Billionaire's Christmas

“Are you ready?” Rafe asked.

The sound of her fiancé’s richly timbred voice slammed Hope’s pulse into hyperdrive. She turned to see him leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb that separated the bedroom from the bathroom. He swept his gaze over her as if she were a treasured prize.

“Jesus.” As if unable to stop himself, he took a few steps toward her. “You’re exquisite.”

His approval was her aphrodisiac, making her knees bend.

“Show me.” He made a circle with his index finger, and she twirled around.

The dark-green floor-length gown flared as she spun, thanks to the A-line and the daring slit up the front. The dress had double V necklines with draped pleats wrapping the bodice.

“What do you think of it?” he asked when she stopped in front of him.

“I love it.” The dress was elegant as well as risqué. Rafe had custom ordered it for her, and he’d had a hand in the design. “It’s everything I dared hope.”

He crooked his finger, beckoning her toward him.

Her pulse raced and her stilettoes echoed on the tile floor. It didn’t matter that she and Rafe had been together eight months. When her lover, her Dom, gave an instruction, every feminine instinct responded with a flood of pheromones.

“You look like a princess, my sweet, sweet Hope.”

“And you look like…” Words failed her. He wore a black tuxedo with a snowy-white shirt, elegant forest-green cummerbund, and matching bow tie. Rafe always dressed well, but this evening, he was so devastatingly handsome that he sucked the oxygen from the room. With a grin, she settled on, “A Titan.”

Heir to the legendary Sterling Worldwide hotel empire, Rafe was descended from a long, successful line of men, including one who had helped found the Zetas, a secret society. Tonight was the group’s Christmas party and semiannual induction of new members.

“And today you become one of us.”

Her tummy jumped. The waiting list to join was years long, but because Celeste—Hope’s mentor and a member of the steering committee—had sponsored her, Hope’s approval had been pushed through in record time.

“I have a gift for you,” he said.

Innuendo laced his words. The thrill that rocked her, heated her, chilled her when he gave her orders was like a drug. If she went without too long, she needed a fix.

“Oh, I have a special gift for you as well,” he added. “But that will need to wait until we return.”

He took her hand and guided her into the bedroom of their rented Magnolia Cottage on the grounds of the Parthenon—the society’s Louisiana plantation. Many times when he visited, he stayed in a room in the original home, now called the Grand House. But since they’d become a couple, he preferred the extra space and privacy of the one-bedroom accommodation. On top of the dresser lay a large box. “Open it,” he encouraged.

A white-gold choker with a dozen strands of tiny diamonds lay nestled in velvet, reflecting light everywhere. Stunned, she glanced at him.

“What do you think?”

It wasn’t a collar. For now, he didn’t require her to wear one every day. But there was no doubt about his intention. “It’s…beautiful.”

“May I?” He held out his hand, and she picked up the piece of jewelry and placed it across his palm.

Until Rafe, she’d known almost nothing about BDSM, and he’d taught her that each relationship was unique. What she shared with him was as much emotional as physical. His constant mindfucks created an unbreakable bond.

Responding to the unspoken command in his turbulent blue eyes, she turned and lifted her hair, baring her nape to him.

Since his fingers were so big, it took him several attempts to fasten the necklace. “You need a ladies’ maid,” he said.

“But then I wouldn’t have your hands on me.”

He leaned forward to kiss that sensitive area on the back of her neck.

“We could skip the event,” she said.

“But we won’t. Waiting makes you all the more responsive later.”

“Waiting annoys me,” she corrected, despite the fact he was right, and they both knew it.

“When you’re pissy with me, your eyes take on more of a golden hue. It’s easy to imagine you as a spitfire or satyr.”

“You’re impossible, Mr. Sterling.” Before they were intimate, she’d confessed that orgasm denial intrigued her. Edging, he’d called it, and making her wait to come had ended up being a major turn-on for him. He’d told her he loved her whimpers, and her frantic pleas for relief. By the time he relented, granting her permission to come, her climax would destroy her. As much as she liked the stunning orgasms, there were times she’d regretted being so honest with him.

“You may put down your hair.”

Once she did, Rafe gripped her shoulders, his large hands warm on her bare skin.

“I’m so fucking proud you’re mine.” He turned her to look at him, and his gaze lingered on the jewelry he’d fastened into place. Rafe fed his fingers into her hair, made a fist, then pulled back her head. “I can’t wait to show you off.”

She swallowed. On their first trip to Louisiana, he’d taken her to Vieille Rivière, a private restaurant outside of New Orleans. He’d dressed her in a scandalous outfit. Her nerves had been strung tight as they walked through the dining room and she’d seen Doms with subs, some kneeling, others wearing far less than she had been. Though she hadn’t been comfortable being exposed, Hope had enjoyed the experience more than she thought she might.

