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Someone will say something.
"Go," I say as I turn to him. "Go and I'll see you—"
"In my rooms, tonight, after the ball. I'll retire as early as I can." He looks at me with that unquenched hunger, the desire ripping right through my body. I squeeze my thighs together under my skirts.
He smirks.
"Go, before I change my mind," I challenge him. He raises an eyebrow.
"You may give the orders now, but in a few hours…"
I tremble at his threat. He gives me one last look, up and down my body, and then he is gone, back from behind the curtain, into the throng of people all waiting for a piece of him.
My body is slowly cooling, my heart rate slowing. I should go to my rooms, dress in something less showy. I can't have him ripping Ruby's dress from my body. And I have a feeling he's going to want to.
I turn and walk to the wooden door that leads to the hallway, and the curling stairs beyond.
The moment I open it, I feel him.
Benedict stands there, eyes dark, staring at me, betrayal on his face.
"Well," he says, barely capping his rage, his words clipped, a mask dangling from his fingertips. "I see you have picked which brother you are backing, haven't you?"
My heart drops.
Oh. Shit.
38
Noah
I have to stop my brothers from doing something stupid. Like fighting over a fucking nanny. The insanity of this whole situation is boiling over in my mind. I watched Mason fuck her over the CCTV. I watched Benedict blow it by confronting her outside her little love nest.
I watched her slap him and run from him up the stairs. I saw her hesitate before turning away from her room and seeking refuge in the one place neither of them would think to look.
Does she really presume I am less mercenary than my brothers? That I won’t take what she is unconsciously offering, my hiding in my dressing room?
Absurd.
Naive.
Childish.
Perfect.
The smile that spreads across my face is cruel and delighted. And I walk to my room, cherishing every step I take. My heart is beating triple time when I get to the door, knowing what I’ll find inside.
I shut the door firmly behind me, knowing she’ll hear it. Knowing it’ll strike fear right through her body. After the night she’s had, she’s probably trembling, running on anxiety and adrenaline.
I take my time, unbuttoning my shirt, tossing my jacket to the side, and loosening my tie. I kick my shoes off, and let my shirt slide to the floor. I’m only in my trousers when I open the dressing room door and see her, standing in the middle of the room, with nowhere to hide.
She looks… resigned. As if she knows what’s coming.
“The party still bubbles over, and yet you’re here,” I say to her, cocking an eyebrow.
She looks… beautiful. Debauched. Thoroughly fucked. The flush Mason’s pounded into her hasn’t faded from her cheeks, and her run-in with Benedict has done nothing to diminish it. In that dress she’s wearing, she looks like a queen.
A queen I want to drop to my knees and worship between the thighs of until her screams of my name have died into a bare whisper.
