Chapter 20
“Sick Little Games” - All Time Low
Pierce
Maeve’s been gone a long time. A lot of women take an eternity in the restroom fixing their makeup, but she isn’t most women. She prides herself on efficiency and still manages to look more stunning than all of them put together.
I excuse myself from my conversation with several members of Parliament and go to find her. Without reading too much into it, let’s just say I feel better when I know where she’s at.
The prime minister’s wife is just exiting the women’s bathroom when I approach, and I ask her if she’s seen Maeve.
She hasn’t, so I continue my search down the corridor.
The offices that line it are all dark, but as I near the end, I hear voices.
A brief pause gives me enough time to determine that one of them is Maeve’s.
I feel like a bloody idiot intruding on a private conversation when she’s clearly fine, but I can’t help taking a quick peek around the corner to see who she’s talking to. The second I do, I wish I hadn’t.
Fists clenched at my sides, I stalk back down the hallway.
Here I am, concerned for her well-being, afraid she’s hurt or needing something, and she’s off having a rendezvous with her lover.
Her other lover. I can’t believe she went from letting me fuck her against a wall—twice—to sneaking off with him.
Maybe she’s planning to use the cloakroom again.
What the fuck was she playing at earlier, then? Sitting in my lap, stroking my hair, practically purring in my ear—I mean, I know we were putting on a show, but at least some of that felt real. The way she tightened around my cock right before climaxing certainly did.
This whole thing is a nightmare.
Once I reach the ballroom, I scan the space for a suitable candidate.
Blond, good rack, likes to have a good time but is willing to let the guy lead.
Spotting a woman who looks like a decent fit, I stroll across the room and introduce myself—an unnecessary tactic, but one that always produces the right effect.
“I know who you are,” she laughs, her eyes lingering on my mouth.
Ah yes, baby. This mouth will be all yours soon.
Several minutes later, her glass of champagne is empty, her number is stored in my phone, and she has directions to my flat. Tonight will be a good night—I can feel it.
Things are getting dangerous with Maeve. My completely irrational jealousy proved that much. When you give someone that kind of power over you, it makes you weak. And weakness is not something I can afford to have, not even for Maeve Wilson.
* * *
The ride home is unusually tense, since I still need to give Maeve a lift.
Normally, we’d fill the time making out with my hand up her dress, but I turned her down when she tried to straddle me after we climbed into the back seat.
I claimed to have a headache, but she’s still pissed.
Anger rolls off her in giant waves meant to suck me under.
That’s fine. She can be mad, because so am I. By sneaking around with him, she’s implying he and I are playing the same game. Call me arrogant, but Preston Ansley and I are nowhere near being in the same league.
She’s facing the window, arms crossed over her chest, still looking like a dream in that black dress I had the most fun peeling off her earlier. I wonder if my cum is still dried on her legs or if she felt guilty and washed it off in the restroom.
The car slows in front of her house, and she turns to me. “Are you coming inside?”
I glance up from my phone before immediately returning to my screen. “No. I have some things I need to do.” Namely a certain blond with legs up to her chin waiting for me outside my flat. If Maeve wants to keep her fuckwit of a boy toy, fine. But she needs to understand that this works both ways.
She hesitates with her hand on the door.
I lift my eyes. “What?”
A frown creeps across her forehead, puckering those lines I know she pays thousands to erase. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing. I told you, I have a head—”
“A headache, I know. But you’ve never turned down sex before,” she says.
I shrug, as though it’s perfectly normal. “First time for everything.” Looking down again, I pray she leaves soon before I change my mind and haul her across the seat and into my lap where she belongs.
“What about tomorrow night?” she says, settling back down and opening her planner app. The entire thing is color coordinated and makes mine look like a clumsy schoolboy’s.
Tossing my phone aside, I rest my arm on the seat back.
While I have no intention of screwing her again tonight, I’m not opposed to spending extra time with her in the car.
“I’m actually going to be out of town this weekend.
” It’s a lie, but a necessary one. The flash of jealousy I felt tonight needs to die, and the best way to kill it is to spend time with someone—anyone—other than its source.
Her frown deepens. “Oh.” She continues staring at her screen for a few more seconds, and I know she’s doing her best to recover her composure. She doesn’t like losing the upper hand, and it’s throwing her off, especially after she lowered her guard with me earlier tonight. “When will you be back?”
“Late. Maybe not until Monday. I’ll call you.” I will call her, but I’ll make her sweat first.
She grabs the handle and pushes the door open. “Have fun.” Her tone is sarcastic, and I bite back a smile. I’d love nothing more than to follow her inside and make her regret talking to me that way, but that’s exactly the problem.
The door slams shut, and as my driver pulls away from the curb, I try to muster up excitement for the gorgeous woman waiting for me at home. But unfortunately, my brain is still stuck on the raven-haired vixen I left on the sidewalk.