My pain tolerance was something I’d honed over a decade in foster care and another decade pushing myself on the ice, and yet somehow, I’d reached my limit within the first thirty minutes of this engagement party. When Persephone had described the plans, she’d used words like intimate, small, simple, and my favorite—thrown together at her parent’s house.
This was none of those things.
A string quartet played Mozart in the corner of what could only be called a ballroom. Who the fuck had an actual ballroom in their house? Oh, that’s right—the VanDorens did. As for small, there were at least a hundred intimate acquaintances here in suits entirely too stuffy for the oppressive July heat. This was anything but simple. It was a goddamned three-ring circus, and I was the main attraction.
I’d never felt so out of place in my life.
“It really was so lovely to see you,” Persephone said to yet another couple as we worked the room, as she called it.
With her hand hooked lightly in the crook of my elbow, we finished making our excuses and walked away.
“You’re doing great.” Her praise came with a smile that had the same knee-wobbling effect it had a month ago when we’d woken up in Vegas.
I grunted in response.
I’d been married to Persephone for a month. We lived together, ate breakfast together, and even read together in the evenings. It was…fine, it was awkward as hell, and yet as natural as breathing. She didn’t put the TV on to fill the silence, or chatter incessantly, which put her at the top of my list for females I could tolerate spending more than a night with.
And at night, we parted in the hallway, and each went to our respective bedrooms, where, gauging by the glow of her skin and peppy early morning attitude, she slept like a baby. I, however, did not. I’d put her down the hall to keep as much physical space between us as possible, but that didn’t stop my mind from crossing that distance every single fucking night. I’d woken up hard and aching every morning for the last month, and it wasn’t getting any easier. Mostly because I was married to a fairytale Barbie with the body of a Playboy bunny.
“Oh, sweet heavens have mercy on my soul, please tell me—” Persephone whispered.
“Sephie!” The obnoxious cry sounded from across the ballroom, only to be repeated while a blonde wearing a white dress bounced up and down and waved her hand.
I took one look at my wife’s stricken face and put the other woman on my don’t-like-her list. Persephone schooled her features within a heartbeat and flashed a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“We can escape through the side door,” I offered in a low tone.
She laughed softly. “While I appreciate the offer, it would only delay the inevitable. My sister would simply follow us.”
Her sister? That woman was the black sheep of the family?
“So it’s onward into battle we go?” I asked, mimicking her southern accent.
This time her smile was real. “Prepare yourself,” she warned as she straightened her shoulders. The move highlighted her breasts in the strapless, fifties-style, knee-length, white cocktail dress she wore. I’d wanted to remove it with my teeth the second she’d walked down our stairs in it. Instead, I’d told her she looked great and kept my damn hands to myself.
Rule number five was still in effect.
We moved through the crowd, heading toward the small group of people by the wall of windows who, shockingly, looked to be our age. Persephone’s sister held out her hands and wiggled her fingers, which must have been some type of rich-girl summoning because my wife slipped her hand from my elbow and walked straight into her sister’s arms.
“Sephie!” she cried, pulling away long enough to scan down Persephone’s dress. “You look so lovely tonight!”
“Andromeda,” Persephone greeted her with a smile, but her shoulders were still tense.
Andromeda. Thank God I wasn’t actually marrying into this family. They’d probably force Persephone to name her first kid Hercules or some shit.
“You surviving?” Sawyer asked as he appeared on my left with his wife, Echo.
“Barely,” I muttered, keeping my attention on Persephone.
“This might be the most uptight room I’ve ever been in,” Logan muttered as he slapped my shoulder and stood next to Echo with his girlfriend, Delaney, who also happened to be my favorite librarian.
“I can’t believe Mama let you wear that dress,” Andromeda noted with a heavy undertone of pity. “You know it just washes you out without a little color.” She held out her tanned arm to Persephone’s sun-kissed one and shook her head.
“I don’t spend my days by the pool anymore, Andromeda. I have a job,” Persephone replied, lowering her arm. “And besides, it’s tradition for the bride to wear white to her engagement party.”
