Page 88 of Dirty Damage

With the way my mother is blowing up my phone, it might be too late.

This over-the-top soirée is being held at her house on Jupiter Island, where most of Palm Beach’s elite are waiting for us. Making desperate social climbers cool their heels is one thing, but making my mother wait is courting disaster.

It’s just not worth the hassle.

Sutton is about to learn that lesson the hard way.

“Christ,” I mutter, checking my Rolex again.

I pace outside her door like a caged beast, resisting the urge to break it down. I might have done that already if I wasn’t worried about getting sidetracked and making us even later to our own party.

The memory of our last night together on my yacht haunts me—her curves drenched in moonlight, her breathy sighs carried away by the ocean breeze.

Five days of meetings in Russia haven’t dimmed the want.

If anything, being apart has only sharpened it to a deadly edge. It’s been five days of only the memory of her to keep me warm.

Then her door opens and all complaints die on my tongue.

Holy.

Fucking.

Hell.

The ivory halter dress I chose hugs every lush curve of her body. Strategic cutouts reveal teasing glimpses of side-boob that make my mouth water.

The woman at the boutique said this dress would be a good balance of “classy yet sexy.”

But as I look her up and down, it’ssexy, sexy, sexyon repeat in my head.

Her natural beauty puts the surgeon-crafted features of the socialites I’m familiar with to shame. She bites her bottom lip nervously, still playing innocent while her body is putting dangerous ideas in my head.

It’s like kryptonite.

I’m not supposed to actually want my contract bride. This is all for show.

But my jaw drops all on its own.

“Wow.”

A blush paints her cheeks as she smooths nervous hands down the dress. “Are you sure it looks alright?”

“You look perfect.”

In the dress, out of the dress—perfect either way.

“Is it too tight?” She tugs on the seam, straining the fabric across her chest in a way that makes me want to groan.

“It’s just tight enough.”

She looks down at herself with a sigh. “It took forever to squeeze into. The top— Well, I’m falling out the sides a bit. I’m not sure it’s supposed to fit like?—”

“It fits amazingly.” I don’t bother hiding my appreciation, my gaze sweeping over her again. “You’re going to kill them tonight, Sutton.”

She stands a bit taller, but the first step she takes in her strappy black stilettos has her stumbling into my chest.

“Shit. These things are death traps.”

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