“My parents would disown me if they saw me dressed this way.”
“And what’s wrong with the way you’re dressed?” I lean back, using this as an excuse to openly peruse her body. She’s got an amazing build. Her round, high tits press into the purple knit material of her dainty top and her narrow hips and long legs are only hinted at in the thin, flowing black skirt with slits all the way up the sides. It would be so, so easy to push that fabric up, to press my lips to the top of her thigh . . .
My cock jumps eagerly.
Jesus! I have to quit thinking about that shit at the dinner table.
“This isn’t appropriate for an O’Neal,” she says mockingly in a deep, chastising voice, her eyes cast down as she looks into the bottom of her wineglass.
“Ohhh, I see. So, for you, dressing like a regular person is letting go?”
She shrugs. “Sort of.”
“Not much of a rebel, are you?” I tease.
“Until now? No.”
“And what makes you a rebel now, besides the clothes? And having dinner with an incorrigible rake?”
She grins and it brings out a dimple right near her mouth. Makes me want to stick my tongue in it. “An incorrigible rake? An incorrigible rake? Do you read historical romances or something?”
“Maybe one or two.”
“Are you joking?”
“Why so shocked? What better way for a guy to become acquainted with the thoughts and desires of a woman? Especially when said guy is a horny teenager. With a mom who has a stockpile of those paperbacks.”
“So that’s your trick?”
“No trick.”
“You think it worked?”
“I could say you tell me, but a decent man would never say such a thing, now would he?”
“Oh, surely not,” she replies, the edges of her lips twitching.
I smile. Damn, she’s fun.
I clear my throat and try to redirect my mind from its current dissection of what it would be like to undress her right now, lay her up on the table and devour every inch of her creamy flesh. “So, beautiful, rebellious Weatherly, how long will you be staying with us?”
“As long as it takes.”
Fun and interesting. “As long as it takes for what?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I would, actually. Very much.”
“And why is that? Why so interested?”
“Because you interest me. A lot.”
“Why?”
“Because you ask a lot of questions.”
“Is that all?”
“Oh, God no! Everything about you interests me.”
“But you hardly know me. In fact, you don’t know me.”
“But I want to.”
She nods slowly, her violet eyes never leaving mine. I can all but see the wheels of her mind spinning.
“You’re running from something. Care to tell me what that is?”
Shock. That’s what’s written all over her face. Good old-fashioned shock. “Wh-what makes you say that?”
“I’ve run from things before. I know the look.”
“Well, you . . . I . . . It’s not . . .”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell me what it is rather than trying to make up excuses? You know you want to.”
“I most certainly do not!” she denies vehemently, but I can also see on her face that she very much does.
“Liar.”
“I am not. I—”
“Sometimes a perfect stranger can be a great sounding board. No attachments. No judgments. Nothing to fear. Just someone to listen. And maybe even help.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing you could do to help me.”
“You’d be surprised by what I’m capable of,” I tell her, deadpan. And she would. I’ve killed, I’ve stolen, I’ve pillaged and plundered. Well, sort of. But I’ve also saved and sacrificed, confessed and surrendered.
She starts to say something, her exquisite lips parting and then slowly closing again. “It’s my father. He wants me to marry someone who’s not of my choosing.”
“A business connection, I presume?”
She nods once. She’s looking down at her fork where she turns it up on its side and then rolls it to the other. Back and forth, back and forth. “He’s a nice man, but I never wanted to marry someone for reasons other than love.”
“Then don’t.”
“It’s not that simple. My father . . .” Her sigh is deep and mournful. “I run a charity that’s very important to me. A children’s charity. To provide the hungry with food. He doesn’t want to invest more money into it, but I do. I was going to invest some of my money once my trust fund matures when I turn twenty-five in a few months, but he’s going to revoke the trust if I don’t marry Michael before then.”
In most of modern society, that shit doesn’t happen anymore. But in Weatherly’s circles, and with men like William O’Neal? Who the hell knows what goes on?
“Why the rush? Why now?”
“Another company has been trying to get my father to sell a considerable amount of his holdings at less than market value because the stock has dropped. There have been some . . . financial problems in the last couple of years. But he doesn’t want to sell. Now the other company is moving into a hostile takeover and this is my father’s only way out. Michael is his only way out, or so he thinks.”