Page 18 of His Rules

Except to a man like me who found the pompous bullshit annoying as fuck.

“Kentucky bourbon. Neat,” I ordered before the female bartender had a chance to ask. I’d told myself I’d stay for forty-five minutes and no longer, enough time to be seen and photographed while smiling for the camera. With the stocks tanking, good press could prove helpful.

With the drink in hand, I shoved my other hand in my pocket as I headed toward the main room housing the artwork.

“Sebastian Winfield. As I live and breathe.”

I recognized the man’s voice immediately. “Mayor Trumbold. I see you slummed coming here.” Zane was the youngest mayor the city had ever tasked for the job. At barely forty, his often avant-garde methods of handling business regularly pissed off the first families who’d been here for generations.

But it wasn’t just his age or his different take on management of a lucrative city. It was also the fact he’d arrived from San Diego only two years before with his Barbie doll wife. Jealousy was a strong incubator of hate.

“Ah, yes. I need to get out with all the regular little people from time to time. Good for the image.” He laughed heartedly and slapped his hand into my outstretched one. “If I’m slumming, what are you doing? Digging in the dirt?”

I glanced toward the massive bank of windows fronting the hallway. “Something like that. I see you brought your beautiful wife. At least she will glow during this stale event.”

“Careful, Sebastian. Flattery doesn’t suit you,” Roxy said. We all laughed. While I’d sparred with the man during his first months in office, a crazy friendship had formed out of adversity.

We were often drinking buddies, although it had been a couple of months since we’d grabbed a drink out together.

“The same wild kitten as always,” I told her. The crazy thing about Roxy was that there was nothing fake about her. She was the real deal. So was their love life and marriage. I’d found myself envious of his relationship more than once.

“Where’s Drake? Aren’t you two usually attached at the hip?” Zane asked.

“Not tonight. He had some pressing business, so I stepped in for him. How’s the city?”

“A pain in my ass, but I love it.”

“Mayor Trumbold. Can I have a word?” someone called from behind me.

Zane rolled his eyes and leaned in. “Business calls. Let’s catch up next week if you have the time.”

“Just call me.”

Roxy squeezed my arm just before they walked away. She was one of the few women I’d enjoyed spending time with. Maybe because I didn’t consider her a piranha like so many others. I felt my jaw clench as I sauntered toward the main room.

Until Kacey.

Her name slipped across my tongue as easily as the sweet juice of her pussy had. I’d adored the way she’d moaned, spouting off my name with breathless whispers. She’d awakened the darkness within me as evidenced by how many times I’d fucked her.

Maybe I’d been an asshole for leaving without waking her or leaving a note. But I’d reminded myself what we’d shared had been physical and nothing more. We weren’t destined to be together and given she was in a hotel room, she was obviously from out of town.

Still, just thinking about her made my cock twitch.

The crowd inside was thick, but sadly, only a few people were paying any attention to the stunning works of art. Maybe I could find something provocative to freshen up my living room. I headed toward one side of the room, finding a fascinating young woman dressed in all pink attempting to explain her painting to a couple who just weren’t getting what she was saying.

I was momentarily distracted by her fuchsia high-top tennis shoes. They led to pink and white striped leggings, and a slouchy but chic sweatshirt ripped in all the right places, but the piece de resistance was the bright flamingo-colored hair. A smile crossed my face for no other reason than that she was comfortable in who she was.

As I stood in front of her paintings, I had to admit they were quite good, so good in fact I found myself walking closer. I don’t know if I’d expected her to be painting caricatures, but her representation of evocative couples was stunning.

I fixated on one of them. The woman was sitting on a bed, the oil creating an illusion of silk sheets. The girl’s arms were over herhead, straps attached to her wrists from an exposed beam. Her lips were pouty and red, her nipples a perfect rose color.

Just like Kacey’s had been.

My God. Even the girl’s face reminded me of the stunning beauty.

Damn it if my cock wasn’t twitching. With the indulgent fixtures in the room, the painting had a gothic or classic feel while highlighting the sheer look of bliss on the subject’s face.

Just like Kacey.

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