Chapter 28
EDGE
RHODES
The wedding planner’s name was Genevieve, and she was relentlessly cheerful in a way I found exhausting.
“Now, the ceremony,” she said, clicking her pen with great purpose. She sat across from us at the dining room table, flanked by binders. Actual binders, plural, each one color-coded and tabbed. “Have you two given any thought to writing your own vows?”
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Rory said simultaneously.
We looked at each other. Genevieve beamed, as though this were charming.
“Traditional is fine,” I said. To Rory: “Don’t you think?”
“I think…” She stopped. Something moved across her face, quickly contained. “Sure. Traditional is fine.”
“Wonderful.” Genevieve made a note. “And the reading? I have some lovely options—Corinthians, of course, or something more contemporary—”
“Corinthians,” I said.
Rory said nothing this time.
Genevieve prattled on about flowers and seating arrangements and the precise logistics of the ring ceremony, which apparently required more coordination than a military operation. I answered her questions. I made decisions. I was efficient and focused and entirely in control.
And next to me, Rory sat with her hands folded, looking out the window at the mountains, and said almost nothing for the rest of the hour.
When Genevieve finally closed her binders and departed in a cloud of perfumed enthusiasm, the room went quiet. The afternoon light had shifted. Philips had left a tea service on the sideboard, untouched.
“You wanted to write your own vows,” I said.
Rory shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It clearly does.”
She turned from the window and looked at me. “It was a stupid impulse. You were right. Traditional makes more sense. It’s so much easier.”
“Easier isn’t always better,” I chided.
“Yes, it is.” She looked like she might cry, which made no sense.
“Rory—”
“Should we go over the seating chart?” She reached for one of the papers Genevieve had left behind, and the matter, whatever it had been, was closed.
There was a knock on the door. “Mr. Barrington?” Philips stuck his head into the room. “Your assistant’s trying to get in touch with you. Something about reports coming in that you’ve been waiting for.”
“Thanks, Philips.” I turned to Rory. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “Go read your reports. I’ll see you at dinner.”
She squeezed my hand, grabbed some binders, and fled.
A funny feeling settled over me. Had I just hurt her feelings?
This is why we don’t do feelings, Rhodes.
But it was too late. There were Feelings all around, and they might just be the death of me.
Rory looked lovely in a simple navy gown that evening, but she still seemed distracted. I couldn’t get a moment alone with her. Board members surrounded us. There was no way I could excuse myself—I needed to be present and stay focused. She was by my side all evening, so close but yet so far.
We had drinks, then dinner, then after-dinner drinks. The entire board seemed a bit tipsy.
“You make a beautiful couple,” Abigail Furst gushed, sloshing her glass of wine. “You’re going to have gorgeous children.”
“Thank you,” I said, oddly touched.
But when I glanced down at Rory, she had tears in her eyes.
“Did I make you upset, honey?” Abigail asked, horrified.
“Not at all.” Embarrassed, Rory dabbed her eyes with a cocktail napkin. “It’s just that… It would be such a blessing, wouldn’t it? I guess I’m overwhelmed at the idea.”
“Aw,” Abigail said, nudging her. “It’s okay. I have four children, all of them in college or grown now, and you’re right—they’re a blessing.”
“What are your kids’ names?” Rory asked.
As they started talking names and colleges, my attention drifted toward Miranda. She, Cousin Andrew, Terry Hazleton, and Rahim Aziz were in a remote corner of the room, locked in what looked like a heated discussion.
“Excuse me for a moment?” I strode over to Miranda’s mini-meeting, grabbing a drink on my way.
“Good evening.” I squeezed in, uninvited, next to Terry. “Why so tense? Does anyone need a drink?”
“I do,” Cousin Andrew said immediately, and I ignored him.
“We were just discussing the Q2 earnings,” Terry said. He frowned, looking uncomfortable, which made me think he was lying.
“Weren’t they on par with Q1?” But I knew they were.
Terry sighed. His gaze flicked to Miranda, then back to me. “They were, but we’re not sure it’s legitimate. There are some factors behind the scenes we weren’t… aware of. Not sure how it’s going to trend, you know?”
I stiffened. “What sort of factors?”
“We’re not sure all the reporting is accurate from our partners.” Terry frowned again, directly at me. “We’re going to need to see some due diligence before we decide how to proceed.”
“I’m assuming you’ll keep me in the loop,” I said, an edge to my voice.
“Of course,” Terry said smoothly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, your cousin said he needs another drink. Miranda?”
