Chapter 22
Every eye is on her, and it’s fucking unraveling me from the inside out. I haven’t had a second to go to her since she caught me with Melanie in the pool house. That wasn’t supposed to happen—not like that. I needed an outlet, and she was there, offering herself like a quick fix.
But the look on Peyton’s face when she walked in, the devastation carved into her features, it branded me deeper than the climax ever could. For the first time in a long damn time, I felt something sharp pierce through the ice I’ve been living behind.
Now, watching her descend the stairs of my father’s stately mansion, every feral instinct I’ve spent weeks suppressing around her, claws to the surface.
The itch to tear the smile off every man in this room, to put bullets in the skulls of every fucker who so much as lets their gaze linger on her, floods me with violence I can barely leash.
She moves like sin dressed in silk. The gown hugs her body like it was poured on, clinging to curves I’ve memorized in shadows, and yet here she is, wearing them like a weapon.
Her dress is a deep burgundy, the color of wine, the color of blood.
It makes me think of her mouth when she bites back the words she doesn’t dare speak.
The neckline plays at innocence, wide straps skimming over her shoulder like she’s untouched.
Innocent. But the way the fabric spills behind her, pooling at her feet, says otherwise.
It screams defiance.
It screams mine.
Peyton is a goddess, and gods don’t walk into rooms like this without setting fires.
I toss back the whiskey, the burn useless against the need ripping me apart.
Every sway of her hips taints me, every glance she throws around the ballroom makes my jaw tighten.
She doesn’t even realize the power she carries, the storm she’s dragging behind her.
Even the women notice. But it is the not-so-subtle stares of the men which has my blood boiling.
Her hair is swept up, sleep and elegant, but those loose tendrils teasing the nape of her neck make my fingers twitch with the urge to wrap them in my fist and tilt her head back where it belongs.
Under me.
She stays close to Pace and Sutton, her wide eyes darting overing the glittering, hollow spectacle my mother has dressed this place in. She smiles tightly when my father greets them. But then she turns.
And then I see it.
The back of the dress.
The plunge is obscene, a daring V slicing low, baring the elegant line of her spine down to the base, silk nestled right above her ass.
My vision goes red. Heat roars through me so fiercely it makes me want to fuck her so every man here knows she is mine.
It’s a heat that makes me want to break necks.
There is too much of her on display. Too much of what’s mine dangling like bait in a shark tank.
I choke back the violence rising in my throat as I watch my father introduce her to the prick Oliver Maine.
His eyes crawl down her back ike a fucking disease, his mouth parting, practically drooling.
My father says something, introduces them, but all I see is red.
The image of gutting him from stem to stern is so vivid I nearly take a step forward before I catch myself.
What the fuck was she thinking, walking in here in that dress?
I put my glass down on the bar and adjust my cufflinks before striding toward Peyton and my father.
“Sutton,” I greet John’s wide with a small nod. Without saying anything else, I slip my hand to the small of Peyton’s back, right above her tight round ass and tug her to my side. My thumb runs along her soft, silky skin making my desire spike ten-fold.
I let my gaze roam her face, which has a subtle glow to it. Just the right amount of make-up to compliment the natural beauty underneath. Leaning down, I press a soft kiss to her temple, the scent of her vanilla innocence filling my lungs.
Fuck.
I’m not right for her. My brother is better suited. He’s less lethal. Tamer. Not groomed to be the head of the family. Not the one with blood on his hands and death in his veins. She’s not going to be able to understand how fast I’ve fallen and possessive I’ve become in a few short interactions.
What she doesn’t know, though, is I’ve been watching her every move. Even when she doesn’t see me, I have eyes on her. Always. Peyton won’t be able to handle the possessive side of me. The one that wants to chain her to my side forever.
Peyton tries to subtly shrug me off. The little minx. It won’t work. Once we talk, she will get over what happened with Melanie and understand there can be nothing between us. That doesn’t mean she isn’t mine to protect. To repair the damage caused by her mother.
But having her would make her a target. I refuse to do that.
I tighten my arm around her, eyeing Oliver with a dark glare. His Adam’s apple bobs nervously until his gaze lowers to the ground, defeated.
Chicken shit.
“Now, Colter.” My father shakes his head, disappointment painting his features. His eyes meet mine. A silent reprimand. “Oliver is a good boy. I don’t see why the two of you can’t get along.”
Because he’s a douche wrapped in Armani.
“Who said we don’t get along.”
Sutton chuckles. She went to school with Oliver and knows all too well why we don’t ‘get along’ as my father puts it. He’s an opportunist like his father. One of the reasons my father hasn’t been willing to do much business with them. They’d sell us out to the highest bidder if one ever came along.