On this visit, he’d said he wanted to take her to the Quarter, a BDSM club he frequented before their relationship began.

So far, she hadn’t found the courage to agree. Her refusals created tension in their relationship. To her, going to the Quarter meant she’d be on public display. And more, she would be vulnerable in front of others. But she hid her deepest fear from him…that she wouldn’t measure up to the submissives there. They were experienced and composed, while she was a novice, more awkward than elegant.

“I love you, Hope.” Intent radiated through his eyes, and instant arousal spilled through her.

Rafe didn’t have to ask her to open her mouth—she did so without hesitation. He didn’t so much kiss her as mark her, devouring her, simulating an indecent sex act. With his tongue, he fucked her mouth, seeking confirmation that she knew they belonged together.

She ached to have him finger her heated pussy. “Please…”

Surprising her, he grabbed the skirt of her gown and hiked it up, mindless of the extravagant cost of the material.

Because he liked it, she was naked beneath. She never knew when he’d want access to her, and being slowed down by underwear aggravated him. On one occasion, to show his displeasure, he’d kept her thong damp for an entire evening, then refused her an orgasm, even after requiring her to suck him off. She’d learned her lesson.

He slid a finger between her labia. Her clit was already swollen, and a moan ripped from her throat.

“You’re perfect. We are perfect.” His eyes darkened. “Spread your legs.” He teased her needy entrance. “Wider.”

“Yes, Sir…” Since he was still kissing her, the word was more in her imagination than anything, but he knew, knew what she wanted.

As he ended the kiss, he fed more of his finger inside her. “One day, we’re going to make a baby.”

“Rafe…” He knew when she was the most vulnerable to him. She wanted that also.

“Twins might be nice,” he said, now finger-fucking her.

“Twins?” Shocked, she met his eyes. Most of the time she could read him, but right now she couldn’t. She had no idea whether he was teasing or not. He both terrified and excited her. “Are there twins on either side of your family?”

“No.”

She exhaled. “There aren’t on my side either. So that’s not going to happen.” Thank God. One tiny dictatorial Rafe would be enough to handle.

He slipped a second finger inside her. His rough tenderness made it impossible to think. She surrendered to him and the magic of the moment, of dreams coming true, of a crisp Christmas season near New Orleans.

“We should start trying,” he said. “I understand it can take a while to conceive. And I’m going to enjoy the hell out of every moment of trying.”

Her insides clutched, from the spell of his words as well as what he was doing to her body. He parted her farther, inserting a third finger into her, something he’d never done before. She couldn’t fill her lungs. Desperately, she grabbed his lapels to hold herself up. “I’m on birth control.”

“Which you can stop anytime.” His smile was wicked. “Tonight even.”

What would it be like, to have nothing standing in the way? “I think we should be married first.” In the light, her yellow diamond winked. For her stunning engagement ring, he’d splurged on a massive rectangular-shaped center stone, saying it reminded him of her eyes. He’d added two smaller diamonds on each side, and the contrast of the white and bright yellow turned heads, including hers. At times she wanted to pinch herself to be sure their relationship was real.

“We should arrange that,” he said.

Her body clenched around his hand as he changed his angle to press a finger against her G-spot. Holy heavens.

“When?”

She shook her head to clear it. “When…what?”

“The wedding date?” he prompted.

“You’re taking unfair advantage.”

“I prefer to think of it as a tactical, strategic offensive.” Notching his fingers apart, he grinned.

“Rafe!” Lost, she squirmed. He seized the opportunity to drive deeper, making her mad with desire. “I need…!”

He eased back a little, allowing her to exhale, then captured her mouth as he bore forward.

God.

He fucked her with his hand, sought more. And because she wanted all the same things that he did, she capitulated when he ended the kiss. “August.”

“August?”

“I need time to plan.”

“I could have it arranged in twenty minutes. We can be married at the atrium rooftop.”

He was referring to one of the most spectacular places in all of Houston—at a property he owned. She’d gone to an event with him there before, and she’d fallen in love with it.

“The catering department will handle it all. We can have pictures during the day, the ceremony at sunset, dancing beneath the stars.”

Even while he continued his relentless sensual assault on her all too willing body, Hope envisioned the picture he painted. She knew how magical it could be with lights on the potted trees, and if the evening was nice enough, the rooftop could be opened. “I need a dress.”

“Simple.”

“You’re impossible.”

“It takes seventy-two hours for a license. We could be married before the New Year, which is my preference.” He pressed against her G-spot again. “I’m willing to wait until spring. May at the latest,” he compromised.

