Chapter 8
I sat across from Colson, trying to focus on the schedule in front of me.
My first dinner party for some of his business associates and their wives loomed on the horizon, and the pressure for everything to be perfect weighed heavily on my shoulders.
This was the kind of event where a single misstep could haunt me for months.
"On Saturday, I have a coat drive for the homeless shelter in Asterdale," I said, glancing up to gauge his reaction.
Colson looked up from The Financial Times, his expression as unreadable as always. "That works out well. I have a golf game with Samuel Woodson. Have you thought about learning the game?" His tone was casual, but there was a subtle expectation beneath it.
“Sports? You have the wrong girl,” I replied, shaking my head with a small smile. The idea of me, golf clubs in hand, trying to navigate the manicured greens was laughable.
He reached across the table, his hand warm as it enveloped mine in a reassuring squeeze. “I think I have the right girl,” he said, his voice softening in that way that always seemed to chip away at my defenses.
I tried to resist the pull, to remember the coldness that lurked beneath his charm. But as always, I felt myself wavering. Despite everything he had done, Colson Ashworth still had a way of making me feel like I was the center of his universe—at least when he wanted to.
“We’ll need to plan an engagement party,” he continued, his tone shifting back to business. “Vaughn will be asking Serena for her hand in marriage the weekend after.”
I couldn’t hide the distaste that flickered across my face. Vaughn had been seeing Serena for a while, despite his obvious disdain for her. It was a match doomed to fail, and I knew Vaughn well enough to predict that he would stray as soon as the ink was dry on the marriage certificate.
Serena was a means to an end, nothing more—a pawn in the deal Colson and Bart Henderson had struck years ago. The two men had been roommates at Yale and had maintained a close friendship ever since.
“Colson, is it really necessary for him to marry her?” I asked, my voice laced with skepticism. “It seems so old-fashioned.”
He folded his newspaper with deliberate care and set it aside, his gaze locking onto mine. “Joey, you don’t understand the dynamics of the wealthy. Arranged marriages happen all the time. It’s not about love; it’s about alliances.”
I bit my lip, the irony of his statement not lost on me. My own marriage was a cold transaction, a contract I had signed with my eyes wide open. I had been chosen, not because of love, but because I fit a certain mold, met certain criteria.
“Was yours to Poppy?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, the curiosity gnawing at me too strong to ignore.
Colson shifted in his chair, a rare flicker of discomfort crossing his face. “I was not Poppy’s first choice,” he admitted, his voice tight. “Circumstances changed, and I was able to ask for her hand.”
I leaned forward, sensing I had stumbled upon something important. “Who was her first choice?”
His expression darkened instantly, the openness from moments before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “Josephine, this conversation is over,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.
I had struck a nerve, and it was clear he had no intention of discussing it further.
But the shadows in his eyes told me there was more to the story, something he didn’t want me to uncover.
It was one more mystery in the labyrinth that was Colson Ashworth’s past, and I intended to find out what he was hiding.
The bluebloods of Windmere Haven, with their love of gossip and secrets, would surely know the truth. Perhaps the cackle—the term I had started using for the women who fawned over me at every social event—would provide the clues I needed.
As I sat there, pretending to let the matter drop, I made a silent vow. I would find out what really happened, who Poppy’s first choice had been, and what role Colson had played in changing her fate. And when I did, I would use that knowledge to my advantage.
Friday afternoon, I stood outside Colson's office door, my heart racing as I tried to steady my breath. I wasn’t nervous about the report—I had double-checked every figure myself.
But there was something about being alone with him that always set my nerves on edge.
He had this way of looking at me, a mix of possession and desire, that made it impossible to think straight.
I knocked lightly, and his deep voice beckoned me inside. Colson was seated behind his imposing mahogany desk, his gaze focused on the documents spread before him. The room was steeped in the scent of his cologne, a mix of cedar and something darker that always sent a shiver down my spine.
“Josephine,” he greeted, his eyes lifting to meet mine. There was a spark in his gaze, one I’d come to recognize all too well.
