Page 4 of Lavish
My hands were fists now.
“You have privilege, Miles,” I said. “That’s why you spend most of your time playing around town and partying. If I don’t get this—if I don’twin—then what was all this for? All the pretending. All the silence. All the blood I’ve swallowed just to be taken seriously. I just want to be remembered.”
He stared at me.
“You’re right, I won’t get King Enterprises. It will go to Erik. But I’m not going to be a housewife like Laurene, and I’m not gonna be lazy like Gigi. I know I’m meant for something bigger.”
I finally just picked out a black dress and pulled it up over my hips with shaking hands. But when I reached for the zipper, my fingers fumbled uselessly at the small of my back.
“My mind’s made up, Miles. King Developments first, then we’ll see.”
I stood there in silence for a beat, eyes shut, furious at myself for needing him in even the smallest way.
“It can’t happen any other way.”
Then I felt him behind me.
No words.
His mouth found my neck. Hot, soft, trailing down. I clenched my fists, trying to suppress the desperate urge to turn around and throw myself at him.
“I can’t win against your family,” he murmured against my skin, tongue flicking just beneath my ear. “I definitely can’t change your mind. I would never try to change you or invalidate your feelings, Sunny.”
“J-just let me finish my plan. Then…then we can tell them.” I gasped.
I felt his breath on my neck, his lips brushing once more across the place where my shoulder met my throat—featherlight, like he was memorizing it.
Then, finally, he pulled the zipper up. Slowly. Excruciatingly slowly. Each inch felt like a thread unraveling inside me, a slow, agonizing pull. I turned slowly to stare into his dark brown eyes.
With a gentle touch, my fingers cupped his cheek, his beard, coarse and dark, scratching against my palm. He was all golden-brown skin and sharp edges softened by a mess of tight curls that looked like they hadn’t been brushed, just pushed through with frustrated fingers. I traced the faint dusting of brown freckles across the bridge of his nose.
What did I do to be blessed by him?
I kissed him.
Slow. Firm. Deep.
I savored the sweetness of the wine on his tongue as it gently pressed against mine. His hand slid up, fingers grazing my spine, and I melted into the curve of his chest like I had a hundred times before. I fisted my hands in his suit jacket, pressing my body to him where there was no space.
With a breath, I released his lips and inhaled shakily, looking up at him.
“Handle your father.”
Untangling myself from Miles, I headed downstairs to rejoin the party.
I spotted Mama and Daddy at the far end of the room, whispering vehemently among themselves. It was only when I got close that I heard Mama hiss, “He’s on something, Vincent!”
I almost gasped as Omar Whitmore stumbled through the crowd, his champagne glass tilting dangerously in his loose grip.
That’s not drunk. I knowdrunk. Drunk is falling into a gardenia bush after too many martinis or flirting with someone’s husband.
What started off as a simple party was now becoming aJerry Springerepisode.
The day after the most beautiful night of my life. Of course everything went wrong.
“Relax, Vonnie. He’s fine,” Daddy said, but I could see he didn’t believe himself.
“This is not the first time. Look! He’s sweating like this is the Mississippi Delta! He’s falling over, and his eyes look blacked out like an alien,” Mama said. “He ain’t been right since his father died.”
