Chapter 21
21
“Why are you’re such a good dancer?” I ask him, laughing. The band is upbeat and they insisted the whole crowd pile onto the dance floor as soon the bride and groom had finished their first dance.
“Boarding school. All well-rounded young men should be able to lead a woman around the dance floor.”
“Who says you’re leading? Your hands keep wandering,” I tell him.
“Of course they do. Look at you.” His hands are on my waist, holding me against his big, lean body. He leans close to my ear and growls, “You look so fucking gorgeous I could eat you.”
“Didn’t you…already…?” I whisper back, blushing.
The blue heat in his eyes is becoming familiar to me by now. “Don’t mention eating your perfect pussy to me, Jones,” he murmurs, “or I’ll have to drag you back to our room and ravage you again.”
I laugh again. It’s been a while since I laughed this much. My grumpy fake date is not only infuriating, he’s also surprisingly charming. He’s got a wry, filthy sense of humor and he insists on having his arm around me at all times. He’s funny and attentive, and I’m having more fun than I’ve had in a long time.
The ceremony was beautiful and so far the reception has gone without a hitch. Sour-faced and sporting another beige outfit or not, I have to give it to Margot. She plans a good wedding.
Huge, full-bloom bouquets of white peonies and roses fill the marquee. Floral notes mix with the sea breeze, giving the whole place a magical atmosphere. Crisp white linen tablecloths, gold silverware and green sea-glass candleholders add to the luxury and romance of the setting.
Alexander brushes his lips against mine.
He doesn’t need to do this. No one’s questioning whether the two of us are legit anymore, if they ever did, and Margot seems to have accepted defeat once and for all. She’s distracted, busy ordering her minions around. She’s hardly a blip on our radar at this point.
I think Alexander and I have both decided to just enjoy the rest of our weekend and lean in to…this. This connection. This wild attraction. This crazy intensity.
The touch of his tongue sends a zing of electric warmth down my spine, settling lower, centering in that secret place. I can still feel the soreness…from his punishing, spilling cock.
“I’d kiss you properly,” he says, his voice low, “but I have to give a speech soon and I don’t want to scare anyone away with my gigantic hard-on.”
A giggle escapes me. “I can say from experience that it is in fact very scary. I can still barely walk.” The playful banter comes so easily. I stand on my toes to whisper in his ear. “I guess in that case I shouldn’t mention that I’m not wearing any panties.”
He groans. “Fucking hell, Jones. Are you trying to kill me?”
I can’t help laughing at his pained expression.
The band plays a final chord and Margot steps up to tap on the microphone. “Please take your seats, wedding guests. We’ll now begin the speeches as our third course is served.”
She motions to Alexander. He’s on the schedule to give the first speech.
He escorts me back to our table and pulls out my chair for me. Then he tops up my champagne from the ice bucket next to our table. He kisses me again, maybe more lustily than the occasion calls for, until a few people whistle and cheer.
Then he buttons the jacket of his tux and heads for the stage.
I’m a long way from acting as I gaze up at him, as rapt as everyone else here by his larger-than-life stage presence.
My first impression of Alexander Maddox was that he’s a powerful man who’s serious and reserved in everyday life. I wouldn’t have guessed that in his own way, he might be described as—if not the life of the party—definitely the magnetic force of it. Everyone watches him and wants to get close to him. He’s so darkly glamorous, so outrageously good-looking and has that smug humor that only comes out to play when he’s relaxed. And I happen to know by now that hot sex takes the edge off his darker moods.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Alexander Maddox, Blake’s best man,” he begins.
Listening to him talk, I can see the part of him that’s the showman. The professional. The boss. The great leader.
His speech hits all the right notes. He tastefully compliments Leah and talks about how she’s added so much joy and love to Blake’s life. He adds a few funny anecdotes about the early days of his friendship with Blake that are genuinely funny.
