Before I could give him the canned response, Royce leaned forward and his voice was grave. “It’s you, Tate.”
For a fraction of a second, Tate went still, and then an enormous smile burst onto his face. “Fuck you, man. I was never with her. Not all of us can land a Northcott girl, you know.”
A million thoughts streamed through my mind in an instant. First, I didn’t want it to be, but it was bizarrely flattering to be thought of as a status symbol. And second, we were seated in a room full of people we’d gone to high school with. None of them had ever made an attempt to ‘land me.’
“Royce was the only one with the guts to try,” I said plainly.
Tate’s mouth hung open in surprise before curling back into a smile. “Well, now I’m pissed I missed my chance.”
“I’m not,” Royce said, giving me a glance out of the corner of his eye.
Tate viewed me like stock. I wasn’t worth much until Royce wanted me, and then my value quadrupled overnight.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, slouching down. “I didn’t know Sophia Alby was going to be here.” Tate and Sophia hadn’t been very nice to me in the past, but they hadn’t run in the same circles. School was over, but he still understood the power she wielded. “Why are you waving her over here?” he demanded of me.
When Sophia’s gaze landed on the man seated in my group, her eyes lit up like a target had been acquired and she was prepared to strike.
It was petty, but kind of fun to watch him squirm. “Oh, I invited her.”
It was late when Royce’s driver brought us back up the mountain to the house. The headlights cut through the dark, lighting up the winding road and the frozen forest beyond.
On the inside, I was vibrating with chaotic, excited energy. Royce wanted me in his bed tonight.
He wanted to make love to me, and by his own admission, he’d never done that.
We’d cross into this new territory together, and I was ready to jump out of my skin. How would he start? What was going to happen? I wouldn’t have called him a hopeless romantic by any means, but he was plenty capable of seduction. He understood romance. Would there be candles and flowers like there’d been when he’d proposed?
The answer was no.
Just the warm, flickering fire trapped behind glass in the fireplace and the soft lighting in the elegant bedroom. I liked this. It was cozy and intimate. He opened a bottle of white wine and poured us each a glass, then brought me over to the couch opposite the bed and against the enormous windows. Before I sat, I took in the view one more time. Moonlight turned the snow on the mountains silver, and Aspen continued to glow brightly below, nestled in the valley.
We settled beside each other on the couch and sipped our wine in silence. Desire curled in the air, twisting with anticipation, making it hard to find words.
“You look nervous,” I said.
His blue eyes were electric. “You’ve always made me nervous.”
He was the prince of Cape Hill, and at just twenty-five years old, he was one of the wealthiest men in the country. I couldn’t make anyone nervous, and certainly not him. I laughed softly. “Ridiculous.”
He raised a perturbed eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?” He leaned over, set his glass of wine down on the side table with a thud, and fixed the full intensity of his stare on me. “You, Marist, are the only thing in this world I’ve ever wanted—that I wasn’t sure I was going to get.”
My lungs refused to work.
When we were alone, he wasn’t supposed to lie. He’d told me he wanted it more than anything. “What about your father’s company?”
“Oh, I know I’m going to get that.”
He moved, sliding off the couch and onto his knees, working his way until he was kneeling between my legs. It was like the night of our first date, where I’d ordered him to put his hands on me and he’d obliged. Only it was possible I was more nervous and desperate for him tonight than I had been all those months ago.
Royce took my wine glass from me and set it aside then drew me away from the back of the couch, so he could kiss me slowly and deeply and thoroughly, until every inch of me clamored to melt into him.
Nearly every night over the last month, we’d had sex. There’d been a few times where he’d been away on business, or we’d come home from a social thing and been too exhausted to do more than kiss goodnight. But typically, our evenings were spent crawling and scratching, writhing and biting and tangling in the sheets until we both found our release.