Page 83 of One Wealthy Wedding

“Sure, okay. I’ll bring it down.” She stands, and I stand too.

“No need,” I say. “I’ll come upstairs.” I follow her up the stairs, through the hushed, art-lined hallway, and into her bedroom, my pulse thudding loudly in my ears.

This is, without a doubt, the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

Cat is going to destroy me, and I’m going to jump into the fire myself, hoping it won’t burn me and enjoying it right up until the moment I incinerate.

“You moved things around,” I say, glancing in surprise at the armchair and side table she pulled under the window. Her bed is neatly made, her possessions aligned carefully on the bedside table.

“For reading,” she says absently. “What do you think of this? Is it too much?”

She thrusts a black teddy into my hands, fidgeting as I turn over the mess of delicate lace and thin straps.

“When would you wear this?” I ask.

“That’s the thing. I have no idea.” She wrinkles her nose as I look down at her, delicate, lovely, and uncertain. “These items are meant to be worn for someone else. I had some idea that I would wear them for myself, but now it seems silly.”

“I don’t think that’s silly,” I say, my voice coming out rougher and harsher than I intend. “It’s good to do things for yourself. Just ask me.” I give her a grin I hope is cocksure and arrogant rather than full of longing.

She blows out a breath. “I’m going to show you. Don’t make fun.”

She steps into her dressing area, and I force my mind to other things.

Spreadsheets.

Investments.

The project I want my mentee, Kai, to start next week.

Not the way my wife’s ass will look in black lace.

When she steps out, standing awkwardly on the rug, the reality is so much better than I could ever have imagined.

The breath leaves my chest in an audible rush.

“It’s bad, right?”

She lifts uncertain eyes to mine. She really doesn’t know how she looks. A wild laugh builds in my chest, but I know that’s the worst possible thing I could do.

“Bad isn’t the word I would use.”

“Theo,” she protests.

I swallow away my dry mouth. She’s a fantasy brought to life. The lace cups her breasts, feathering over her pale skin. I want to trace it with my tongue. The straps on her shoulders are barely there. I bet I could rip them. In fact, I bet I could tear the whole thing in half. I curl my fingers into my palms.

“Turn around,” I growl.

She huffs a breath but complies. The matching underwear bares the perfect globes of her ass, with a stripe down the center of each swathe of skin, created by the satin of the teddy. I want to snap each strap against her skin. I want to span her waist with my hands and bite her shoulder and drink in every little sound she’d make when I made her come.

I can’t move. I ache with want for Cat, and it’s worse than I imagined it would be. This is a box I might not be able to close.

“Theo. Come on. Just tell me if it’s bad.” She whirls, eyes flashing. “I don’t appreciate being messed—”

“Cat.” I lift my gaze to hers. “When I look at you, I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“What?” Her mouth parts in surprise.

“Keep the lingerie,” I say gruffly, then I walk out.

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