Alexander’s speech is sincere and meaningful, and it gives a gravity to the whole event. It’s the kind of speech you actually listen to. With his dark good looks and his stormy allure, you can’t help but hang on his every word.
Turns out the grumpy billionaire is downright dreamy.
Stop falling for him this hard.
Alexander finishes the speech to loud applause. He goes over and shakes Blake’s hand and kisses Leah on the cheek.
And then he walks back to me, his eyes on mine. My breath catches.
Don’t you dare let your mind wander in crazy directions, girl, like the ones where you start to picture more than a weekend.
“Well done, Maddox,” I smile, congratulating myself on not sounding breathless.
“Thank you, Jones.” He sits and pulls me onto his lap. We fall into our rhythm, the one that started out as an act but has quickly evolved into an avalanche of feeling. I let my fingers weave through his thick hair because I want them to.
The rest of the speeches are given, some verging on awkward, others emotional and heartfelt. The food is outstanding, the champagne endlessly topped up. Blake and Leah cut the wedding cake. I’m high on sugar and Mo?t and the hard body of my suddenly not-so-fake date.
“You want to dance?” he drawls.
I nod and he pulls me onto the dance floor.
Alexander holds me close, his big hardness pressing against my stomach. I try to ignore the fact that I’m wet for him, that I’m not wearing panties and that something inside my heart feels light and airy, like the weight of the world isn’t quite so heavy in this sea-scented candlelit night.
I don’t know what will happen tomorrow or the day after. But tonight I allow myself to be just a little bit in love with Alexander Maddox.
“Leah and Blake seem so happy,” I say.
“I was there the night they met. Blake couldn’t take his eyes off her, from the very first time he saw her.” My hands instinctively curl around his neck, slowly and intimately. “I didn’t believe love at first sight was a real thing,” he adds, his gaze wolfish but also almost unsettlingly sincere. “Now I know better.”
I smile at his joke, but my throat feels tight.
One of the other groomsmen hovers near us for a few seconds like he’s thinking about breaking in for a dance, but Alexander turns us so his back is to the man, who eventually wanders off.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. I feel so safe with him, so protected. Some buried, primitive instinct in me loves this. It’s a feeling a girl could get used to.
I don’t need a man, of course I don’t. I’ve never had one and we’ve managed just fine. I’m a capable, empowered, modern woman. But I haven’t spent a lot of my life feeling safe, and in this moment I can admit it’s wildly comforting.
I stare into his eyes, my body molten with his effect.
Alexander’s thumb brushes over my bottom lip. His kiss is gentle at first, but as his hands wander over my body, he presses harder against me, devouring my mouth. Our tongues tangle and slide. I can feel his cock pushing against me, thick and hard between us.
“I never thought I’d see the day our Alexander would fall so hard,” laughs Leah, and we break the kiss. She and Blake are dancing nearby, sort of drunkenly and very in love.
“Who can blame the man?” Blake laughs and Leah swats him playfully before they disappear back into the crowd.
“Come on,” Alexander says, taking me by the hand. “Let’s get out of here. It’s getting late.”
The party is really underway now. We’re not even halfway back to our table when I feel someone’s hand on my arm.
“Could I have this dance, Miss Laine?” a man asks.
Alexander and I both turn, and Alexander eyes the man aggressively. His eyes go dark and his whole body tenses. “Not a chance, buddy.”
The man isn’t smiling. He’s also not wearing the typical wedding outfit. It looks more like a business suit, like he stopped by after a long day at the office. He reaches into his jacket pocket and angles an ID card toward us. He does this discretely. “My name is Jack Dempsey. I’m a private investigator, hired by your father to investigate a recent incident. May I speak to you in private, Miss Laine?”
My stomach drops, like I’ve just hit the summit of a roller coaster and now we’re plummeting straight down.
Shit shit shit.
Alexander’s grip tightens. To the man, he hisses, “What’s this about?”
