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In that respect, I am my mother’s son, and arguably it might be a better pattern of behavior than continually marrying and divorcing.
My eyes find Balthazar’s across the room. Seeing me with my dad he nods in greeting, letting us be. I return the gesture, grateful. Sometimes, I can be a bit prickly around him. Don’t get me wrong, I love working for him and have great respect for the man, professionally speaking. But at times it’s hard to be around him knowing his other children got to grow up with him.
My mother didn’t tell me the name of my biological father until I was thirteen, but right from a young age I knew it wasn’t Jasper. Mum had been honest about that, telling me he lived in another country. I didn’t miss him. Sure, I was curious about him, but Jasper was my dad. He raised me. But even though Mum knew of Balthazar’s whereabouts, of his name and fortune, I didn’t reach out until I was sixteen.
Balthazar didn’t know he had another son, a son left behind in England. Meeting him for the first time was a conflicting moment. I was angry that he hadn’t been around, even though I’d only ever known Jasper. And I was sad for the missed years, eager to learn more about him, especially when he seemed so crushed not to have known about me. When he learnt I wanted to go to Stanford, he was ready to move Heaven and Earth to help me.
Mum and Jasper managed the move to the U.S just fine on their own. But Balthazar was so welcoming, inviting us to meet Luca, Brecken, and Sienna, their families too. Despite his affairs, he’s a family-orientated man. It’s a big focus for him.
Thirty-one round tables, each of them seating twelve guests are situated at one end of the vast ballroom. Cream candles, and lilac and cream flower arrangements decorate the silver tablecloths
I take a seat next to Winter, leaning in and kissing her on the mouth as she watches me. Her eyes flare in surprise, looking around the room. “Okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“What did you and Mum talk about?”
“You. She’s a fan.”
I chuckle. “What about you? Are you a fan?”
“I don’t kiss and tell,” she murmurs, thanking Brecken when he pours her a glass of white wine.
I lean into her ear, making sure no one overhears. “But you are my good girl, aren’t you? You sounded like a big fan of mine when my cock was buried inside you.”
“Then you know what you need to do,” she challenges, lifting a brow.
I settle into my seat, reaching for my wine glass. If I wasn’t fighting for a stake in this business, if I wasn’t an heir, hoping to steward the hotels into a new era, I wouldn’t care where I fucked Winter tonight, or how many of my brothers joined in. So behind closed doors, deep within our suite is the only way tonight can go if I’m to maintain the dignified position of our brand. If I want to keep my reputation, and Winter’s.
“Oh sweetheart,” I tell her, focusing on her red-painted lips that are stretching into a beautiful smile. “I accept your challenge.”
We’ve eaten.We’ve drunk. We’ve counted down the seconds, dancing and celebrating as the new year rolled in, but there’s only one way tonight is ending.
The tension in the lift as we return to the tenth floor is electrifying. Despite drinking quite a lot of champagne and wine this evening, my dick is game. Just thinking about where tonight is leading has had me at half-mast most of the night.
None of us ask Winter if she wants to get off at her floor. The only light illuminated on the control panel is the one a special key card controls.
After unlocking the front door we head inside. As soon as we enter the first reception room, Winter falls to the sofa.
“Someone help me with these,” she pleads, lifting a foot.
Luca takes the proffered foot, unbuckling the tiny strap. Meanwhile, Brecken squats, undoing her other shoe. “Thank you,” she says softly.
I ask, “Who wants another drink?”
There’s a chorus of agreement as we meander through to the kitchen. After flicking on some lights to create a more seductive atmosphere, I remove my bow tie, dropping it on the walnut tabletop. Then, I undo the top button of my shirt, chucking my jacket to the back of a chair. The others head to the fridge and breakfast bar as I position some of the chairs where I want them.
This is for Brecken’s benefit.
Luca pours champagne, all of us quiet. I know why the others are subdued, and it’s not because they’re tired, or too drunk. I’m quiet because all through dinner I toyed with Winter, just barely there brushes of my fingertips against her bare arm. With her hair tied up, I could skim my fingers over her nape and along her neck, her skin goose-bumping. And under the tablecloth I could stroke her thighs, inching closer and closer to where she was desperate to have me. Where I was desperate to be.
As we lift our glasses to drink, my eyes capture hers.
A shiver runs through her.
Brecken and Luca take a stool at the breakfast bar. I sit on the corner of the dining table. It leaves Winter standing on the floor between us, stranded. Isolated.
“You ready to be good?”
