Chapter 39
Megan
The night after we arrive back in the city, Jameson takes me up Vance Tower for dinner.
At fifty-six floors, it’s the third-tallest building in downtown Vancouver, and the restaurant at the top boasts the most epic three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views over the city, the mountains, and the waters beyond.
It’s called Gravity Lounge. It’s a private club with a costly annual membership, valet service, a private elevator, a fixed dinner menu, and a strict dress code. You don’t get in without a membership.
Or an invitation from the owners.
Luckily, I’m with one of the owners.
To top it all off, there’s a great DJ playing sultry music, sparkling chandelier lighting, and stylish people mingling by the bar and dining at the cozy tables. This is the high life, and somehow I’m a VIP.
I’m flying on pure lust, adrenaline, and happiness as Jameson and I dine at our private table in a dark nook, with its unobstructed view of the sparkling city through the wall of windows next to us. I feel like I’ve been high for a week.
When the waitress clears away our dinner plates and Jameson orders us a second bottle of wine, the only thing I want to do almost as much as I want to climb into his lap and ride him right here is just stare at him in wonder.
He catches me staring and smiles at me before lifting his wineglass to his lips.
I take a sip of my Syrah, my heart pounding.
I’m falling.
Hard.
There’s no doubt in my mind about it.
If I questioned it before… any questions I had in my heart had all been answered when Jameson Vance slammed his dick into me and started calling me “my wife.”
You’ll have to get used to my appetite if you’re going to be my wife.
Yes.
Yes, I could get used to it.
I’ve gotten very used to it this week already, and now I’m addicted, thank you very much.
He leans in across the intimate table and speaks low in my ear. “Don’t look now, but my brother’s here.”
I lean closer to him. “Which one?”
He nods to someone over my shoulder, someone I can’t see. I don’t look, because he told me not to.
“Damian. Quick gossip for you.” He twirls a lock of my hair around his finger as he speaks in my ear, his breath heating my neck. “Damian oversees our hospitality assets. Luxury hotels, restaurants, bars… you know all that. But his pride and joy is a private sex club he started up himself. Don’t tell him I told you. Pretend you don’t know.”
I gape at him.
Sex club?
Jameson smirks at me as he sits back in his seat. I can see he finds the idea as what the fuck as I do.
Have you been there?? I mouth at him.
No,he mouths back. With a look of horror that tells me he thinks the idea of going to a sex club owned by his brother is right up there with incest on his list of turnoffs.
“I have so many questions,” I say out loud, then bury my face in my wineglass.
“Save them. He’s coming over.”
A moment later, he reaches up to shake hands with his brother as Damian Vance stands over our table.
I swallow wine and smile up at him, shaking his hand when he reaches for mine. Damian briefly kisses the back of my hand, a move that not many men could pull off so authoritatively. He wears a sharp suit of such a deep blue, it’s almost black, his wavy dark hair swept back. He’s the epitome of dark, dangerous, and elegantly mysterious.
His eyes sparkle at me as he takes one of the empty seats at our small table, and I realize Jameson has invited him to sit down with us.
My head is still pulsing with those two words. Sex. Club.
Jameson hides his smirk behind his wineglass. He’s amused by my shock.
Jerk! I mouth at him discreetly.
His eyes narrow with a heated look that tells me I’ll be getting a spanking for that later.
We share a round of pleasantries, and Damian asks about our trip to the island. Jameson tells him how relaxing it was, and I fill my face with wine.
Yeah. Relaxing.
If multiple rounds a day of doggy style, girl on top, reverse cowgirl, intense-eye-contact missionary, throaty blow jobs, and endless cunnilingus could be considered relaxing.
It was. Occasionally. Briefly.
Until we both got aroused and started fucking again.
Jameson pulls his phone from his jacket pocket. He glances at it, and I realize I’ve been screwing him in my head while he chats with his brother.
“It’s Savannah. I should take this.” He gets up and leans to kiss me on the forehead. “I’ll hit the men’s room on my way back,” he tells me as he cups the back of my head. “Order dessert if you like while I’m gone.”
Then he kisses me on the mouth, unexpectedly, and I melt.
As he walks away, I wave at him with my fingers, ogling his butt.
Then I remember his brother is still sitting at the table with me.
In fact, he’s watching me.
I smile at Damian, and sip my wine.
He smiles, much more slowly than I do, never taking those cunning eyes off me. Yeah, he just caught me staring at his brother’s ass.
But hey, he owns a sex club, right? He knows what’s up.
And now my face is probably fuchsia.
“So,” I say, “hospitality. That must be an interesting line of work.”
“Yes. Playing host to people is always interesting. But hospitality goes two ways. Making sure people who are welcome feel welcome. And making sure those who are unwelcome… don’t stick around.”
Well, that felt ominous.
I can’t help thinking that when he said that while staring at me, he’s talking about… me?
“I see.”
Point-blank, he asks me, “Are you after my brother’s money, Megan?”
“Of course,” I say, leaning my chin on my palm and not missing a beat. If he can be an ass, so can I. “Why else would I be with him? Clearly, he has nothing else to offer.”
A slow smile spreads across Damian’s handsome face. It’s annoying, really, how handsome he is.