“I’m afraid I can't discuss the details here, sir. It’s a confidential matter.” Mr. Dempsey turns to me. “Miss Laine, if you could accompany me to a quieter spot, I can explain to you what your father is intending to do about the incident. He takes this very seriously and so should you.”
Of course I’m interested in hearing what the man has to say, but I’m unnerved by the fact that he’s followed me here to the Hamptons. It’s creepy that he would even know where I was.
I shouldn’t allow Alexander to overhear this conversation. But at the same time, I don’t want to be alone with this man. I make a split-second decision I’ll probably regret. “I’ll come with you. My…boyfriend will stay with me.”
It’s a ridiculous way to describe Alexander Maddox, who’s about as alpha as a man can get, but fuck it. Even if I told him to leave me alone with Jack Dempsey, I know he wouldn’t. And I don’t want to argue with him about it right now. I also wouldn’t mind his strong, comforting presence as I contemplate jail time.
We follow the private investigator toward a deserted seating area down by the water. To someone watching, we might look like we’re admiring the view.
Alexander’s palm settles in the small of my back.
I stare out at the water and try to steady my voice so I don’t sound…well, guilty as fuck. “What did you want to discuss, Mr. Dempsey? And couldn’t it have waited until Monday?”
“Your father is somewhat impatient about the matter,” Mr. Dempsey replies. “Plain and simple, Miss Laine, he wants his money back. It’s gone from his account and no one else has his banking information. Only you, which you accessed after breaking into his house.”
Damn it, Josh! You said you’d put it back! “I didn’t break into his house.”
“According to his security cameras, you did. You also took a photo of the bank statement in question. And emailed it to your brother—who, incidentally, is currently in Fort Lauderdale spending up large. I have all the paper trails, Miss Laine. And enough evidence to present to the police in what would likely be a fairly open and shut case.”
My mind is spinning with visions of my brother being dragged away in an orange jumpsuit. Goodbye, Columbia. I don’t know whether to admit to Mr. Dempsey that he’s right or continue pretending we’re innocent.
I take a deep breath, using my meditation muscle memory to calm myself. To let the worst of the stress bounce off my inner forcefield. It barely helps. “Mr. Dempsey, my brother has a job and has saved some money. I also give him spending money. He’s a seventeen-year-old on Spring Break, of course he’s living it up. As for the security camera footage, I went to visit my father, gave him plenty of warning and assumed his door was unlocked because he was expecting me. I went into his office to leave him a note. The only photo I took was of my two other younger brothers, who I’ve never actually met.” It’s a lie and Mr. Dempsey knows it.
“Lying will only extend your jail time, Miss Laine, especially if you do it under oath, which is a situation you’ll soon find yourself in if your father decides to pursue this prosecution. He was hoping that could be avoided. If the money is returned in full by Tuesday at five p.m., he’s agreed to drop this whole thing. If not, he intends to prosecute to the full extent of the law.”
Fuck fuck fuck.
Alexander has been quiet until now. “Mr. Dempsey,” he says, slowly, like we’ve got all the time in the world. “Even if Miss Laine happened to see a bank statement, if Ivy and Josh’s names aren’t on the account, they couldn’t possibly have withdrawn the funds.”
Mr. Dempsey stares steadily at Alexander. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Maddox. Alexander Maddox.”
It’s easy to see that Mr. Dempsey has heard of him. He straightens his tie and adjusts his tone. Then he offers his hand and Alexander briefly shakes it. “Mr. Maddox, are you aware that Miss Laine’s brother Josh is an experienced hacker? Who has successfully—and very illegally—hacked into at least one complex operating system before, barely escaping juvenile detention? A Bahamas bank account would have been a test of any hacker’s expertise, but the boy clearly has skills. He’s also created an incredibly realistic-looking fake ID, which he’s currently using to bar hop his way through Fort Lauderdale. Another detail we’ll be presenting to the police if that becomes necessary. Miss Laine, what did you say your brother is going to be studying at Columbia this fall?”