“You look radiant.” I snuck my hand around my wife’s tiny waist and tugged her to my side in a move that almost felt natural. She looked up at me with grateful eyes.
“So does that mean you’re getting married too?” Echo asked, using her champagne flute to motion toward Andromeda’s straight, short, white dress.
“Oh. Um. Of course not.” Andromeda shrugged and beckoned a waiter with a snap of her fingers.
My pain threshold was discovering a new level.
“I’m actually just coming off a ridiculously painful annulment that I’m simply not ready to discuss yet,” she said as she took a glass of champagne from the waiter’s tray and then waved him off like he was a nuisance. “But at least I’m single, right? I mean, who wouldn’t want to be single when there are so many excellent specimens of manhood around?” She batted her eyes at me, then glanced over at Logan and Sawyer.
My warning bells went off. Loudly.
“Who’s looking for excellent specimens of manhood?” Michael Carlisle, trust-fund douche extraordinaire, entered our little circle with three of his friends. Guys looked like they belonged in an investment banking club or some shit. A kernel of annoyance grew in my chest.
“Michael!” Andromeda tilted her head and looped her arm through his. “I was just saying that I’m glad I’m single, seeing as my baby sister decided to marry one of Charleston’s prized Reapers.”
“So she did,” he muttered, raking his gaze down Persephone appreciatively. “Caught us all off guard with this little move, Sephie.”
She stiffened, and my hand tightened at her waist to keep from punching those roving eyes out of his head.
“Yeah, we all thought it would be you and Carlisle celebrating eventually,” one of his friends agreed. “Imagine our surprise when this invitation appeared.” His eyebrows rose.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Andrew. You knew about Sephie’s indiscretion the morning after when it hit the press, just like the rest of us,” Andromeda chided.
“I’m not sure I’d call getting married an indiscretion,” Persephone countered as the quartet started a new movement.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers, honey.” Andromeda shot another pity glance at Persephone. “God knows I’ve had my share of impetuous liaisons with incredible men that just didn’t…work out. Not that I’d been bold enough to wear white to a post-wedding-night engagement party, but I always did love that spirit of yours!” Her grin dripped with saccharine sweetness.
Holy shit. I’d rather be on the ice, where we battled with sticks, boards, and bodies, than in this ballroom. This outright combat via sharp words and fake smiles was bullshit.
“Are you serious?” That little kernel of annoyance transformed to rage in a heartbeat. Persephone was still a virgin. Not that any of them knew that. Hell, I was still grappling with that fact, myself. I wasn’t one of those assholes who prized virginity in their women, and the logical side of my brain listed her untouched state as reason number four billion and eight that we’d stick to rule number five. I’d never been with a virgin, and sure as hell wasn’t about to make her my first by being her first. No fucking way.
But the primal side of my brain? Holy shit did it have a field day knowing that no other man had been inside her. That I’d be the man she compared every other lover to…not that I was ever going to make love to her. Make love?
Let’s call that little slip of the tongue reason four billion and nine I wouldn’t ever know what this woman looked like when she came.
“What? She knows I meant no offense.” Andromeda assured me in the sweetest voice imaginable. “We’re all so happy for you, Sephie. Though, Andrew’s right. I think we were all a little shocked that you ended up with a hockey player.”
Both Sawyer and Logan’s eyebrows hit the ceiling.
“Holy shit,” Echo muttered, then drained her champagne.
“And why exactly would that shock you?” Persephone challenged. “After all, I run the charitable foundation for the Reapers, so it’s only natural that I would befriend them. I’ve known these men for almost two years now.”
“Well,” Andromeda looked me over with a ravenous glimmer in her eyes.
I was going to need a shower to scrub away her intentions.
“We can all see why you’d get to know them. I mean, of course, their bodies are perfect. They’re professional athletes, but the fact that he’s also gorgeous must have been quite the enticement to spend a little more time at the office, hmmm?”
“I’m standing right here,” I said slowly.
“That is not why—” Persephone started.
“And don’t you look good doing it?” She gave me a little shoulder-shrugging grin. “Honestly, Michael, you didn’t see this coming from a mile away?”