“Fine.” He’d won. Once again, the formidable Rafe Sterling had outmaneuvered her. Hope was willing to bet he’d planned on a ceremony in late spring all along, but he’d orchestrated this seduction, suggesting they tie the knot before the New Year, just so that she would agree to May.

He leaned in closer, until they breathed the same air. His masculine scent stamped her.

And then it hit her—they’d set a date. They were getting married. Really getting married. “We’re going to do this?”

“Oh yes. You’re going to be my bride. This is the second happiest day of my life.”

“Second?”

“The first was when you said yes to my proposal.”

As he moved his fingers in her, remaining upright was becoming more and more difficult. The need for orgasm clawed at her, but because of his careful manipulations, he ensured she couldn’t get off. “Rafe… May I…?”

“Should I leave you like this, your sex wide open, your arousal dripping down your thighs during dinner? While we dance?”

The idea excited her. She wanted to come, but if she didn’t, she would ache all night, be focused on him, thirsty for the tanginess of his cock. She’d experience the aftereffects of his penetration for hours.

“Tell me what you want.”

She couldn’t believe she was going to say it, and she knew she would regret it the moment the words left her mouth, but the thrill drew her in a way nothing else could. “Edge me, Sir.” This, she could give him.

“Fuck…” He flattened his thumb against her clit, the pressure causing a tiny mind-blowing ache that made her whimper.

Then he thrust in an out several times until she was crying. The buildup inside her was unbearable.

“That will have to do you until tonight, when I properly reward your sacrifice and courage.” He pulled out his hand. If he hadn’t wrapped an arm around her for support, she would have toppled over. He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost time for us to leave. Are you ready?”

She nodded. He led her to the mattress, where she sank down to recover. After washing his hands, he returned to the bedroom, checked his cuffs, then adjusted his bow tie in the mirror.

He offered his arm, and she stood on still-shaky legs. Her thighs were sticky from her essence, and her pussy was damp. She knew he wouldn’t grant permission to clean herself up, so she didn’t bother asking. In a moment of naughty insight, she realized she liked knowing that under her gorgeous gown, she bore traces of his dominance.

Near the door, she picked up her clutch. Then she caught sight of herself in a small mirror. In horror, she gasped. He’d kissed off her lipstick. Her hair was mussed, as if she’d just left their bed. There was a tiny smear of mascara next to one eye. “I’m a wreck.”

“In the most delightful way, yes.”

“You were going to let me go out like this?”

“Without a second thought.”

“Everyone will know…”

“Know what?” He grinned. “That I am the most fortunate man on the planet?”

She pushed away his arm. “You’ll need to give me a couple of minutes.”

“If you take too much time, your arousal will abate, and I’ll have no choice but to take you to the brink again.”

Hope gaped at him. She knew he wasn’t kidding. He’d risk being late to the festivities in order to make her fantasies come true. She dashed into the bathroom, as fast as she could on the peep-toe heels that he loved so much.

At a casual pace, he followed her, leaning against the doorjamb as he watched her.

“Making sure I behave, Mr. Sterling?”

“I’d hate to have to punish you for wiping your pussy.”

How long do we have to stay at the event?

She did her best to tame her hair. She dabbed the stray mascara from her skin and reapplied a fresh coat. Then she swiped on a layer of lipstick.

In the mirror, she met his gaze.

He was focused on her, his cock swollen against the zipper of his tailored trousers.

“I suggest you finish up. Otherwise I have another use for your mouth.”

She was tempted to stall. But an entire evening awaited them. “Yes, Sir.”

He adjusted his cock.

Hope pushed the lipstick cover back on, then dropped the tube into her bag and fastened the clasp. Then she inhaled to cover her nerves. “I’m ready.”

Wind gusted from the north, making the mid-December night damp and cold. He draped a wrap around her shoulders before extending his elbow for support as they walked toward the car.

Within minutes, he turned onto the half-circle driveway, and the mansion—called the Great House by members—came into view. Hope gasped. The building was always imposing, but decorated for Christmas, it was stunning.

The porch, second-story gallery, and the ten Grecian pillars had been wrapped with twinkling white lights in honor of the holidays. Wreaths were hung in the windows, and garland draped the door.

Tonight, a valet stand had been set up in front of the staircase. Even though an attendant opened her door, she waited for Rafe to assist her from the car. Every day, in dozens of ways, he made her feel cherished.

Arm in arm, they climbed the stairs, and both sets of elegant double doors were opened for them.