“Um…computer science,” I admit.
Alexander almost looks impressed. “We appreciate your time, Mr. Dempsey, and we’ll take all of that into consideration as Ivy and Josh consult their lawyers. If you’d like to leave your card with us, we’ll contact you at our earliest convenience and let you know how we’d like to proceed. We’ll be in touch before five p.m. on Tuesday.”
We.
It’s a good answer. He’s using his CEO’s voice. And it gets Mr. Dempsey’s attention. “Very well.”
“Are we done here, then?” Alexander asks.
“Uh…yes.” Mr. Dempsey hands Alexander his card. “We’ll hear from you by Tuesday, then.”
“You will.”
“Enjoy your night, Mr. Maddox,” Mr. Dempsey says, nodding to me, “Miss Laine.” With that, he walks off into the night.
My champagne high is completely gone.
I lean against the railing, letting my face drop into my hands. Oh, Josh.
Alexander comes up behind me, stroking my hair away from my neck, his fingers settling on my shoulders. “You’re okay, sweetheart. Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out. I’ve got you.”
Here he goes again with the I’ve got you. I turn to face him. “Thank you for buying me some time. But I don’t actually have a lawyer. So I’m going to?—”
“Luckily for you, baby girl, I do. A whole fucking brigade of them.”
I begin to push past him. “Since there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that I can afford your brigade?—”
“Ivy.” He snakes his brawny arm around my waist.
I look up at his outrageously handsome face and I can’t help it: I burst into tears. I really try not to, but it’s no use. I’m not good at confrontation and I’m definitely not good at being questioned by a private investigator who’s followed me here like some kind of stalker.
How the hell did I get myself into this mess? I’m lying to a guy my dad hired to chase after me, I’m lying about being in a relationship with Alexander Maddox, and I’m lying to the whole world about how glamorous my life is. Lies, lies, lies.
It suddenly all feels heavier than I can bear.
Alexander wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. It’s so tender, so disarmingly sincere that it causes more tears to stream down my face.
“Hey,” he croons. “We’ll work it out. You’re okay. Everything will be fine. You’ve got me now.”
It feels more like a spear to the heart than a reassurance. I’ve literally known this man for a day. Yes, it feels like we’ve fast-tracked this whole thing. We clicked, or whatever you want to call it. Our souls meshed from that very first moment and have continued to entwine with every glance, every smile—and every fucking orgasm. But that doesn’t make him my prince in shining armor.
He can’t just make promises like that. It’s not fair.
I wriggle from his embrace. “I need to go back to the room.”
His arm is still around me, supporting me. And we don’t have far to go. When we get back to our suite, Alexander faces me, holding my shoulders with strong hands. “I’m going to go out to the patio and make a couple of phone calls. You get ready for bed and I’ll be back in a minute.”
I wipe my tears.
I get ready for bed, searching through my bag and finding the other nightie Cleo packed for me, a pink cotton babydoll number that once again barely covers me. I slide under the cool sheet and the plush duvet and force myself to think only about the extreme comfort levels of this bed.
It doesn’t work.
We’ll figure it out. Josh will have returned the money by the time he gets back. He promised.
I’m so comfortable I’ve almost drifted off when I feel Alexander’s warm weight settle in next to me. He feels so good, instinctively, I curl up against him. His arms wrap around me.
“Is it true?” His voice is deep, lightly graveled. Not accusing, just curious. When I don’t reply right away, he says, “You can trust me, Jones.”
I don’t know if it’s his top-shelf pheromones, which seem to be pulling all the little strands of my DNA toward him, like flowers seeking sun. Or if maybe it’s just nice to hear the sincerity in his voice when he says the word trust. It’s so new, this soothing, comforting effect he has on me, like he’s carrying some of the weight of my burden.