“Colson,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. I walked over to the desk, placing the report in front of him. “I need you to double-check these figures. It’s important that everything is correct before I have the reports printed.”
He took the papers from my hand, but instead of looking at them, he set them aside. His eyes never left mine as he stood and rounded the desk, his movements slow and deliberate. The air between us thickened, the tension palpable.
“Is that all you need?” he asked, his voice low, almost a purr.
My breath hitched. I knew that tone, knew exactly what it meant. “Colson, the report?—”
He cut me off by closing the distance between us, his hands gripping my hips as he pulled me against him.
The heat of his body seeped into mine, making it impossible to think of anything else.
He tilted my chin up, forcing me to look into those intense, dark eyes that seemed to see right through me.
“Forget the report,” he murmured, his lips grazing the corner of my mouth.
Before I could respond, he captured my lips in a searing kiss, his tongue parting my lips with a hunger that took my breath away.
My hands found their way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as I tried to steady myself.
But the feel of his hard muscles beneath my fingers only made my pulse race faster.
“Colson,” I managed to gasp as he broke the kiss, his mouth moving to the sensitive spot just below my ear. “We shouldn’t…”
He silenced me with another kiss, this one more demanding, more insistent. His hands moved down my back, trailing fire in their wake, before they reached the hem of my dress. With a swift motion, he hiked it up over my hips, his fingers brushing against the lace of my thong.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he growled against my skin as he slipped his hand under the lace, his fingers teasing me. “Every time I see you, all I can think about is having you like this.”
My mind was spinning, a haze of desire clouding my thoughts. “Colson, please…”
But my protest was weak, a mere whisper. I didn’t want him to stop now that he got me going. We’d had sex in his office a few times, but I preferred not to since the walls were thin.
I felt the cool air against my skin as he tugged down my thong, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. The sound of his belt unbuckling sent a thrill of anticipation through me. My heart pounded in my chest, the only sound louder than my rapid breathing.
Then he was there, pressing against me, his breath hot against the back of my neck. He entered me with a single, powerful thrust, and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that left me breathless.
Colson gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he set a relentless pace. The desk creaked beneath us, the papers scattering as we moved together, our bodies in perfect sync. I could feel every inch of him, the way he filled me completely, the way he claimed me with each thrust.
“Josephine,” he groaned, his voice rough with desire. “You’re mine.”
His words sent a shiver down my spine, pushing me closer to the edge. I clawed at the desk, trying to hold on, but the intensity of the moment was too much. With a final, powerful thrust, he sent me spiraling into oblivion, my body trembling with release.
Colson followed moments later, his grip on me tightening as he buried himself deep inside me. For a moment, neither of us moved, the only sound in the room our ragged breathing.
Finally, he straightened, pulling out of me and adjusting his clothes as if nothing had happened. I remained bent over the desk, my body still humming from the aftershocks, trying to regain some sense of control.
When I finally stood and turned to face him, he was already back behind his desk, the report in hand, as if our passionate encounter had never taken place. He looked up at me, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Your figures look perfect,” he said, his tone all business again.
I pulled up my panties and smoothed down my dress, my cheeks flushing as I tried to compose myself. “Thank you,” I managed, my voice a little shaky.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes following me as I walked to the door. “Josephine,” he called out just as I reached for the handle.
I paused, looking back at him. “Yes?”
His gaze was intense, a promise of more to come. “Don’t forget who you belong to.”
I nodded, a mix of fear and desire twisting in my gut. I left the office without another word, my mind racing. Whatever game we were playing, I wasn’t sure if I was the hunter or the prey. But one thing was certain—Colson Ashworth had no intention of letting me go.
Colson walked through the door close to 11 p.m., the tension of his intense dinner meeting still etched on his face. As he loosened his tie, I placed the pad and pen I was using on the nightstand, trying to appear nonchalant.
“What have you been doing?” he asked, his voice gruff with exhaustion.
I tapped the pad lightly, offering a small smile. “Menu ideas for next week.”