Then he laughs. Somehow, I’ve charmed him. This man is twisted or something.
He’s a game master.I remember now; that was what Jameson said about him.
“You’re surprising, Megan Hudson.”
“You don’t like me,” I venture.
“You’re a beautiful girl. And you seem very sweet. But you’re a stranger to me.” He tips his head in the direction Jameson disappeared. “To him, too.”
“We’re still getting to know each other, that’s true. It’s been… a whirlwind romance.” I sit back and study Jameson’s brother as he studies me. “Maybe you’ll get to know me, too.”
“I know your brother,” he says lightly. “I know things you probably wouldn’t want to know. We used to have problems with him at some of the bars we own. Did Cole tell you that?”
“I know all about my brother’s struggles. He knows he’s made mistakes. And he’s worked hard to get his life and career back on track.”
“Maybe you do know.” He cocks his head thoughtfully. “But that was all back before he and my brother decided they were best friends, wasn’t it.”
I don’t know what he’s implying, other than that he distrusts Cole, just like he distrusts me.
“And do you know why they became best friends?” I ask him, sadly desperate for intel, still a little curious about how Cole and Jameson got so close.
“Trust,” he says simply. “Cole told Jameson something no one else did.”
“And that was…?”
“That the woman Jamie was seeing was cheating on him.”
I didn’t know that.
But it explained a lot. Like the deep loyalty Jameson felt for my brother.
Which just makes me wonder about the loyalty of the man in front of me…
“You knew, but you didn’t tell him?”
“I didn’t know. But apparently, others did know. Others who didn’t tell. Friends of Jameson’s, who are no longer friends of Jameson’s.” His expression is merciless, as if I’m the woman who cheated on his brother. “She slept with one of his friends, you see. That’s who the affair was with.”
Oh. Shit.
I’m not sure if I should be bothered that Jameson never told me about this, when I told him Troy cheated on me. But obviously, it affected him. Maybe he didn’t like to talk about it?
“Jamie values honesty and trust, maybe more than anything,” his brother concludes.
I believe that. But I wonder if the same goes for the man in front of me.
“Would you have told him if you knew?” I ask him.
Damian chuckles humorlessly under his breath. “Yes. I’d tell him. And then I’d go have a nice chat with his ‘friend.’”
Wow.
I take a long swig, finishing my wine. Then I watch as Jameson’s older brother reaches for the bottle of Syrah and refills my glass for me. He wears a pinky ring with a black stone, etched with some kind of insignia.
This guy gives off Mafia kingpin vibes or something. I get the distinct impression that by “have a nice chat with” he actually meant “do physical damage to.”
“You’re interesting, Damian,” I tell him.
“And by ‘interesting,’ you mean…?”
“Not much like Jameson.”
“We may seem different, but my little brother is more like me than you might care to know. Men like us…” He peruses me slowly. “We don’t settle.”
“Meaning?”
“You’ll need to be interesting yourself if you expect him to keep you.”
Keep me.
Like I’m an object.
Is that how he sees women?
I know he’s looking out for his younger brother, his family, their fortune. And I can’t even refute what he’s said. From his point of view, I am using his brother for money. I said yes to his proposal for the security he’d promised me in return.
At least, that was how it started out.
“Tell me again.” He leans in, like we’re sharing a secret. “What is it you love about my brother?”
That’s so easy for me to answer at this point, my throat squeezes as I speak. Maybe I wish it weren’t so easy. “His heart. His generosity. He’s always been good to me. Respected me.”
“In what way?”
“You doubt that? Maybe you don’t know him very well.”
“Oh, I know him very well.”
“He wouldn’t touch me. Not for weeks, until he knew I was ready.”
I don’t know why I tell him that. Maybe I just want him to understand.
To know that there’s something real between Jameson and me.
For a man who owns a sex club, the fact that his brother abstained from having sex with me in the beginning of our relationship must surely have meaning.
Maybe he’ll even understand why Jameson did it better than I do.
But he says, “Is that what you’ve convinced yourself to believe? He did it for you? If you think you know him, you haven’t looked hard enough yet.” He rises to his feet, buttoning his jacket. “Jamie might share his wealth, but he won’t give it up. Not even for you. Have a nice evening, Megan.”
What the hell did that mean?
Give it up?
I watch him walk away, my heart in my throat.
And he warned me that Harlan was the cynical one.
* * *
The conversation with Jameson’s brother leaves me ill at ease.
I pass on dessert, and as soon as Jameson and I are heading home in his car, I tell him, “I don’t think Damian likes me.”
“Did he say something?” He draws closer to me on the seat. I keep staring out the window. “He’s just being protective, I’m sure. He doesn’t know you yet.”
“He doesn’t like Cole either.”
He sighs. “Damian holds killer grudges. It’s one of his less charming personality traits.”
“You’d think he’d be grateful to Cole.”
When I look at Jameson, he seems worried, like I’m mad at him.
But I’m not.
“He told me that Cole told you a woman you were seeing was cheating on you. With one of your friends.”
He takes a deep, inaudible breath, and I can tell it’s not one of his favorite topics. “Yes. That’s true.”
