The minute I step into the lobby of the Swan on Friday night—after another week at the boutique, surreptitiously checking in on Rainflower Blue in between choosing some new winter items and chatting with Natalie—Jess comes flying up to me, hooking her arm through mine and chatting a mile a minute as she leads me to the same table we were seated at last week.
“You’re finally here! I’ve been waiting for you to get here—Alec got here before me, so he’s already at the table….”
I nod at all the right times, but my focus is really on the room—on the rumors circulating about.
There’s been a little buzz on the site about Ace Kingsley, but everybody’s being pretty cagey about the reason for all the excitement. It can’t be that he’s rich. Every site member is ultra-wealthy or wealthy by association—I know, because I leak information about it very, very carefully. You have to separate the wheat from the chaff on sites like these.
I checked my ad revenue before I left to come to the Swan, and not for the first time my stomach tightened. Most days, I don’t have any qualms about profiting off of my acquaintances’ gossip. In fact, it’s practically a public service. I do my best to prove or disprove the heaviest and juiciest rumors using my admin account, username Magnolia.
I do it so other women don’t have to suffer, wondering, like I did—and I only touch the rumors that matter.
It’s a fine line, obviously. There’s almost never 100 percent proof of someone’s guilt or innocence when it comes to cheating or other harmful activities, which is the kind of rumor that sets my alarm bells off…and brings in visitors to the site faster than you can say boo.
There’s a strange intensity to the energy in the Swan’s main dining room tonight, even more vocal, more pronounced than last Friday. Heads are turning, trying to be discreet and failing, and I follow their eyes….
Directly to the table we’re heading towards.
He’s sitting next to Eli Pierce.
My stomach drops straight into my toes, and my nerves light up on fire at the sight of him.
Broad shoulders sheathed in a perfectly tailored suit; gray eyes that cut across the space separating us, locking on mine; a chin that could cut diamonds. He leans to the left, eyes never once leaving mine, and my eyes trace the line of the muscled arms hidden beneath the fabric of his dark suit.
The sound of the chatter, of silverware clinking against plates, of the band, fades out like I’m underwater.
My breath catches in my throat.
Holy shit.
Who is this man, and what do I have to do to go home with him?
It’s been too long since I last enjoyed myself with a man, and I want this one. Him. Who is he? Who is he?
The noise of the room crashes in again like thunder, and I blink once, twice, finally focusing on Eli’s face. “…remember Ace Kingsley, Carolyn? This other lovely lady is Alec’s wife, Queen Jessica.”
Jess laughs. “You don’t have to call me that in this company.” She slips gracefully into an empty seat. “It’s been a long time, Ace. How were things for you after school?”
“Mostly good. Some shit.” He shrugs, but his eyes are still latched on me. He hasn’t looked at Jess once. Then his face breaks into a smile that makes the space between my legs pulse with heated desire. “It’s a life.”
Jess nods sagely, then looks over her shoulder at me. “You don’t have to stand on my account, Carrie.”
I give her a light slap on the shoulder, then sit down in the empty seat to her left.
Something in my chest is quaking, trembling. I want to reach across the table and run a finger down the sharp lines of Ace’s jaw. I want to unbutton every button on his jacket and strip it off, then repeat the process with his shirt until there’s no fabric left between us. Even fully clothed, he’s sporting a killer body.
Get a grip, Carolyn. The waiter comes by to fill my water glass, and I raise it to my lips, sipping slowly. I tear my eyes away from Ace as Eli starts a conversation with Jess about signing autographs and how many pictures she has to take every day with the babies of Saintland. The words go in one ear and out the other, muted by the buzzing in my mind.
What’s the story with Ace Kingsley? I’m dying to know, and it’s not all because of Rainflower Blue.
No wonder every woman in the room is sneaking looks over her shoulder at our table. He radiates confidence and sex, and I want it.
I flick my eyes back to him for a split second—and those piercing grays are still watching me, though his hand is wrapped absently around a glass of champagne.
There’s an empty seat to his right, and a battle rages in my mind.
If I find out tonight what the big story is, then I’m going to profit off of him—there’s no question about that. If my site is where the discussion happens then at least I have some measure of control. I could protect him—though he doesn’t look like the kind of man who needs protecting—or I could protect other unnamed innocents who might want to know that he’s back on the prowl in New York City.
My stomach turns over.
What the hell is wrong with you?
Why is this desire for him sweeping over me like a tidal wave? Why is it making it hard to think, much less decide anything?