“We’ve met,” he answered, clearing his throat, then facing Persephone. “Though I can admit, I thought you’d fall for one of us.” He arced his glass in front of him, as if she should have chosen someone from her own social circle.
Fuck that. I might not have been the right man for Persephone, but she was far better than any of these clowns.
“I’ve had quite enough investment bankers in my life,” Persephone fired back with a shrug and a smile. Fuck, if that didn’t make me want to lean down and kiss the shit out of her, audience and all.
“For now, maybe,” he said softly.
It’s not smart to wave the red cape at the bull, douchebag. I reined my temper in tight. Persephone’s first rule was that I not get into any fights or make any scenes, and I wasn’t about to break it in the middle of our fucking engagement party, even it was fake.
“You’re an investment banker?” A smirk rose on my face. I’d been right.
“What of it?” His eyes narrowed on mine. “I work with millions of dollars every day, using my Harvard education, not my body to move upward in life. After all, one day my body might give out, but my mind never will.” He dared me with a smirk of his own.
Logan’s mouth opened, but Delaney’s hand flew to grip his, effectively silencing my best friend. The girl was as southern as Persephone and recognized warfare when she saw it.
“It’s impossible for your body to give out when it hasn’t shown up in the first place,” Sawyer glanced meaningfully toward the bankers and nodded at the passing waiter. He thanked him as he replaced his and Echo’s empties with full glasses.
I pressed my lips into a flat line to keep a dark laugh down at Sawyer’s obvious shade.
“How do you guys survive so many blows to the head, anyway?” Andrew asked with a perplexed expression on his pompous face. “You must have really thick skulls.”
“Well, you know what Sartre said.” Michael lifted his glass. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
His buddies chuckled, along with Andromeda. Persephone jolted forward, but I kept my grip on her waist and subtly lifted so her feet were an inch off the floor. She gasped softly, and I set her back down in a move so subtle no one noticed it had happened except my wife, who hopefully got the point that I didn’t need her to fight my battles for me.
“Sartre, huh?” I questioned. “Your Harvard education cover philosophy?
He arched an eyebrow and tilted his head. “Among other things. Where did you matriculate from? Assuming you went to college. I know so many young athletes get pressured to go pro too early and miss out on the benefits of a good school.”
“University of Michigan,” I answered. “They offered me a full-ride scholarship for hockey and threw one in for my little sister.” That last part had been off the books, but a handshake later, Lillian had early acceptance.
Persephone looked up at me with such a tender expression that I couldn’t help but return it, knocking loose one of the bricks that held up my emotional defenses. God, she was beautiful, and for the next couple of months, she was mine.
“Scholarship, huh? Guess they don’t care about your grades up in Michigan as long as you’re racking up the points on the scoreboard,” Michael snapped, losing the edge off his civilized mask. Guy was outright pissed that I’d married the woman he’d set his sights on.
Made sense, really. Persephone was flawless in every way, even as she arched a delicate eyebrow at me as if asking what I was going to do about the outright shot he’d just fired at me. I winked at her, and her eyes flared bright with amusement and something else I couldn’t let myself ponder. Managing to rip my gaze away from hers, I turned back toward the douchebag brigade.
“Well, it’s not Harvard up there, but at least they taught me that it was Nietzsche who said, “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.” Not Sartre.”
Persephone’s arm slid around my waist like she was claiming me, too.
Everyone looked at Michael like this was some kind of fucked-up tennis match, and I’d fired the ball back across the net.
He scoffed. “Bullshit. It’s Sartre. I minored in Philosophy.”
All the eyes turned back toward me.
“You’re wrong.” I shrugged as Andromeda gasped. Guess I stepped across the line of southern manners. “It’s in Twilight of the Idols.”
Ball’s in your court, asshole.
He blinked. “I’m not wrong. You’re wrong.”
And now we were back in kindergarten. Phenomenal.
“Guy reads a lot, and I mean a lot. My vote goes to Cannon,” Delaney announced with a nod.
“It’s Sartre!” Michael snapped. “He believed that we had to be aware of existence and our own strengths.”