The lobby was always spectacular. Tonight, with its mechanical moving reindeer and a twenty-foot Christmas tree filling the air with the fresh scent of pine, it was amazing. Both curved staircases leading to the second floor were wrapped with greenery and lights. At the top, in the middle, was a platform, in the shape of a semicircle. The Zeta society’s symbol, a lowercase Greek z, adorned the wood.

“Evening, Rafe.”

Stunned, Hope froze as Eldon Misken joined them. The entrepreneur had never completed college, yet he spent his days trying to solve the world’s problems, launching rockets, manufacturing stylish, electric cars, harnessing the power of the sun and wind. Some people called him a visionary. Others considered him a narcissistic crackpot. After a moment of gawking, Hope forced herself to close her mouth. A quick look at his right hand confirmed he was wearing a Zeta ring, not that she was surprised. Because of privacy rules, she hadn’t seen a membership roster. After tonight, she’d be able to log in to the Zeta’s website to find the information herself.

“Eldon,” Rafe said, and the two men exchanged handshakes. “May I introduce my bride-to-be, Hope Malloy.”

“Congratulations, Ms. Malloy,” he said. “I understand you’re going to become a member tonight?”

“I am.”

“Double congratulations, then. On the wedding and on being accepted into the Zetas.” He shook Hope’s hand.

She wished it wasn’t gauche to request an autograph. One of her matchmakers, Skyler, was a huge Eldon fan, and it would make a heck of a Christmas present for her.

“I need to spend a few days in DC,” Eldon said. “There’s some doubters on Capitol Hill who need their hands shaken. Some of this progress ruffles the feathers of their constituents.” He said it with a note of disdain, as if there was nothing he detested more.

“Will you be staying at The Sterling Parkland?”

Rafe is more than a passing acquaintance with Eldon?

“My admin tells me it’s fully booked.”

How was it possible that billionaires had problems getting hotel reservations?

“Would you like a White House view?”

“Lafayette Park, so the scenery will encourage me to get out for a run.”

“Send me the dates and I’ll take care of it. Enjoy your evening,” Rafe said as they parted ways.

“Wait,” she said, the moment the man was out of earshot. “You know Eldon? As in, you’re friends?”

“After all this time, I’ve managed to impress you?” He grinned. “I would have introduced you earlier.”

“I want his autograph.”

“What?”

“Tell him that’s part of the deal.”

Rafe stopped walking to stare at her.

“Skyler has a crush on him.”

“You’re serious about this.”

She smiled her appreciation. “You’re the greatest, Mr. Sterling.”

“Because I can get you a signature?”

“Well, it is just one of your impressive talents…” She adjusted his bow tie, and his eyes lit up in response, in promise.

Waitstaff garbed in tuxedoes—even the women—threaded their way through the room, serving appetizers. Several bartenders were mixing custom cocktails. One muddled mint from the plantation’s greenhouse. Throughout the room, a couple of other stations had been set up to serve wine, beer, and champagne.

“What can I get you?” Rafe asked.

“Champagne.”

“Why did I bother asking? If you’ll excuse me?”

“Thank you.” Most times, when she attended society functions, she was working, talking to Houston’s single women, adding business cards to her purse. But tonight, she was among two hundred guests, the elite from all over the world. No matter how she tried to pretend it was normal, she was a little unnerved. She was an imposter here, not born into wealth, and she hadn’t made her mark on the world as an entrepreneur or rule changer, and she’d been bumped to the top of the years-long wait list.

She exhaled a thankful smile when Celeste walked—or more like glided—over. In addition to serving on the Society’s steering committee, Celeste owned Fallon and Associates, a high-profile PR group. Or that’s what their website proclaimed. The reality was far different. When media spin wasn’t enough, the organization made problems go away. How far their reach went, Hope had no idea.

“Darling Hope!” Celeste kissed both of Hope’s cheeks. “You’re radiant.”

Celeste’s floor-length gold gown had thousands of beads sewn on her bodice. The back swept into a jaw-dropping train. She attracted the attention of everyone close enough to see her. “You look like you could rule the world.”

“I intend to.” Celeste laughed, more with conviction than mirth. “How are you faring at your first official Zeta Society event?”

“I feel as if I have fraud alert stamped on my forehead.”

“Don’t. You earned your place here.”

“With…” She glanced around. There was a former football player, a quarterback, if she wasn’t mistaken. A poet laureate. An A-list actor, and across the room, his ex-wife who was now an ambassador. One of Texas’s senators stood in the corner, with a crowd gathered around him. And Eldon Misken, for God’s sake. “With all these Titans?”

“You, my dear, are matchmaker to some high profile individuals. You know their secrets and their—how shall we say it? Peccadillos? Knowing a person’s secrets and keeping them, is powerful beyond compare.”

