Page 63 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

“I’ve had practice,” I reply, spinning her effortlessly.

Her fingers tighten slightly in mine. “You should come around the estate more often.”

I chuckle. “I have an empire to run too. I can’t abandon it for a pretty face.”

She preens at that, her ego stroked just enough.

I let my gaze drift subtly toward Damien and Vincent’s father. The conversation looks tense. Good.

“Your husband doesn’t seem to mind you dancing with a younger guy,” I comment, watching her reaction.

She rolls her eyes. “He knows no matter how far I stray that I am coming back home.”

I smile like I don’t want to rip her husband’s throat out. “That’s a shame. If you were mine, I’d never let you out of my sight, let alone let you stray.”

It’s a lie, of course. I just need her to think I want to fuck her to lure her upstairs along with her husband as a threat.

“Well some people don’t know what they have,” her hand roams down my chest. “You don’t have that problem, do you?”

I glance over her shoulder, my eyes meeting Damien’s for half a second. He’s leading Richard Beaumont toward the elevators, their conversation looking casual to anyone watching.Perfect.

Leaning in, I let my breath tickle the shell of her ear. “No, beautiful,” I murmur, my voice a smooth hum. “I know exactly what I have—and exactly how to take care of it.”

Her fingers trail lower, nails scraping lightly over the fabric of my tuxedo. She’s testing me, trying to gauge how far I’ll let her go. I catch her wrist right before she gets to the waist of my slacks, and press her hand flat against my chest. “Not here,” I say, voice teasing. “Unless you want to put on a show.”

She smirks, her lips painted the same shade as danger. “Where, then?”

I stroke the back of Angie’s hand with my thumb, my expression all heat and promise. “Upstairs.”

She tilts her head, considering. I can see it in her eyes—the calculation, the thrill, the temptation.

Then she smiles. “Lead the way.”

I keep my touch light as I guide her toward the elevators, my palm resting on the small of her back. It’s just enough contact to keep her hooked, to make her feel like she’s the one in control. Meanwhile, Damien and Richard disappear behind the elevator doors, the numbers ticking higher.

Angie and I step into the next available car. The doors slide shut, and we’re alone.

She leans in, her lips inches from mine, her perfume thick in the air. “You always take other men’s wives to hotel rooms, or am I special?”

I grin, caging her in against the mirrored wall. “Very special,” I say, dragging the words out like a promise.

She hums, satisfied, as the elevator glides up to the top floors. When the doors open, I take her hand, leading her down the hallway. My steps are measured, controlled, though my pulse thrums in anticipation.

I stop in front of the door and slide the key card through the reader. The light flickers green.

Angie steps inside first, expecting candlelight, silk sheets, and my hands all over her body.

Instead, she freezes.

Her husband is seated in the middle of the room, wrists and ankles bound to a chair, his mouth stuffed with a neatly folded pocket square. His eyes go wide when he sees her, veins straining against his temple as he struggles.

Angie’s sharp intake of breath is the only sound in the room.

I step in behind her and shut the door with a soft click.

“What the fuck—” She whirls on me, but I’m already moving. One hand slides around her throat, not tight, just firm enough to remind her who’s in control.

“I was hoping you’d join us,” I murmur against her ear. “It wouldn’t be as fun without you.”

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