New York Billionaires Series

“Your voice. Your words. Come on, you don’t really want to know how I know, not as much as I want to know what you know.”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

“Spill!”

“All right, all right. So. Last night Victor and I attended the opening of New York’s new opera house.”

“Right. As you do.”

“As you do,” I say. “When you’re married to a St. Clair. And well… some things happened.”

Nadine is silent as the grave as I give her the whole seedy rundown of what took place, shortened to a few sentences. I make the scene on the console table in his hallway sound like a handshake, but by the time I’m done, my cheeks are still red. “Saying all that out loud… wow.”

“So what now? What do you want?”

I look at my dresses. Most are boring, the ones I’d worn a million times at the office. One is… decidedly not.

“I think for him, last night was about control. Having it, specifically. For whatever reason, he always has to be in control.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

I snort. “I like things to be organized. I don’t have to be in control.”

“Right, I won’t comment. Go on.”

“Well, I want him to lose it.” I run a hand over the silky fabric of the dress. “I’m going to try and seduce my husband, and I know just how to do it.”

I wait until we’re seated at the dinner table before I drop the bomb. Victor and I sit side-by-side, watching the two men approaching. Carter Kingsley talks to the media mogul he and Victor are here to woo. Me? I’m wooing my husband.

I lean in to murmur the words. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Victor’s jaw works. “Damn it, Myers.”

“This dress is pretty short, too.”

Flaming blue eyes bear into mine. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Am I? Or are you?”

He smiles, a barely there curl of his lips that sends heat through me. The first half of dinner is uneventful, except that Victor’s arm is draped behind my chair. Every time his hand brushes my shoulder, left bare from the strapless dress, my attention zeroes in on the small point of contact.

I wouldn’t have believed we’d be here six months ago. That I’d be sitting next to him at a fancy restaurant, and feeling less like a trophy wife, and more like a businesswoman.

Like someone who goes after what she wants. Someone who doesn’t care what her past, judgmental self would have thought about this arrangement.

“It’s a pleasure to have you here,” Carter says. He’s shot me speculative looks all evening, and more than once, I’ve seen him note Victor’s hand by my shoulder. “Married life seems to be treating you well.”

Mr. Simmons, owner of a national media conglomerate, looks up from his steak. “I heard something about that. Congratulations, you two. Where did you go on your honeymoon?”

“Oh, we haven’t, yet.” I put a hand on Victor’s chest, looking up at him. “Neither one of us has had a chance to get away from work. But we will.”

“We’re thinking Barbados,” Victor says. His gaze flicks down to my hand and the two rings glinting in the light. Am I overdoing it? But then his lip curls. “Have you been, Simmons?”

Small talk. He’s engaging in it, and the edge I’d noted in his voice earlier is gone now. We’re halfway through a discussion of the merits of the Caribbean when something on my leg makes me pause, fork halfway to mouth.

Victor’s hand beneath the table.

He slides my hem up, inch by inch, until his long fingers curl around my bare knee. “I heard you’ve branched into Spanish media as well,” he says to the men across from us.

My brain tries to focus on Simmon’s reply, but it’s more occupied with his fingers tracing patterns on the inside of my thigh. Thank God for fancy restaurants and long, linen tablecloths.

Victor keeps his hand there, leaning back against his chair with smooth professionalism on his face, as the rest of us finish up our food. And little by little his thumb inches upwards.

Abort mission, I think. Because he still looks like the cool, calm sculpture of control, while I’m the one burning with need. Memories of his fingers between my legs yesterday combine with the public aspect of today, and if he reaches the spot between my legs, he’ll feel just how much I want him.

I cover my mouth with a napkin and lean his way. “Victor…”

His thumb double-taps against my inner thigh. An acknowledgement, before it continues to smooth upwards.

“What about you?” Simmons asks me. “What did you do before you married St. Clair over here?”

The fingers pause, as if he wants to give me a chance to respond without distraction. I’m glad for it, launching into an explanation of my virtual assistant start-up. Simmons nods throughout.

At his side, Carter looks impressed. “This sounds brilliant,” he says. “You’d essentially be selling the solving of tasks and letting clients pay through a subscription. Victor, are you considering investing?”

“Potentially,” he responds, voice giving nothing away. “If she’d allow me, of course. It’s not something we’ve discussed yet.”

“It’s early days still,” I say.

Carter nods. “Of course, of course. But if he doesn’t want a piece of it, I might.” He gives a crooked, wolfish grin to Victor. “Don’t scowl. I’m always on the lookout for good companies to shepherd, new entrepreneurs to mentor.”Content is © by NôvelDrama.Org.

“I’m mentoring her,” Victor says.

I clear my throat. “Thank you, Carter. At the moment I’m not considering outside investment, but if I reach that stage, I’ll definitely bear it in mind.”

Victor’s hand tightens around my thigh at my words, and I close my legs in response.

A few seconds later I feel it. The soft, apologizing circle of his thumb. I open them again and his hand slides higher, only an inch away from where I need his fingers. One brush over my sensitive skin and I’d-

“Well, I have to get going,” Simmons says. “This has been lovely, gentlemen. Acture Capital has a lot to recommend it.”

Victor withdraws his hand. “The pleasure was ours.”

“It was,” Carter agrees. “I’ll call you this week. We can draw up a mock contract for your lawyers to read through as well, and at your own time. We want you to feel comfortable with the decision, regardless of which way you’re leaning.”

I smile and say my goodbyes, and then we all three watch as Simmons walks out of the restaurant.

“I should call it a night too,” Carter says, tossing his napkin on the table. “Unless you two are in the mood for clubbing?”