Unable to help herself, Hope grinned. “Okay. I still may not belong, but I feel better about it.”

“Don’t fool yourself. You’re a successful entrepreneur. Prestige is growing in reputation, which means you’ll have worldwide clients before long. Not everyone here is a legacy member, and to be frank, we like it that way. We seek out unusual occupations. We wouldn’t be as vibrant, as forward-thinking, solution oriented if we had the same old stodgy people admitted year after year.”

“But the wait list…”

No one was close enough to overhear them, but Celeste leaned forward anyway and took one of Hope’s hands. “It doesn’t always go in order. Yes, we do consider application date, but there are always exceptions. Your membership is not without precedent, Hope. It does us good to have more women among our ranks. In terms of female representation, we have a lot of ground to make up. You did very well during your screening.”

The process had been more than a little intimidating. Three months prior, she and Rafe had visited the Parthenon. For four hours, she’d sat in one of the boardrooms, behind a table facing all the members of the steering committee. They’d sat on a dais in comfortable padded chairs, while she’d been relegated to a wooden chair that wobbled each time she shifted. A light had been pointed at her, and they hadn’t allowed for any breaks. After an hour, she’d gotten up and dragged over a more comfortable one from the corner of the room.

That was the only time that Celeste had smiled. And Hope had realized that taking action had been part of the test.

The interminable wait for a decision had been far more difficult, though. Rafe had said he had no doubts, but for weeks she’d checked email and messages like a woman obsessed.

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t deserve it,” Celeste reiterated. “So, let this be the last you speak of it.” She lifted a hand in front of her face to be certain they couldn’t be overheard. “Some of these people desperately need your services. Like that gentleman over there.” She indicated a man with rakishly good looks, wearing a tailored tuxedo. He’d added a splashy, interest-snagging cobalt-blue bowtie and cummerbund.

Hope shook her head. “I don’t recognize him.”

“Zane Kentwood.”

Though Hope recognized the name, she couldn’t place it.

“The prodigy who’s been placed in charge of Bradford Capital Management.”

“As in the hedge fund?”

Celeste smiled her approval. “I knew you’d keep up.”

Hope’s eyes widened as she took a second look at Zane. Bradford Capital was recognized as one of the top ten hedge funds in the world. If her memory was correct, they had over a hundred fifty billion dollars under management. They counted pension funds, university endowments, cities and towns, even central banks as clients. They existed for people with ridiculous amounts of money.

“The bigger the risk, the greater the chances that Bradford will be the firm of choice. Thanks to Zane. When he started interning, they had less than a third of that money. He challenged the founder on some key investment policies. Most people thought he’d get fired. Instead, he became Marvin’s protégé.” Then, angling her body conspiratorially, Celeste added, “He still lives in the same apartment he had in college. The man’s far too much of a workaholic. It’s time for someone to shake up his life. I think you should find the woman who’s brave enough to do it.”

Hope was cautious. “He should want a wife before we find him one.”

Celeste shrugged, and Hope couldn’t tell if it meant Celeste agreed or not.

“Well at least talk to Randy. Near the bar. The one stabbing his olive into his martini and considering drowning himself in the glass.” She sighed. “Owns a chain of bridal stores—one in Houston, another in Dallas, one in San Antonio, and he’s opening another in Austin. He needs a husband or at least a partner. He’s going to die of loneliness.”

“We’ve had a few requests for same-sex partners.” Her male associate, Tony, had suggested they add that as a part of their business. “We might be able to help.”

“And for God’s sake, I need to get Remington Hagan in to see you.”

She frowned. “Who’s that?”

“He’s black ops. Undercover stuff. Cloak-and-dagger, trying to keep the world safe from the bogeyman. Has something of a hero complex. That’s not a clinical diagnosis— it’s mine. His wife died in a plane crash about three years ago, and since then he’s taken some stupid risks. It’s time for him to move on.”

More than many, Hope understood that not everyone could. Hope’s father had been killed in action right around the time Hope was born. Her mother, Cynthia, had believed that they were soul mates, and she’d spent her life dedicated to taking care of veterans, even at the expense of spending time with Hope. “Some people never do.”

“Remington needs to, for the sake of the world. Tell me you’ll talk to him.”

“You know that’s not my business model.” Prestige preferred to deal with people who’d decided on their own that they were ready to get married, for whatever reasons. They had clients who were in their late twenties, all the way up to a feisty octogenarian.

“Adapt and overcome.” Celeste recited one of her mottos.

“Do you ever stop?”

“Everyone needs someone. I simply won’t allow some other company to glom on to him and steal the commission from beneath your nose. You need to be more aggressive, Hope.”

