I hate you.
I hate you.
I wanted the words to bleed into him.
Bleed into me.
When he finished, Grayson and Lottie were gone, and people poured onto the terrace—even though they shivered. Music flooded the terrace, louder than inside, as if Tansy was trying to drown out what just happened.
“Well…” Lynette gave me one last look, then returned to the ballroom. Arthur du Lac followed his wife inside, staring after me, his look leaving shivers down my spine.
West’s grip on my hip was iron, as if he knew I wanted to bolt.
“We said we wanted to wait,” I hissed at him.
“And you told me nothing happened.” West waved at someone across the terrace. “A thank you would be nice.”
I could barely breathe through my indignation. “Thank you?”
“I just did you both a fucking favor.”
“A favor?” I yelled, but it was drowned out by the music.
West gripped my elbow, spinning me to him. “You’re showing, Angel. Everyone knows, but now they think it’s mine. Or at least, we planted a seed of doubt.”
“We said we wanted to wait!” I said it again, because it was all I had. It was my Hail Mary.
“Should I have let my father whip your back with his belt?”
I swallowed air. That was what was going to happen? Arthur’s dark eyes popped in my head like the Cheshire cat’s disappearing stare.
“I told you I can’t protect you if you refuse to understand the rules.”
All of West’s ominous warnings, my time getting beaten in Scotland with Madame’s eerie she’s not ready echoing in my ear… It came crashing down like a wave and I suddenly couldn’t breathe.
“I—”
“Stop. Talking.”
West dropped my elbow, and pushed me behind him. The party disappeared behind his massive shoulders. With the stone railing behind me, the steps to an empty beach on one side… I was caged.
I thought about kicking West, kneeing him in the back of the thigh—when a solid, strong hand closed on the back of my neck. I froze, heart leaping into my throat. Was Arthur back?
Then the callous, cocksure voice I would recognize in my marrow spoke. “Don’t move. Don’t react.”
Grayson must have come up the steps.
“Do you remember those first nights you slept in my bed? I asked you a question then.”
How could I ever forget our first nights? They were engraved on my bones.
Have you ever come on someone’s hand, Snitch?
Do you want to?
Maybe he felt my neck heat, maybe he saw the blush on my cheeks, but he made a sound low in his throat, all manly satisfaction that settled deep in my thighs.
“You remember.” His lips were pressed close to my ear. “I want to feel you come on my hand. So be a good little wife and don’t talk. Don’t make any noise. I’ll be pretty fucking pissed if you get yourself caught.”