Survival of the Richest (The Trust Fund Duet 1)

He lets me. That’s the only way I could have gotten free of those hands that have held wood larger than my body. His eyes narrow on mine, not even glancing at the door. “Tell me you have room service coming.”

I shake my head. “It could be Bea.”

Except she would have called before coming down. Or invited me up, if she knew I was planning on leaving Tanglewood in utter despair, for her to comfort with wine and a fancy cheese plate. Hugo really does make the best cheese plates.

“Stay here,” he says, curt, like maybe it’s his hotel room instead of mine.

“I can answer the door,” I say, except there’s a cool breeze on my breasts. I’m not wearing a shirt, which is probably a good reason not to greet visitors right now. The black tank top somehow disappeared, so I grab a pillow and hug it to my body, facing the door.

Sutton opens the door and faces the newcomer with no surprise.

From the angle I can’t see who it is, but I know based on the low, angry voices that come next. From the cadence of the voice and the rumble of sound. From the excitement in my chest.

“Let him in,” I say, because I don’t want another fight.

Or maybe that’s exactly what I want.

Christopher’s dark gaze finds my bare shoulders. He makes a sound like a hiss. I could have touched burning-hot iron to his skin to produce that sound. I want him to see what he gave up those years ago.

Not enough to drop the pillow.

Sutton closes the door and leans against it, apparently content to obey me. Even if I said the wrong command. Maybe that’s what he’s doing, teaching me a lesson.

“Is this what gets you off?” Christopher demands, looking every inch the powerful businessman. This is how he’d be across the smooth cherry table in the boardroom, negotiating a contract, establishing terms. “You want two men panting after your pretty little body?”

It feels like the answer should be no, but the little flip in my stomach means maybe yes. Is that wrong of me? My desires aren’t anything straightforward and numerical. I could paint them, these feelings. They would look like Cleopatra, but she wouldn’t be seductive and knowing. She would be afraid. I’m over my head with these men.

Christopher prowls toward me, and I clutch the pillow tighter as I evade him. It means giving him a glimpse of my bare back, but it’s better than being cornered. He keeps coming at me. I keep stepping back, until I hit something warm and breathing and unmovable.

Sutton.

I’m between both men, caught with only a pillow to cover me. Christopher’s eyes are completely merciless. He doesn’t feel sorry for anything that happens next. When I glance over my shoulder, Sutton looks a little kinder. Enough that he runs a gentle hand along my side, soothing, settling me for whatever comes next.

“What are you doing?” I ask, but it’s not a direct question. Not only for Christopher or for Sutton. It’s for both of them. For the room, which has closed me in.

“Nothing you don’t want,” Sutton murmurs in my ear. When he speaks like that, it’s easy to see why someone would do business with them. They’d stake their entire livelihood on a handshake with this man, his word worth more than a thousand other signatures.

And still my vision wavers, the whole world wavy and ocean-like. Underwater, that’s what I am.

“Drop the pillow,” Christopher says, and he sounds the very opposite as Sutton. The opposite of reassuring. He’s pure danger like this. “Let’s see what we’re paying for tonight.”

A slap on the face couldn’t have surprised me more. I step back into Sutton’s embrace, holding the pillow tighter. “I’m not a prostitute.”

He gives me a cold smile. “I’m not going to leave cash on the dresser, Harper. For many reasons, not the least of which is that you don’t need the money.”

If he had coaxed me for hours, I would have held on to the pillow. This Christopher, I know very well. This Christopher I know how to fight. I toss the pillow aside, casually, as if I’m naked in front of two men every day. “I wouldn’t be a prostitute, even without my trust fund.”

Christopher’s gaze doesn’t drop. He stares into my eyes hard, like he’s saying a thousand things without words. There are probably equations and pie charts in his head. “But I’m still going to end up paying for this.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, even though I know. I’ll pay my own price.

Sutton strokes his hand down the side of my neck. His mouth follows the same path. No wonder he was able to tame a wild horse. I would have followed him to the stream. Would have crossed the county to keep his hands on me. “You tell me to stop,” he says softly. “Tell me to punch Christopher in the face. Whatever you say, that’s what happens.”

Heady, that’s the feeling of power. Addictive. Terrifying. “What if I’m wrong?”

“There’s no wrong,” Sutton says.

Christopher’s lips twist. “If there’s no wrong, then there’s no right.”