Rafe rejoined them. “Celeste! You’re stunning as ever.” He was carrying two glasses of champagne. After handing one to Hope, he offered the other to Celeste.

She accepted it with a “Thanks.”

“Welcome to the Zeta Society,” Celeste said, lifting her glass to Hope. “We have the world’s elite as members.” Then she rolled her eyes. “Except for that pesky damn senator from Texas. Annoying as hell in that ten-gallon hat. Who wears them anymore?” She waved a hand. “Rafe, we have got to find a good candidate to run against him so we can call him a former senator.” Then, like an empress, Celeste floated away, train dragging behind her, people parting as she approached.

“She needs a crown,” Hope said.

“I’d be surprised if she didn’t have one,” Rafe admitted. “Since I seem to have lost my champagne, I need to go back to the bar. Will you be okay by yourself?”

“Perhaps I’ll go speak with Mr. Hagan. Celeste suggests he might be a possible client.”

“Business always calls.” He leaned toward her. His breath warm on her skin, he whispered into her ear, “Be thinking about who’s going to fuck you senseless tonight.”

With his simple, direct statement, he’d reminded her of what they’d started earlier, and heat crashed through her once again. He’d had that power over her since the very first time they met.

“I’ll find you,” he promised.

She took a sip of the excellent sparkling wine before making her way toward Remington.

“Ah.” His smile was genuine, though touched with a brush of pain. If she hadn’t been looking for it, she might have missed it. “Celeste told me she was going to sic a matchmaker on me.”

“Ouch,” she said with a smile.

“No offense meant, Ms. Malloy. I’m afraid Celeste is right that I’ve lost myself in my work.” Perhaps because Hope was safe, someone he didn’t know, not judgmental, he went on. “That’s not the right word. Drowned myself in it. Better than other things, though?”

“I know how bad it hurts.”

“Larissa has been gone three years. Sometimes it seems like yesterday and that I’ll wake up from the nightmares. I listen to an old voicemail so I don’t forget her voice.” He stared into his glass. Vodka, if she wasn’t mistaken. “With my job, we knew we were taking a risk that our time together would be short. But…” He shook his head. “I wasn’t prepared for it. I don’t know that I would have had the courage to ask her out if I’d known she would die before me.”

At the raw emotion strung through his words, Hope’s heart twisted.

“After the funeral, I realized how strong she’d been. She took a chance, lived with me being gone for weeks without any contact.” He angled his head, and the light played on a faint scar that ran from his temple to his ear, then curved back into his close-cropped hair. “In her place, I would have been a coward.”

“She sounds very special.”

“Part of me thinks it would be better to remain alone, even if others don’t think so.”

“The holidays can be difficult.”

“Tonight is a celebration. I didn’t mean to spoil your evening.” He smiled.

She marveled at the stunning transformation, from a man filled with pain to a charming companion, emotions locked up as if they weren’t permitted to get in the way of the rest of his life. He was a chameleon of sorts—that no doubt made him great at his job.

“Congratulations are in order. Welcome to the Zetas.”

“Thank you.” Because he’d been so honest with her, she made her own confession. “It’s a bit surreal.”

“I agree with you.”

“Really?”

“Connections are forged that last a lifetime. If you have the chance, be sure to attend the annual gathering, or as much of it as you can. I’ve missed a few years because of other…obligations, but I try to take my leave around that time.”

“And the bonfire?” she asked.

He laughed. “Including togas and flat sandals.”

Rafe had teased her the same way. “Foiled again.” Years ago, she’d read an exposé written by a reporter who’d sneaked in to one of the Society’s annual gatherings. He’d reported about mysterious dancing around the bonfire with some strange rituals and burning effigies that she suspected were more folklore than fact, but she couldn’t find anyone to confirm or deny it. “If there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to contact me.” She thought of slipping him a business card but realized he’d have no trouble finding her if he wanted to.

She was considering who to talk to next when Rafe bore down on her, his gaze and stride filled with single-minded purpose.

“I see you’ve met my fiancée,” Rafe said to Remington as they shook hands.

“Indeed? I hadn’t heard. Much happiness to you both.” He lifted his glass. Then to Rafe, he asked, “How is your father getting along?”

Hope wondered if Rafe knew everyone here. It was possible since only a fraction of the society’s members were present.

He gave a brief overview of his father’s situation. Following the murder of his lover, Theodore Sterling had taken a months-long cruise, including a port of call in Morocco, a place he and Lillibet had planned to visit on their honeymoon. He’d scattered her ashes there, and according to him, he’d left his heart there as well. Now he rarely ventured outside his oceanfront condo.

