pit of uncertainty and fear in my stomach disappears. Maybe it’s because I’m basically floating across the floor on a haze of denied orgasm.
Or maybe it’s because all of these rich, snobby, privileged people of power truly just do not care. I mean it’s the crooked, corrupt world of the elite. Whatever I’m being accused of on the news?
That’s just another Tuesday for these people.
Noel plucks two flutes of champagne off a passing tray. I shiver when I feel his hand go to the small of my bare back.
Shit. Even just this touch is enough to have my legs wobbling as heat pulses between them. When I turn and spot the cool, smug grin on his face as he casually scans the ballroom, I realize he’s more than fully aware of this.
One of his fingers lazily traces a circle at the base of my spine, sending shivers up my back as I sway on my feet.
“You…” I swallow, trembling. “You have to stop that.”
“Hmm.”
He arches a brow, turning that smug, thin smile on me and setting me ablaze. Then he turns, nodding his chin as his look melts from desire to conquest.
“There,” he growls.
My gaze follows his to three older, portly men in tuxedos standing near one of the bars.
“Are those your whales?”
“One of them is,” he grunts.
“Which one?”
“That’s what we’re about to find out.”
I shiver as his hand goes back to the small of my back, guiding me as we move through the room. He doesn’t make a direct approach, he takes his time, circling the three whales like a practiced killer. A tiger, leisurely choosing the opportune time to have dinner.
We stop here and there for the most surface, blasé “pleasure to meet you” type conversations with various members of government and fixtures of high finance. But ever circle closer, until finally, effortlessly, we find ourselves standing in front of all three of his marks.
And Noel has thempegged.
All three of them clearly come from money—from long, snobby, generations of money. None of them really work, or own companies. They just seem to use their immense wealth to createmoreof that wealth by sitting on various boards where they’ve bought in on shares.
Round, sweaty, and full of terrible conversation and off-color jokes, the three of them who were born into privilege couldn’t be more different than Noel, who was not.
And he’s right: all three of themstareat me, lecherously. But jealously, too. They stare at the plunging V of my dress, but then their gazes dart to Noel’s hand at my back. His overwhelming presence right beside me.
They might all look at me with desire. But then they took at him like the conquering king with his prized stolen princess.
“Gentleman,” Noel growls, smiling wolfishly. “I wanted to speak to you all this evening about a secret opportunity that has not been revealed to the public yet.”
They’re basically salivating at his words.
“I’m opening uponeboard seat, to an interested investment party.”
I last all of ten minutes of them talking of shares and corporate structure and quarterly dividends, before I’m… basically done. I turn towards Noel, who instantly pulls his gaze from the whales, to me.
I shiver as his hand slides passively over my bare lower back, his fingers slipping briefly under the edge of the gown to squeeze my hip possessively.
