Page 94 of Sinful Desires
“Nothing,” I said way too fast. “I just?…?really don’t feel like dealing with my father and hisexhausting little speeches.”
“Well, you know what they say—a good fuck a day keeps the breakdown away. Let me go find Jonathan for you,” she said, slipping her arm out of mine and taking a few steps ahead.
A low groan came from behind me—rough, faint, but very much real.
“Yeah, maybe. I just?…?want food. Likeimmediately. I’m starving. Literally dying.”
I didn’t wait for her answer. I grabbed her wrist and practically speed-walked us toward the dining table, where guests were already sipping overpriced wine and pretending to enjoy themselves.
My father gave us a nod as we walked in, and we sat just as the butlers started circling like vultures in white gloves, placing food on the table like it was the Last Supper.
I started talking to Victoria about where we should run away for our next summer vacation. My label hadgraciouslypostponed my tour, which they claimed was due to some dramatic “divergence” between shareholders and budget approvals.
Translation: The money men weren’t happy and blamed the setlist.
Whatever.
It was supposed to be a mini tour anyway, just a few cities, nothing wild. But apparently it was too expensive for something so “small scale.”Boo hoo.
Honestly, I didn’t really care.
Victoria popped a shrimp into her mouth, then leaned toward me with a smug little grin. “What did you do to LeRoy? He looks like he wants to murder someone. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bigger scowl on his face.”
I didn’t look up. Couldn’t. My cheeks were already burning, and I could feel his eyes on me.
“I may have broken his blender this morning,” I muttered, grabbing the closest champagne glass and draining half of it. “The noise was making me homicidal. He’s been pissed ever since.”A lie.
We hadn’t spoken since yesterday. Not properly.
There was so much I wanted to say. So much I wanted to ask. I had a thousand questions clawing at my throat.
I wanted every secret he kept. Every filthy little truth. I wanted to carve them into my brain and make them mine. I wanted to know if he felt it too—that pull. That sick, breathless ache that made it impossible to want anyone else.
This afternoon, before I could even drag myself out of bed, Victoria had barged into my room in her pajamas, ranting about her investor fling, the one with veneers. Apparently, he’d blocked her on every platform after she’d told him she wasn’t going on their date because he hadn’t booked the best restaurant in New York.
So now she was single, offended, and very much in denial.
And I was frustrated.
The kind of frustration that sat low in my stomach and pulsed behind my thighs. The man I needed to talk to stood on the other side of the room. Watching.
And I couldn’t do a fucking thing about it. Because he was my bodyguard.
Dinner passed in a blur of expensive wine, hollow compliments, and forced laughter. I smiled when I needed to. Laughed when expected. But the only thing I could feel was the weight of his stare on the side of my face.
Eventually, we moved to the ballroom. The pianist was already waiting, seated at the glossy-black baby grand. Theguests filed into the red velvet chairs, murmuring and sipping champagne.
I walked to the mic slowly, hips swaying. Not because I was nervous, but because I wanted him to watch.
My dress was a deep-red velvet, the same shade as my hair. Strapless. Tight. A slit high enough to flash the top of my thigh with every step. I’d chosen it for a reason. It was the kind of dress that made men stare and women whisper.
“Good evening, everyone.”
Applause. A few whistles.
My eyes found him instantly. He was standing at the back, leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable. Grey eyes burning.
The pianist played a soft, slow opening in low notes.
