By the boys, he means the entire football team, and I barely hold myself back from fist pumping. “We’ll look forward to making future arrangements with you soon.”
“Thank you, Ms. Kilgore.”
I step away from him and tense as vibrations rip through my body.
Lachlan and I nearly went to war over the fact that he wanted to completely take over security for the event. I disagreed, because Seven Sinners is my baby.
“Considering the fact that I’d like you to be having my baby, I have a right to keep you safe.”
“You better not start this now. I’m not even pregnant.”
“I’ll start whenever I want. You’re my wife.”
Our argument escalated to bellowing in our suite, and ended with us tearing off each other’s clothes in a frenzy, which is pretty much how all our arguments end.
In the aftermath, with the sheets tangled around us, Lachlan proposed a compromise. My security would be supplemented as necessary by his, but he wouldn’t take control.
I agreed.
But when I stepped into the living room tonight in my ball gown, he was waiting in his perfectly tailored suit, holding a familiar-looking leather box. When he flipped the lid open, a black-and-gold toy lay inside, looking innocent, even though I knew it was far from it.
“You can put it in, or I will. But you’re not leaving without it.”
“This is a business event, Lachlan.”
“Tick tock, Keira.” He looked down at his watch. “You have fifteen minutes before we’re supposed to leave.”
I growled, a habit I picked up from him, and countered. “Only if you get on your knees first.” I lifted one stiletto-clad foot to the chair and pulled up the full skirt of my gown so he could see the sparkling thong beneath it.
His dark gaze flashed. “Only for you. Gladly for you.”
“Damn right.”
Fast-forward three hours, and I’m dying for him to drag me off into a corner so I can beg him to f*ck me—but first I have to find him in this sea of giants wearing Mardi Gras masks to match their flashy tailored suits.
I nod and smile, thankful that my face is obscured so no one sees my almost O face, and spend the next half hour looking for him as he torments me relentlessly.
Where the hell did he go? I’m going to kill him when I find him.
V is stationed near the elevator, wearing a mask. He asked for this post so he could keep an eye on the kitchen and Odile. I’m not sure what’s happening there, but he’s become protective of her. Mostly, I’m just happy to see that he’s capable of smiling, especially since I’ve never heard him speak again.
“Where the hell is my husband?” I whisper in his ear.
He points down.
“My office?”
V nods.
That tricky son of a bitch.
I take the elevator down, but it stops on the first floor before I hit the basement.
At the front desk, Temperance is arguing with a tall, built man in a suit, explaining our no-return-of-keys policy.
“You got this?” I call to her, holding the elevator doors open.
She turns to look at me as the man glares down at her. “Of course, boss. He plays games for a living. Definitely nothing I can’t handle.”
The man’s nostrils flare, and I consider stepping out of the elevator to defuse the situation, but the toy inside me buzzes to life again. I grip the metal bar on the elevator wall to stay upright.
I remind myself that Z is outside as well. She’ll be fine, I tell myself. What’s the worst that could happen?
I hit the Door Close button and tap my foot in anticipation as they slide shut and the elevator descends to the basement.
As I approach my office, I hear footsteps coming from inside, and I’m brought back to the second night Lachlan Mount changed my life. I yank my door open and peer inside at the dim light pooling on my desk.
“What do you want?” I whisper. “Why are you here?”
He rises to his feet, those wide fingers refastening the button on his suit, his face hidden in the shadows.
“You owe me a debt, Mrs. Mount, and I’m here to collect.”
The End
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Sneak Peak of Savage Prince
Chapter One
Preorder Savage Prince by clicking here so it’ll land on your device when it releases on March 27, 2018!
Temperance
Why is he wearing a mask?
Instinctively, I take a step back as the heavy door swings wide, revealing the rest of the doorman’s tall body and the other half of the ornate red-and-black leather mask obscuring his face.
It’s not Mardi Gras season any more, and this antebellum mansion is dozens of miles away from Bourbon Street, where spirits are high and revelry is in full swing, no matter the time of year.
Louisiana, you’re beautiful, but you’re also creepy as hell at night sometimes.
The doorman gestures for me to enter, and I hesitate on the threshold for one final beat, clutching my bag to my side before stepping through the archway. He closes the massive wooden door behind me with a decisive thud and throws a long bolt.
I’m locked in. What did I get myself into?
Chills skate over my skin, and my blazer does little to stop the shiver working through me.
This is not a haunted house. Or a dungeon. It’s a potential customer. I tell my overactive imagination to calm down but blood pounds in my ears, competing with the visceral beat of the bass coming from somewhere inside.
The sprawling plantation house reminds me of something out of a movie, especially with its massive trees dangling their moss over the banks of the bayou. Mansions and their expensive everything make me more nervous than the gators lurking in that murky water.
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