“You’re close,” I admitted with a nod. “Sartre believed that we should be aware of our existence without the assumptions we naturally inherit through our routines, but Nietzsche authored the other quote.”
Michael’s face turned red. “You’re wrong!”
“I’m not.” I shrugged.
“Someone look it up!” His hand shook slightly. And somehow I was the one with a temper problem?
Cell phones appeared in various hands, but neither Michael, Persephone, or myself moved an inch.
“Oh man,” Andrew muttered, looking at his phone.
“Ha! We win,” Sawyer announced with a grin, turning his phone so the others could see. “Nietzsche. Twilight of the Idols. 1888.”
The blood drained from Michael’s face.
“Both were great philosophers.” A corner of my lips lifted. “But have to say that I’m a bigger fan of Nietzsche’s concept of the Ubermensch, the man capable of rising above life’s hardships. Then again, Sartre’s concept of bad faith is pretty great, too.”
His jaw locked and flexed, and I couldn’t help but continue.
“Bad faith? Come on, you know it. That’s the one where we tell ourselves that things have to be a certain way because that’s the way it’s always been, and therefore close our eyes to the other options that exist around us. For example, by marrying me, Persephone has proven herself enlightened by Sartre’s standard.”
Every gaze turned back to him, to see how he’d respond to my volley but he remained silent.
“Our guy is smarter than yours,” Sawyer whispered at Andrew.
Persephone yanked on my suit-coat, and I leaned down slightly just in time to see her rise up on her toes to brush a kiss over my lips.
It was quick. Soft and chaste, but the meaning behind it punched me in the gut and stoked the carefully contained fire of need that raged in my belly. She pulled back with a wide, pleased smile.
I was so fucked.
“This won’t last,” Michael’s tone dropped low. “You’ll never make it to the altar. Eventually she’ll see that she’s made the wrong choice—took the bad deal, so to say, and she’ll back out.” He nodded slowly.
I grinned at him with lips still humming from Persephone’s kiss. Jesus, the woman kissed me. “Harvard, huh? What? Daddy couldn’t get you into Wharton?”
He blanched. Apparently, I’d struck a nerve.
“First off, we’re already married, just in case you missed that memo. Two, you’re right.” Persephone stiffened next to me, but I kept going. “One day she’ll see that I’m not good enough for her, but I somehow don’t think that’s going to help you, considering she already knows that about you. And lastly, you get to play with millions of dollars all day because men like me—” I gestured toward Logan and Sawyer, “—and my friends, make those millions with our talent, drive, and sheer fucking willpower. But don’t worry, the first thing I’ll do on Monday is make sure none of my millions are in any of your banks or hedge funds. I don’t trust morons with my money any more than I trust douchebag assholes with my wife. So if you’ll excuse us.” I turned abruptly from the group, taking Persephone with me.
“Thank you for coming! It’s always a pleasure to see you!” She fired over her shoulder as I ushered us toward the door. “Cannon, where are we going?”
“I need to talk to you.” It came out more growl than statement.
“Oh. Okay. Here, this way, then.” She took my hand and led me past a tuxedoed attendant into a dark hallway.
I counted to thirty, trying to cool the fire in my blood, and she pushed open a heavy door on our left once we were halfway down the hall. The smell of old books hit me as she flipped on the light switch and closed the door behind us.
The room was massive, with fifteen-foot high bookcases and a ladder that ran down each side of the wall. There was a sitting area on our left, complete with a fireplace, and a massive mahogany desk in the center of the room.
“Dad’s study,” she said simply. “He does most of his work in Charleston, of course.”
“Of course,” I repeated dutifully, taking in the clean expanse of his desk.
“What did you want to talk about? I thought you handled Michael quite masterfully.” She toyed with her fingers, spinning her engagement ring as she placed herself in front of me.
“You kissed me,” I accused.
She blinked, her lips parting. “Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.” I backed up a step to give us some space, but she took it right back.
“I wanted to show you my support.” She turned those eyes on me with a pursed, worried set to her mouth. The same mouth that had been on mine moments ago.
“Then you pat my arm or give me a high five,” I snapped.