She held up her empty glass. “I’ll go with you.”
She batted her eyelashes at me as she passed, and I longed to stick my foot out to trip her.
I turned to Rahim and Andrew. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Miranda’s trying to sway the board to support her,” Rahim said without hesitation. “She’s making a case.”
“What sort of case?”
Rahim scowled, thinking for a moment, when Andrew blundered, “She’s trying to convince us that your marriage is a sham. She says you’re just doing it because of your father’s will.”
His watery gaze sought out Rory, grazing down her backside hungrily. “I told her that you’re into it. I mean, look at her.”
“Andrew?” It took every ounce of restraint I had not to bash him in the face.
“Huh?” He tore his gaze away from Rory’s ass.
“Do. Not. Look. At my fiancé like that. Ever again,” I seethed. “Do you understand?”
Andrew’s mouth opened and closed. Finally, he nodded. Rahim stood beside him, watching me with interest.
“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I stalked back over to Rory, threw my arm around her, and hustled her away from Abigail Furst.
Cousin Andrews averted his eyes as we passed. Good. Otherwise, I would throttle his drunk ass and toss him out of Barrington Manor, once and for all.
Once we got to the hallway, Rory turned to me, eyes wide. “What’s the matter?”
“I should be the one asking you that,” I said, my voice coming out much sharper than I intended.
When she winced, I sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m out of sorts—rough night with the board.”
Rory went still. “Is everything okay?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. But I know one thing: I don’t want to think about it anymore. Not tonight.”
I lifted her chin until she looked at me. She was so goddamned beautiful. She was right next to me, but for some reason, I felt like I was losing her.
“What do you want to do?” Rory asked, looking back toward the party. “Should we go back in there?”
“Hell no.” I pulled her close to me, and the heat immediately kicked up between us. “I want to think about something else. Or not think.”
I crushed my lips to hers. Rory moaned, yielding to me, and I lifted her up by her hips.
She wrapped her legs around my waist, and I lifted her up. I cupped her ass and staggered into our suite. Our tongues connected, and I felt a surge of electricity deep in my core. I couldn’t wait to be alone with her.
I couldn’t stop.
We made it inside the room, and I lowered her onto the bed.
I didn’t tear myself away; I couldn’t. Her mouth and tongue eager for mine.
I deepened the kiss, losing myself in her sweet taste.
My hands were everywhere—her hair, her dress, her thighs.
I got hard again. Rock hard. I wanted Rory so badly, I thought I might burst.
I had to find a way to satisfy us both, quickly. Otherwise, I would try to bury myself inside her, marking her as mine once and for all.
I lay her back on the bed, nudging her legs apart with my knee. She watched me, eyes wide. I unzipped my pants, and my cock sprang out, thick and heavy. Rory watched me, her chest rising and falling fast. I stripped off my shirt, slid off her thong, and stood above her.
“Do you know what you want, Rory?”
She nodded. “I w-want you. Sir.”
My dick twitched. “Say it again.”
“I want you. Sir.” There was a glint in her eye.
“I think my good girl’s getting naughty.
I like it.” I placed my screaming-erect cock against her hot, wet folds.
“So I’m going to give you what you want.
” I slid against her, my hard length coated in her wetness.
Rory cried out, arching her back as I glided between her wet heat, the tip of my cock grazing her clit.
“Sir!” she cried out, clinging to me. “Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”
She was so wet for me. I stroked her sex with my sex, Rory’s hips bucking as she met each thrust. She ground herself against my cock, holding onto me for dear life, crying out with pleasure as our bodies collided against each other.
I started to see white. “So. Fucking. Good.” I kept up the relentless pace. I felt like I was about to lose my fucking mind.
Oh fuck. I wanted to penetrate her, but I ignored the burning need, focusing instead on the friction between us, the white-hot heat. I slid against her, both of us rubbing furiously. My tip massaged her clit, hitting it again and again, and she cried out.
“Rhodes!”
Rory shattered beneath me. She came so hard she soaked my cock, and that was all I needed. The pressure built inside me, inevitably building toward my climax. Time stopped as I pulsed against her wet, shattering heat.
“Fuck!”
I spent myself all over her sex. Our bodies shuddered together, lost and found. Rory wrapped her arms around my neck and cuddled against my chest. She was shivering, shaking. I gently kissed her face and held her close, protecting her, like she was the most precious thing in the world.
And that’s when I knew, for sure, that I was doomed.