“You could’ve told me.”
“It didn’t occur to me to tell you. It’s not something I think about, much less enjoy talking about.”
“Why do I feel like there are other things you’re not telling me?”
He slides his hand over mine and squeezes it.
“I’ll tell you anything. I didn’t know you wanted to know more about my previous relationships.”
I look away, out the window. “I really don’t.”
* * *
I know it.
I know it in my gut. And in my heart.
Jameson isn’t being fully honest with me.
About what, I don’t know.
But his brother sure seems to think he’s keeping something from me.
If you think you know him, you haven’t looked hard enough yet.
Damian hinted at it, maybe to try to scare me away.
Maybe to see how I’d react.
To see if I’m really wife material, if I care enough about his brother to probe deeper, or if I’ll just let it slide.
As we get ready for bed, I wonder if I’m freaking crazy to let myself fall in love again.
And with a man like Jameson. So wealthy, so glamorous, so unlike me.
And so damn soon.
I didn’t even have a month of alone time between the end of my last relationship and this one.
My chest feels tender and raw where Jameson’s breathed the life back into my hope for a happy ending.
It’s so fresh, this hope.
I don’t want to suffer another broken heart so soon.
But Jameson’s heart was broken, too, by his parents, and maybe by former lovers.
Maybe he’s guarding his heart, too.
“Why don’t you want to get married?” I ask him when I emerge from the walk-in to find him in bed, waiting for me. He’s sitting up against the headboard, watching me.
“Come here.”
I come around and slide into my side. When I settle down onto the pillow, he slides down to face me.
His expression is serious when he says, “My parents’ marriage wasn’t good. I think… ultimately, I never wanted that.”
“And that’s the only type of marriage you can imagine?” I challenge. Because can’t he picture us together in the future, still enjoying the hell out of each other?
And if not, why not?
“I haven’t really tried to picture another type of marriage,” he says carefully. “I just decided long ago it wasn’t for me.”
“And that’s it?”
Surely he can’t pretend that he never called me my wife in the heat of the moment, or that it meant nothing at all. He’s done it several times now.
He swallows. I can feel his hesitation. Now that this is a serious topic of conversation and we’re not flirting, it’s hard for him to address it. But why?
What is he afraid of?
He said he makes decisions based on fear; that he’s like Wolf that way. But I’ve been living with him for a while now, and I don’t see that in his daily actions.
And really, am I that scary? I’m actually ridiculously loyal, and he must’ve gleaned that by now. I’m hardly the type of girl who cheats. He must realize that. He knows what happened in my last relationship.
“What is this about?” he asks gently, and strokes my cheek. “Something’s bothering you.”
I sigh. The man can make me melt with nothing but a look or the slightest touch. “I’m feeling guilty,” I admit. “Damian thinks I’m engaged to you for your money. And I am. I don’t feel good about it. And I don’t want you to hate me for it.”
Jameson gathers me to his body and holds me close, making my heart speed up. I’m wearing my soft nightshirt but he’s naked, and his skin feels so right against mine. “A lot of people are always going to think that, Megan. It doesn’t matter. I know you care about me.”
“I do.”
“There’s nothing to feel guilty about. You and I are the only ones in this engagement. And we both went into it honestly.”
“Right.”
“We agreed to the terms.”
“Yeah. One year, for two million dollars.”
“And then you get that fresh new start you wanted.”
Silence stretches as my heart pounds and I know, for me, that fresh new start includes him. In my fantasies, at least.
But does his vision of the future include me?
I still don’t know.
“Why did you really say yes to my proposal?” He’s studying me as I study him. “At that point, I was pretty sure you didn’t think too highly of me. I can’t imagine you saying yes to someone you couldn’t stand or respect, for any amount of money.”
“Because you won me over with the new suitcase. And what you did for Romeo. And reading my books. And…” I laugh softly and roll my eyes a little, knowing this part is some part ridiculous. “Because it’s the Summer of Yes.”
His brows draw together.
“At least, it is for me. You know, like when you say yes to everything. Like Jim Carrey in that movie.”
“Yeah, I’m familiar with the concept.”
“You look confused.”
“Just confused about why a rational person would do such a thing.”
I laugh again, then sigh. “So maybe I don’t let life and opportunity pass me by, by always saying no?”
He twirls a lock of my hair around his finger. “You know… many of the most successful people in the world advise the opposite.”
“What opposite?”
“That it’s best to say no. That your level of success is directly related to how often you say no.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense. If you say no to everything you’re asked, you only do what you actually intended to do. Not what the world dangles in your way. Those are usually called distractions.”
I ponder that for a moment. “So instead of saying yes…”
“You should say no.”
“I see,” I say, thinking: That is the most unromantic thing I’ve ever heard. “But what about romance?” I ask him. Because isn’t he the romantic? “Adventure? Twists of fate? Thrills? Magic? The unexpected?”
His expression is oddly sad, and now I can feel his fear. “Pretty words for things that just distract you from what you really want.”
My heart slams in my chest as I make myself ask the question. “And what is it you really want?”
“I thought it was obvious by now.” He lays his hand on the side of my face, his thumb brushing my lip. “You.”