She pressed her lips in a line as laughter danced across her face. “A high five? What am I, one of your teammates? Because if that’s the case, I should at least get to pat your ass, not your arm.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep them off her. I’d never wanted a woman like I wanted Persephone. Never been taken to the maddening edge of obsessive need without so much as a kiss…except she had kissed me, and it wasn’t enough. It was too much. It was all fucked up.
“Rule number five specifically states—”
She scoffed. “Rule number five says no sex. It certainly doesn’t say anything about kissing you. Are you saying we need to negotiate our verbal contract?”
“It should be covered under rule five,” I argued.
Her eyebrows popped high. “What? Why? It’s not like I gave you a handjob or oral—”
“Oh my God, stop talking,” I begged, spinning around so I could get the hell away from her. The imagery in my head was sinful, and I couldn’t help but wonder if her fingers would manage to wrap all the way around my cock, or if she’d come up just a little short. I parked my ass at the edge of her dad’s desk and gripped the heavy wood of the top.
“For being one of the NHL’s baddest boys, you sure are a prude.” She folded her arms under her breasts, drawing my eyes to her impressive cleavage and the single strand of pearls that nestled at her collarbone.
“Prude?” I snapped.
“What else would you call all this fuss over a little kiss?” She walked closer.
“I’d call it looking out for your best interest.”
She arched an eyebrow in challenge but kept moving toward me.
“Persephone, if you had any idea of the things that go through my mind regarding that mouth, that body, you wouldn’t just casually kiss me. You’d run the other fucking direction,” I warned.
“Oh, really?” She stopped right next to me, her thigh inches from brushing mine. “You don’t scare me, Cannon.”
“I should.” How many times did I have to warn her? Did I have to spell it out for her?
“Tell me why I can’t kiss you.” Her gaze darted to my lips, and I muttered a curse.
“Why? Because it’s not just a kiss. Hell, I wouldn’t even call what happened in there a kiss. It was an invitation to things that you don’t want and aren’t ready for.” My grip tightened on the wood as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ears.
“You don’t know what I want,” she accused softly. “Tell me why I can’t kiss you,” she repeated.
Guess she really did need me to scare her off. Being platonic and careful around her had given her some misguided sense that I was one of the good guys. Fine. That was an easy enough mistake to remedy.
“Why can’t you kiss me? Because I don’t want a kiss. Not from you.”
Her face fell. Good.
“I want way more than just your lips on mine, Persephone. I want your body splayed out naked beneath me, bared for feasting, begging for my mouth and hands. I want your mouth open for my tongue, and then I want to see those pretty pink lips wrapped around my cock.”
She gasped, her lips parting, and her eyes widening slightly. Excellent. She was starting to understand.
“I don’t want you to give me some little peck of approval in front of your friends so we can play out a lie. I don’t want your feigned interest and fake, polite sighs of appreciation. I won’t lie about need, and I won’t let you, either. Not when I want you screaming my name with your legs wrapped around my hips as I drive into you, so fucking lost to your own desire that you don’t care who the hell hears you or what your friends think because all you need is one. More. Thrust. To get you there.” I stared at her lips, letting everything I’d said show in my eyes, letting the leash slip just enough to scare her off.
“Cannon,” she whispered.
We locked eyes, and the temperature in the room rose by at least five degrees. God, I wanted her in every way I’d just detailed and so much more. I’d wanted her from the moment she’d fallen into my arms almost two years ago. She was everything right and good and pure in a world that had only shown me unimaginable cruelty.
“Cannon,” she whispered again, moving that inch so our thighs touched through layers of clothing. She may as well have branded me.
“Persephone.” I shook my head slowly, warning her not to do what her eyes already told me she was planning.
She leaned forward, giving me every chance to back away. I should have. I needed to. I didn’t. Instead, I watched her lips part and her eyes close a second before she kissed me. Her lips met mine in a gentle recreation of the kiss she’d given me in the ballroom. This time she lingered, her lips incredibly soft against mine. I meant to hold back, to teach her with my lack of reciprocation.
Instead, I kissed her back, gently sucking on her lower lip.