And so I end up telling him everything. I tell him about what an asshat my father is and how I was trying to reach out to him one last time. I tell him about how Josh has struggled with feelings of abandonment but has still managed to rise above it and get himself into Columbia, and what a huge accomplishment that feels like. How he’s a good kid. I tell him about losing our mother and feeling so alone with all the responsibility of keeping both of us on track, I sometimes felt like I was drowning. I tell him about how I don’t love putting all the details of my life on Instagram, but how, the more I shared, the more money I made. And about how it was the best feeling in the world and one of the best days of my life when I was able to buy us the loft in Soho.
Alexander listens to all of it, asking questions here and there. He gently coaxes every secret, every emotion and every lie, explained, out of me, until I’m sobbing in his arms. But as my tears start to ease I find that I feel lighter. So much lighter, like he’s taken some of the existential weight I’ve been carrying and offered to carry it himself.
“God,” I exhale a sigh of relief or maybe regret. “I’m sorry. Now you know everything about me. And here you thought your fake date would make your life easier, and not bore you to tears with my pathetic backstory.”
“It’s not pathetic,” he says. “It’s heroic.”
It might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. And it helps. I look up into his eyes and I make a wish. I’m scarred, but in this moment, he feels like a beautiful, magical gift.
I wish he was mine. I wish I could keep him.
I reach up to touch his face. I softly kiss his lips. “Thank you for listening, Maddox.”
“Thank you for trusting me, Jones.”
With the change in my position, it’s then that I notice the massive, hot bulk of him, resting thickly between us.
“Ignore it,” he says.
But I don’t want to ignore it. I want to feel him.
I want to taste him.
Tentatively, I smooth my fingers across the dragon inked to his chest. “Why a dragon?”
He doesn’t answer right away, but then he finally says, “To remind myself that I’m invincible. In the boardroom or when it comes to a deal or a negotiation I can’t lose. And it would have pissed my father off to no end. He never knew about it.”
So we both had fathers who let us down in ways that have affected us deeply.
I run my fingers over the tight grooves of his six pack.
He gives me time to explore him, to run my fingers over the textures of his body.
Slowly, I let my hand ease around his thick length, rubbing my palm across the silky bulk. A small gush of liquid seeps out the end.
Alexander groans.
A primal wash of longing floods through me.
“Can I kiss you?” I whisper. I feel loose and reckless after my emotional gush. I feel greedy and so desperate for him I can’t get close enough.
His eyes are hot and lust-drowsed. “You’re tired. You’ve had a scare.”
That’s part of the reason why I want to explore him. What if I never get another chance? What if my life comes to a screeching halt next week when my father presses charges? Right now, I want to live. “I want to taste you, Alex. Can I? Please?”
“You can do any damn thing you want, angel girl.”
I slide both my palms gently along his slick, solid length. I finger the ridge of the crown. I swirl the bead of moisture that’s leaking there and touch my finger to my tongue.
Alexander is watching me. “Fuck, honey. You get me so fucking hot.”
I can see that what I’m doing to him is almost painfully pleasurable for him. I squeeze him gently, tightening my grip.
I hardly recognize myself. I’m thirsty for him.
So I do it. I lean forward and touch my tongue to him, licking lightly.
His head falls back and he growls some filthy words. So I lick him again. I put my lips around the broad end and take him deeper, sucking on him carefully.
He groans like his heart is breaking.
I love that this big, powerful CEO is at my mercy. He’s mine.
It doesn’t take long. His cock starts to jerk. Milky liquid jets into my mouth in hot bursts. I drink some but there’s too much. It spills down my chin.
It’s the most powerful feeling in the world. Me, drinking his seed, holding him as it pulses out of him. A sticky bond that’s a part of us now.
He pulls me up to him and I’m lying on top of him. He wipes my mouth gently with his thumb. His eyes are lust-drowsed and awestruck. “Ivy, baby,” he whispers. “Mine.”
Right now I can only agree.