“Grief does strange things to us,” Remington agreed, those haunted lines trenching beside his eyes again.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” A voice, cultured and energetic, blasted from unseen speakers, instantly cutting through the din. “Welcome to our annual holiday party. For those who don’t know me…” He paused for the laughs and guffaws that would follow.

Her mouth open, she looked at the emcee and then at Rafe. “Jaxon Mills? Are you kidding me?”

Rafe grinned.

Jaxon owned one of the most well-known and respected digital media marketing companies. He was everywhere, admired by many, despised by some who believed he was a loudmouth. But his success was inarguable. Celeste believed he was somewhat of an oracle when it came to guessing what the next big thing would be. Because he acted on it, he’d come from nothing to amass a small fortune. And he, too, was a Titan?

“Consider yourselves fortunate,” he finished. More laughter followed. “I’m Jaxon Mills, your host for the evening. It gives me great pleasure to direct your attention to our chairperson, Judge Gideon Anderson.”

The judge, rumored to be a front-runner for the next vacant Supreme Court seat, stood in the semicircle at the top of the stairs. With stunning silver hair, astute blue eyes, and a physique chiseled by competitive running, he was an impressive figure. “A merry Christmas to all!”

Everyone lifted glasses and echoed the sentiment.

“Welcome to our Christmas party and new member induction. It’s a delight to have you at the Parthenon. Let the festivities begin.”

He made his way down the stairs.

“He needs a wife,” Remington said. “It would help his bid for the Supreme Court. Rumor suggests it was a consideration when he was passed over last time. Image is everything.”

“Interesting.” She’d had a couple of politicians come to her for help, just for that reason. “Maybe I’ll chat with Celeste about it.”

“I’d like to see him appointed. No one deserves it more.”

When the judge reached the lobby, the crowd parted to let him through, and he walked toward the doors leading to the dining room.

“Enjoy yourself,” Remington said. “If I decide to consider a relationship again, I’ll be in contact.”

Rafe had informed her they were assigned to table three, and it didn’t take long for them to find their place cards.

She was next to Rafe, and there was an empty chair to her right. Rafe was seated beside a woman who ran an exclusive travel arrangement company. According to her, they didn’t just book hotels, homes, cruises. They created experiences. It might include a cruise, but on a ship that would stay in port long enough for guests to spend several days in a Norwegian fjord and a night under a glass dome to see the Northern Lights. The woman indicated an interest in chatting with Rafe about the launch of his upcoming exclusive cruise ships, large enough to contain five-star amenities but small enough to be reserved by organizations and able to access locations that bigger liners couldn’t go.

Hope was getting tired of nodding while pretending she could hear everyone else’s conversations when a man walked over to the table to pull back the vacant chair.

Conversation died as electricity arced through the room.

“Kian!” Rafe stood, and the two men shook hands. “It’s been a long time”

While he wore power as naturally as the other Titans, she’d never seen anyone like Kian. While other members were dressed in tuxedos, he was in jeans and a leather blazer. His tie was looped in a careless knot. His hair was a little too long, a lot too mussed.

A tattoo streaked up from beneath the collar of his white button-down shirt, stamping bad boy all over him.

She shook her head to stop staring at him.

“Did you ride in?” Rafe asked.

“From Dallas.”

“In this cold?”

“I froze my—” He broke off abruptly and looked at Hope with a halfway apologetic tilt of his head. Then he flashed her a sincere, pulse-stopping smile. “I beg your pardon, ma’am.”

“Allow me to introduce Hope Malloy, the future Mrs. Sterling.”

“Ah. Congratulations are in order. Kian Brannigan.” He extended his tattoo-covered hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Recovering her manners, she slid her palm against his as she looked up, meeting his eyes, and suddenly she saw beyond the obvious good looks and practiced charm to the pain laced in his eyes. He was here, at the party, but at the same time…not.

A waitperson walked toward him, carrying a cut-crystal glass on a silver platter, interrupting their greeting.

Banishing the fanciful thoughts about a man she didn’t know, Hope eased her hand from his.

Rafe returned to his seat, and Kian sat in the chair next to her. In a single swallow, he downed his drink, then signaled for another.

“You rode in? Like on a motorcycle?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Prefer it to a car.”

“Most people would fly that distance.”

He was silent for a few seconds. “Most people, perhaps.”

His second drink arrived, and this time he stared into for a moment before taking a sip.

Since he’d arrived late, he opted to skip the salad and go straight for a rare steak. “Tell me about Hope Malloy.”

“I’m a matchmaker.”

He put down his fork. “Are you?”

“Don’t worry.” She gave him a reassuring grin. “I’m not soliciting clients.”