She cupped my face and leaned in for more. Fuck me, I could fall into this woman and never resurface for air. The thought jarred me, and I grasped her wrists lightly and pulled them from my cheeks as I broke the kiss.
Hurt flashed in her eyes, but it didn’t overpower the desire I saw there. Or was that my own reflected back at me?
Bad idea. Horrible idea. Really fucking awful idea.
I abandoned her wrists, took her waist in one hand, and the nape of her neck in the other, and kissed her. She gasped with surprise, and I ran my tongue along the soft skin inside her lower lip. Then I took total possession of her mouth, stroking my tongue over the roof of her mouth and the line just behind her teeth. Fuck, she tasted like strawberries and champagne—all sweet and heady.
I groaned when her tongue rubbed against mine and nearly lost my shit when she licked that sweet little tongue into my mouth, exploring me the same way I’d just done with her. I tilted her head so I could kiss her deeper, then took her over and over. It wasn’t enough. I needed more.
As if she’d heard my thoughts, she shifted her legs, looped her hands around my neck, and used me as leverage to climb. My grip shifted to her silk-clad ass as she settled in my lap like she’d been there a thousand times, her knees braced on either side of my hips.
Our mouths met in a fury of want and desire too long ignored. We were ravenous, as if we could sate the need of the last two years in this single kiss. Her fingers shifted to my hair as her hips ground over mine, drawing a groan from my throat as my cock swelled.
I wanted to touch her, to find out if her skin felt as soft as the fabric of her dress, but my hands were occupied keeping her from falling on her ass. I stood, carrying her slight weight, then spun to deposit her on the desk.
She didn’t blink at the switch in positions, but merely took hold of the tie we’d fought over earlier in the evening, and pulled me down to her as she lay back against the expanse of cherry. Holy fucking turn on.
I sent one hand into her hair and closed my eyes in surrender as my lips found hers again. She was hot, spun silk, from the skin of her shoulder to the hair that spilled over my hand as I sank into her kiss. She was better than I’d ever imagined. How had I lived this long without knowing her taste?
She arched up against me, and my mouth traveled a path from her lips to the impossibly soft skin of her neck. She whimpered, her hips rolling over mine as I kissed her pulse. My girl had a button, and I’d just found it.
I tongued that little patch of skin, and she cried out, her fingernails biting into the back of my neck. When she rocked against my hips, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my cock that shot through the rest of my nerve endings, I switched my grip, sending one hand to her knee.
As I traveled south, caressing each millimeter of her neck as I went, my hand journeyed north, following the silk of her stockings until I reached a lace band and—
“You wear garters?” I growled against the base of her throat.
“Are you complaining?” She shifted so my hand slid further up her thigh, following the small strap that connected her stockings to the lingerie above.
“Fuck no. Everything about you is incredible.” I lifted my head.
Her smile was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my life.
Our mouths met in a kiss that was even hotter than the last, our tongues as urgent as our breathing. My hand reached the top of her thigh and nearly trembled with restraint. How the hell had I not known she’d worn this under all that prim and proper fabric all night? I grazed the line where thigh met hip with my thumb, then followed it down until I found the edge of her panties—they felt like lace.
My mouth watered at the thought of burying my head between those thighs and finding out if she tasted this sweet everywhere. Instead, I dragged my thumb down the very center of her, using the friction against the lace to drive her higher in her need.
She yanked her mouth free, sucking in lungfuls of air as her eyes locked with mine, which narrowed slightly, daring her to stop me, to tell me she’d had enough.
The woman rocked against my fucking hand.
I hissed, feeling the lace grow damp beneath my fingers.
“More, Cannon,” she pled, then rocked again so I knew exactly what she was asking for. Then she gripped my neck and pulled me back into her kiss.
Fuck, the woman kissed with a reckless hedonism that had thoroughly intoxicated me. My thumb drifted to the band that separated lace from flesh—
A soft click sounded, and I jerked my hand to her knee as the door opened behind me. I moved to instinctively cover Persephone, only to realize she was fully clothed. We both were.
The woman had driven me to the brink of madness with just a kiss.
