Page 75 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
24
Sin
"You did what?" Saint looks up from pouring the hundred—or was it two-hundred-year-old?—whiskey from the bottle. Some of the amber liquid splashes onto his tie.
It’s a red color today. For fuck’s sake, you’d think the man was all dressed up for his wedding. Oh, wait, that’s what we were discussing. Only it isn’t his nuptials, it’s mine.
"Yeah." I drag my fingers through my hair. The strands are long enough to brush my collar, the longest I’ve worn them. I need to cut it, but when she’d run her fingers through it, the sensations had been pleasant—okay, more than pleasant.
I’d loved that she’d dug her fingers in and held on as I’d brought her to orgasm… Wait. What? Now I am changing my look, and because it reminds me of how she came all over my fingers, as the sugary scent of her arousal teased my nostrils and I plunged my tongue between her lips and tasted of her, from her, drawn on that honeyed essence of hers—fuck. My dick is instantly erect. Clearly, it didn’t get the memo this is all a pretense. I march to the phone on my desk, scoop it up.
"Meredith? Can you fix an appointment with my barber? Yeah, tonight after work is good." I pause. "No wait, have him come to my residence." One of the perks of being a gazillionaire? You can get the service to come to you, whenever you want. What? It’s true.
"Your mind is wandering, asshole."
Saint places the bottle on the counter with a thump.
"Your aim is off the mark, you knobhead."
"Huh?"
I jerk my chin at his tie.
He glances down, shrugs. Then pulls off the tie, and drops it into the wastepaper basket.
"Why do you bother with those things?"
"It has its uses." He picks up the glass. "And that particular brand, withstands a lot of wear and tear."
"Spare me the details of your kinky tastes." Not that I am not aware of them. My PI keeps me informed about the proclivities of the others in our little ‘happy family.’ Which is how I am aware of the particular club that he likes to frequent. So do I, on occasion, except I ensure never to cross paths with him. Some things need to be kept hidden, capisce? "Your personal life is none of my concern."
"But you went and made yours of interest to all of us."
I glare at him. He’s right though; dipshit states the obvious every fucking time.
"Marriage?" He brings the glass to his lips and drinks from it. "Really? What were you thinking?"
With my dick, obviously.
He takes another healthy swig, then gestures at me, "You are attracted to her, I get it. She’s hot… in a certain fashion." He lowers his chin, "So shag her, you twat, get it out of your system, but, marriage?"
Anger curls in my guts.
"Don’t talk about her that way."
"Oh?" His shoulders go solid. "Do I detect a trace of sentimentally in your rather boring facade?"
"Bugger off."
"Very original." He raises the glass at me, then knocks it back. "So, tell me then, what were you thinking?"
Yeah, I will, as soon as I sort things out in my head. I clench my fists at my side, then stalk to the window and stare at the square outside. A couple kissing in one corner of the space. A little girl runs after a dog, her mother calling out to her. That’s the thing about London.
Every damn building faces a green space, a park, a patch of woods. Enough for families to thrive and prosper. Well boo-fucking-hoo. That was never part of my plan. No family… or any of that emo shit for me. So then… Why did I do it?
I had reacted on instinct when I had made that statement, had been thinking on my feet. Although, if I’m being honest—Ha! Why start now?—I’d known I might need to escalate things to ensure the bastard takes the bait. Plus, I kind of like the idea... The fuck am I thinking?
"Sleeping with her wouldn’t have been enough." Not that I hadn’t come close to that. And for the life of me, I don’t know why I didn’t just do it.