“Thank God. I’d go broke if I hired you to find me a wife.”

“Tell me about Kian Brannigan,” she invited a few minutes later, when he’d loosened his tie even more and allowed his shoulders to relax.

“I build custom rides. Motorcycles.”

“High-end ones,” Rafe supplied, leaning in and placing a hand on her thigh.

Awareness of her man went through her in a wave so powerful she lost the thread of the conversation.

“He also races them,” Rafe added.

Kian tipped his glass toward Rafe. “You’re welcome to stop by the shop, or the track.”

“I’ll do that.” He nodded. “Might be an interesting option to offer our hotel guests.” Keeping his hand on Hope, he turned back to the woman next to him. “What do you think? Could be some sort of package? Staying at a Sterling property and touring Brannigan Custom Bikes, perhaps a day or two of racing school, followed by a day at the track?”

Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of coffee and dessert. A few minutes later, Jaxon announced that the program would begin in fifteen minutes.

Rafe looked at her with his eyebrows drawn together. She recognized this particular type of smile. He intended to suggest something wicked, way outside her comfort zone. Something she both hated and liked. To the rest of the attendees, the way he leaned toward her would appear to be endearing and intimate. “This would be an excellent time for you to excuse yourself to the ladies’ room to masturbate.”

Even she hadn’t been prepared for his words to be so filthy, at odds with this grand event.

“Since I’m edging you, you will stop before you come.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “Please return to me with your juices on your fingers.”

Her breath whooshed out.

“Do you understand my instructions?”

“But—”

“Do you understand my instructions?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her traitorous body already responding to his seduction. Life with him would always be interesting. She picked up her handbag, and he stood to pull back her chair.

“You please me,” he murmured.

Pretending her life was as ordinary as everyone else’s, she made her way to the restroom. Unnerving her, there was a waiting line, and she took her place at the end.

When it was her turn, her cheeks were heated, as if everyone knew what she’d be doing in the stall.

Her hand shook as she hung up her clutch, then lifted her dress to brush a finger across her clit. From all of their play earlier and his constant reminders, her body was already aroused. Her gentle touch made her gasp, and she yanked her hand away.

When she returned to the table, he would no doubt ask how long she’d pleasured herself. He’d see through any half-truth, and she didn’t have the courage to admit she’d quit after a couple of seconds. That would be a recipe for him taking her back to the cottage, uncaring whether or not they missed the ceremony. Whatever punishment he doled out would be so much worse than enduring this.

With determination, she pressed her lips together so she didn’t cry out as she swirled her first two fingers around her clit. The tiny piece of flesh swelled, but she continued until it throbbed.

In order to avoid an orgasm, she had to stop while she caught her breath.

All around her, conversation buzzed. She was grateful the hiss from the electric hand dryers drowned out her tiny whimpers.

When she was in control again, she slid a finger inside her pussy. The memory of Rafe splitting her apart as he had probed her depths rushed through her. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, lost in thoughts of being his submissive while she fucked herself.

Within seconds she was panting, so very close to coming. Her fingers were slick with her own juices, and she had to lock her knees to stay upright. She wanted the climax. Needed it. It would take a handful more strokes to put just the right amount of pressure on her clit…

It took all her control to pull away her hand and allow her dress to drop.

She grabbed the door hook until she could suck in a couple of deep steadying breaths.

Hope wasn’t sure how her legs supported her, but she squared her shoulders, unhooked her bag, then left the stall.

She busied herself at the sink, rearranging her hair and touching up her makeup, stalling while she struggled for composure. Finally, a minute later, she exited the ladies’ room.

Surprising her, Rafe lounged near one of the marble pillars. Rather than take her back to the ballroom, he led her to a private alcove beneath the magnificent staircase. Because people were getting ready for the event, some at the bar, others making final trips to the restrooms, no one noticed them.

“I want every detail,” he said, voice roughened with arousal.

“I’m so…” She sighed. Overwhelmed.

“You played with your clit?”

“A couple of times…” She licked her lower lip. “I fucked myself with my hand until I couldn’t take any more.”

With one eyebrow cocked, part curiosity, part frown, he waited.

“I stopped before I came.”

“That’s my girl. Now give me your fingers.”

She trembled anew as he lifted them to his mouth and licked them. In the bedroom, that was erotic. Here, now, it was scandalous and threatened to make her come.

“You didn’t wipe yourself when you were done?”

A threat made his voice rough, shooting a tremor through her. “No, Sir.”

In the distance, Jaxon boomed a five-minute warning.

“Go wash your hands.” Rafe released her.

With a nod, she hurried to obey. She was losing herself in him, but the deeper she went, the more he was there for her.