“Oh!” Her mother laughed from the doorway. “There you two are!”
“Kill me now,” Persephone mumbled, burying her face in my neck and holding me against her.
“We’ll be right out,” I replied, hoping I didn’t sound as turned on as I felt. Fuck, my dick was harder than the desk.
“Oh, don’t rush. I know how young lovers are!”
I felt Persephone cringe.
“It’s just that your sister started in on the Hampshire boy and now she’s…well…she’s already broken three champagne flutes…”
“I’ll be right there, Mama. Just give me a second to right myself,” Persephone called out over my shoulder.
“Take your time, love birds! I mean, of course we want a grandbaby, but do be careful with the desk! It’s an antique, you know!” The door clicked shut.
“Is she gone?” Persephone asked.
“She is.”
She released the death grip on my neck, and I backed away like she’d bitten me. Space. I needed space, or I’d be right back on that desk, finishing what we’d started. Where the fuck was my self-control? My ability to shut it all off?
She just kissed it out of you.
I held out my hand against my better judgment, and congratulated myself when I managed to step away after helping Persephone off the desk. She smoothed the lines of her dress and ran her fingers through her hair.
“Do I look okay?” she asked, her eyes wide with worry.
“You look exquisite.”
She offered me a tentative smile, but it faded as she looked me over. “Umm. Are you going to be…okay?” She glanced at my beltline.
“I’ve had worse. I’ll be fine. Get out there and help your mom.” My cock throbbed, calling out my lie.
She hesitated.
“Persephone, go. Before someone else marches in here.”
She nodded, then walked out of the study, taking a second to lift her chin and transform into the VanDoren everyone expected.
Thank God I’d met her mother two weeks ago, or I might never have recovered the first impression. I got my body under control and headed out of the study, barely dodging the man I’d had yet to meet as he walked into the room.
“Mr. VanDoren.” I held out my hand.
The older man was fit, and rather distinguished, with hair that leaned more toward salt than pepper and with a grimace where a smile should have been. He looked over the tattoos that sprawled from my wrist to my knuckles and tensed before meeting my gaze.
“Mr. Price.” He ignored my outstretched hand. “Let’s forgo usual pleasantries, shall we?”
“I prefer it that way,” I answered, lowering my arm.
“Good. Let’s get one thing straight. You’re not good enough to marry my daughter.” His eyes narrowed in challenge.
“You’ll get no argument from me on that.” He may as well have said that the sky was blue. Duh, asshole.
“Any man who spirits a young girl off to Vegas for some Elvis wedding without asking her father’s permission for her hand or letting her mother attend isn’t worthy of being a VanDoren.” He folded his arms over his chest.
“I’m a Price, but you do have my apology for that. I’m afraid we got carried away.” It was the most I was going to back down, and I only did it for her.
“Well, you’re done getting carried away. I know all about your temper. I’ve read all about your lack of control, and I’m telling you that if you harm one hair on Persephone’s head, I’ll destroy everything and everyone you love.”
Well, that turned all Godfather with a quickness.
“Mr. VanDoren, I would never hurt Persephone. You have my permission to cut me limb from limb if I ever so much as touch her in a way she doesn’t appreciate.” For the few months I’ll be married to her.
He bristled, but his shoulders relaxed a little. “Good. Fine. Your purpose here is to make my little girl happy and keep her mother ecstatic for all the time she has left. Then I’ll deal with the legal mess you two have created with your recklessness.”
He turned and left me standing in the doorway of the study as he headed back to the party.
People like him with their preconceived judgments were the reason Persephone and I would never happen. Not for real. They’d remind me at every possible turn that I wasn’t good enough for their first-class life because I’d been born into steerage.
It didn’t matter how Persephone and I fit together, or how our chemistry ignited on a nuclear level. Nothing that happened between us back in that study would do us any good in the long haul, and yet it hadn’t mattered when she’d been in my hands. The world could have burned down, and I wouldn’t have cared. That was dangerous to both of us.
I had to keep my fucking hands off my wife if I wanted to come out of this marriage as sane as I’d been before going in.