My father keeps talking, something about new investments, but I don’t hear a fucking word.
All I hear is Peyton’s shallow breaths, feel the tremor in her back under my hand.
She doesn’t like the attention, doesn’t like being on display, and yet she’s standing here in this goddam dress like temptation incarnate.
My temptation. A siren sent to drag me to the depths.
Peyton shifts her weight, a subtle lean away from me, but it’s enough to ignite my temper. I drop my mouth close to her ear. Letting my breath skim her skin.
“Careful, darlin’,” I murmur low enough for only her to hear. “You pull away from me again and I’ll make sure every bastard in this room knows who you belong to.”
Her sharp inhale tells me she hears the warning for what it is—a promise wrapped in a threat.
“You made it very clear I don’t belong to you.” She tilts her chin, trying to hold her ground, those eyes sparking with defiance when she looks up at me. That look should piss me off. Instead, it makes my cock twist against the restraints of my slacks.
“Colter.” My father’s voice cuts back through the haze. His gaze drops to my hand on Peyton’s bare back, then lifts with a silent challenge. He wants me to let go. To behave.
Not happening.
I drag my thumb in a slow, possessive stroke across her spine before finally lifting my hand and reaching for another whiskey from a passing tray. Peyton exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours, but she doesn’t step away. Smart girl.
Sutton, bless her nosy heart, clears her throat. “Well, if you ask me, Peyton looks positively stunning tonight. That color suits her beautifully.”
“It does,” I say, never taking my eyes off her. “Too well.”
Her cheeks flush, pink dusting over her skin, and I know I’ve embarrassed her. Good. She should feel every ounce of heat I do.
Sutton’s grin is all too knowing. My father, on the other hand, shakes his head like I’m a lost cause, muttering something about handling myself better in public.
Fuck public. This isn’t for show. This is survival.
I lean down again, this time brushing my lips against the shell of Peyton’s ear, my voice a razor meant only for her.
“We’re going to talk. Soon. Don’t bother running from me again, Peyton. I’ll find you.”
Her shiver betrays her before she can mask it, and that small crack in her armor feeds the monster inside of me.
I force myself to smile, though it feels like my jaw might crack with the effort.
My father’s warning gaze lingers, but I don’t look away.
If I give him an inch, he’ll take a mile, parade Peyton around like a prize to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.
And the thought alone nearly shreds my restraint.
Peyton shifts beside me subtly, a restless movement that makes my hand flex against her back.
She doesn’t want me here. Doesn’t want my touch staking a claim she refuses to acknowledge.
But I don’t remove it. I can’t. The crowd presses closer, champagne glasses clinking, laughter echoing too loud in this over-decorated mausoleum of a ballroom, and all I can think about is how many of these men are watching her.
How many of them are imagining her bent over a silk-sheeted bed, dressed hitched to her waist, her mouth gasping their names?
My stomach knots so violently have to swallow against it. NO one here will ever know what she sounds like when she breathes my name. No one here will ever taste the sweetness on her lips.
“Colter,” my father says again, sharper this time, dragging me back to the conversation I didn’t realize I’d abandoned. “Oliver was telling us about his new project downtown. He could use our support.”
Of course he could. He’s always needing, always taking. A leech in cufflinks.
“Sounds like a gamble,” I say smoothly, though my grip on Peyton doesn’t loosen. I feel her stiffen at my tone, at the razor edge in it. She glances up at me, wide-eyed, as if silently warning me not to make a scene. That look alone is enough to douse the gasoline sloshing inside my chest—barely.
My thumb strokes once over the curve of her spine, grounding me. Reminding me she’s here. Breathing. Untouched—for now.
Oliver clears his throat. “It’s an opportunity, not a gamble. Of course, Peyton, you should come by sometime. I’d be happy to give you the personal tour.”
The words slice through me like barbed wire. I see red again, that vision of gutting him crawling up my throat. My father’s eyes sharpen, waiting to see what I’ll do.
I hold back. Barely.
With a slow smile I tilt my head, keeping my voice low, casual, almost amused. “You’ve got enough on your plate, Maine. Best not to bite off more than you can chew.”
The implication lands. His throat works as he swallows, and the grin slides off his face. Good.
Peyton exhales beside me, so softly I almost miss it. But I feel it. The flutter of her chest against my arm. The shift of her body leaning slightly away, as if she can sense the leash straining, the beast pacing behind it.
And she’s right.
I can’t keep it chained forever—but I can try.
For now.