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“What would you do if I misbehaved?”
I was flirting, but it barely skimmed the surface. Toying with Bunny wasn’t doing anything for me. I wanted Cat in my arms, whispering sweet nothings to her as she promised to devour me.
“Don’t even try it. I swear, Max, I can’t even… Look, I’ve already told you not to fuck with me. I could literally ruin you with one word, so just don’t, okay?”
The rest of our dances played out in silence, with the only talking coming from Bunny calling out to all her rich friends and following it up with, “Have you met my fiancé? Max Rider?”
If it were Cat, she would’ve arrested me with a beautiful cocktail of fury and desire. Cat would mess me up, drag me down, drive me crazy, and push me to the brink before she catapulted me into whatever brutality she concocted for me. Thinking about how she might torture me just made me want her more.
Steve kept laying into me about Cat, asking me why I was so crazy about her, seeing as she’d broken my heart. I couldn’t tell him how addictive it was knowing someone wanted to kill you and fuck you at the same time. That she’d literally taken my breath away and then pressed herself up against me, so close to taking me again that I’d go haywire every time I thought about it. After all this time, she still hated me. Which meant she still loved me as well.
I shook my head as the last dance ended, blowing my mind with wonder at how deeply she’d burnt herself into me already. I needed to see her. Now.
Cat
Iscanned the bustling games room, monitoring everyone. Mum had converted the East Wing lounge for the event. The usual furniture was replaced with green velvet-topped games tables and mahogany chairs, as well as space for crowds to gather around to watch the riskier bets. Dom, Harry, and Jazz were manning other tables, as well as some of Mum’s friends she’d roped into helping. Mum was holding court at the high-stakes poker table, and last I’d heard, they were up to a £5 million buy-in.
Mum was playing, but the rest of us were running the tables at her command. We were being used. It was still our choice. I could walk away right now, but the difference between this and real gambling was that we believed in the cause. I’d seen what this money could do, how many people it helped: schools, farms, hospitals, medicine, houses, preservation of culture, and conservation of landscapes. It was incredible. If it meant Lord Hastings would bet another £10,000 on the roll of the dice, I’d let him push his fat belly up against me and run his greasy hands over my hips, even if he was old enough to be my grandfather.
“Here you go.” I smiled, dropping the dice in his open grasp, and he lifted them to my lips for a lucky blow. He was so predictable.
“Thanks, honey.” He gave my hip another squeeze, and I tried not to roll my eyes.
Enough people had gathered around the table to make it a show. When he rolled a seven, the crowd exploded, and Jazz used the distraction to dart in and whip me out of there, sacrificing one of Mum’s friends to take my place.
“Come on! They are finally playing good music.”
I laughed as she shot a wink at the players around the table. “Sorry, loves, the dancefloor is calling.” She blew them a kiss, and all was forgiven.
Let’s Twist Again was blasting from the stage, the band throwing themselves into it. Everyone on the dancefloor was laughing and singing along as they jived. Jazz commandeered Harry and Dom, and the four of us had space to let loose.
I grabbed Dom’s and Harry’s hands, and we joined the rest of the crowd, dancing and laughing, letting ourselves go, and watching with amusement as Jazz found herself another willing victim.
One of the young waitresses looked startled as Jazz danced over to her. Jazz always played this game at Foundation parties. Mum threatened any staff with instant termination and would blacklist them if she caught them fraternising with the guests, including dancing with Jazz. Well, mainly dancing with Jazz. But this was Jasmine Fischer. The thing about Jasmine Fischer was she was so open and free that anyone dragged into her orbit was soon under her sway.
She sashayed over to the woman, taking her tray of drinks, and handing it to the waiter next to her before swaying close, bringing her into our group. The poor girl looked terrified, but Jazz would handle it.
Finally, time to have some fun. I was so tired, drained from this constant war inside myself. I usually held everything in, but I let my body go and lifted my arms, rolling my hips in time to the music. It was easy to see how different this battle would be if I surrendered to the heat Max stirred in me.
Jazz was laughing with her new friend, pulling Harry into the dance, while Dom was scowling at something behind me.
I opened my mouth to ask what he was glaring at, but someone suddenly grabbed my arm and spun me away. I instantly went into a defensive stance, spreading my legs, trying to ball my hands into fists, and channelling the panic bursting inside me, but an oh-so-familiar voice of silk and hot caramel poured over me as Max scooped me away from my friends, and my fickle heart eased.
“Now, now, Kitty Cat, no need for claws. Not yet, anyway.”
I hated that I gasped. I hated that I was soft as butter the moment I felt his hand on my back, pulling me closer. I hated that I was wearing shorter heels tonight, short enough that our noses could touch with one wrong move.
“What are you doing?” I snarled. I had to be poisonous.
I wanted to show him his touch repulsed me, but my back arched, and my chin lowered, a deep breath scattering a sigh across his lips.
He looked fantastic in a suit. I thought the leather and chains got me hot, but he filled out the dinner jacket so well it was hard not to rub my hands over him and explore the ridges of his body. This time, he wore dark blue with a tight vest and a chain hiding a watch in his pocket, along with a high silk cravat, the gold fleur-de-lis pattern matching his cufflinks and the flecks of light in his eyes.
The music changed to a slower waltz, and couples paired off. He didn’t falter, not once, seamlessly sliding us from the centre of the room back into the circle of dancers. We started turning.
I thought he would stay in his place. I thought he would behave. This was the problem with Max Rider. He never did anything I thought he would. Instead, he did everything I wanted.
I would never say how much I wanted him to sweep me into his arms like this, or that it gave me the perfect excuse to use one of many ‘punishments’ I’d been dreaming of since I'd felt the exhilarating rush of his throat giving way beneath my hands. I would never tell him how easily the ache weighing me down for weeks magically dissolved the moment his lips curled, and he replied, “We’re dancing” like it was a simple act between two people and not the intimate ritual his thumb was turning it into, circling ever so gently on the soft bare skin of my back.
