Page 23 of Filthy Rich

Yet.

“Why are you in a weird mood?” she asks.

“Why, because of you, Ms. Scott.”

The information seems to startle her. Or maybe it’s my intensity, which I can’t control. Not when we lock in on each other like this. Whatever. She blinks and looks away, the spell broken. Or maybe I smashed it with my impatience.

The next thing I know, she’s scooting her chair away from the table and standing with a vague gesture toward the ladies’ room. And I want to kick my own ass. Maybe she is a virgin after all.

“Tamsyn…”

“I’m just going to run to the bathroom.” She shakes her head and works up a smile that seems natural, if a little strained and puzzled. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here,” I say, easing back and making a firm mental note to go a little slower with her. I don’t want to blow this whole operation out of the water, pun intended, before it even gets started.

I watch her hurry off and run various plans and approaches through my mind. I’m like an NFL coach in the locker room with his team during halftime at the Super Bowl. So I’m deep in thought and don’t immediately notice when a woman approaches the table. But then I look up, and there she is.

Tall. Blond. Beautiful. Sexy. My usual type.

A distant bell of recognition dings in my mind.

We hooked up in New York after some event last year. My fundraiser to provide books and computers to some of the underserved elementary schools on Long Island, which has been a pet project of mine ever since I was a kid and discovered that not everyone enjoys a lifestyle like my family’s. That was it. We locked eyes across the room, I introduced myself and she asked if I wanted a blow job at the end of the night.

Needless to say, I took her up on her kind offer. We had fun a couple of times. The end.

Samantha is her name. Wait, no. Susan? Sheila? One of the S-names.

“Lucien,” she cries with enough syrupy sweetness to induce an immediate diabetic coma. She’s got a British accent, which I did not remember. Nor does it help shake her name loose from the annals of my brain. “I thought that was you.”

“This is a surprise.” I take great care to keep my tone enthusiasm-free as I stand and lean in for a double-cheeked kiss. My only goal is to get rid of her before Tamsyn gets back. I have no interest in rekindling any forgotten flames, and I certainly don’t plan to spend time with Starts-with-an-S when I could be with Tamsyn. “Hope you’re doing well.”

“We could both be doing better, darling.” In a move I’m sure she’s practiced dozens of times, she rubs her breasts against my arm and lingers long enough to nuzzle her lips and tongue against my earlobe. “Back in my cabin? With your cock in my mouth? Once you get rid of your cute little friend?”

Much as the purely raw and animalistic side of me always appreciates an enthusiastic offer of no-strings-attached sex from a beautiful woman, I’m not tempted. Not really. My head is too full of all things Tamsyn.

And I’m too dismayed by the realization, as I withdraw from this unwanted embrace, that Tamsyn has returned from the ladies’ room and is watching the proceedings from a few feet away with what looks like frozen humiliation.

Fuck.

“Tamsyn,” I say.

But Tamsyn pivots without a word and walks off, chin high and spine rigid.

“Lucien,” Starts-with-an-S says, clinging to my arm as I start to follow Tamsyn. “She’s not even your type, and we both know it. She’s just a child! A girl like that is barely out of her training bra. She won’t even know which end of a cock is up. And that won’t amuse a man like you for long, will it, darling?”

I pause long enough to stare her down, cold with fury at her, yeah, but mostly at myself for not telling her to get lost the second she appeared in my line of sight. I’ve moved a couple of minor mountains to spend time on this godforsaken cruise with Tamsyn.

I don’t plan to let this nobody—or anyone else—interfere with that.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” I say, sidestepping her to keep Tamsyn in view.

Don’t let her go, my brain shouts at me.

Don’t let her go.

CHAPTER SEVEN

TAMSYN

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