Misconduct

Letting Tyler Marek push me into corners and whisper into my ear right under the noses of everyone around us was going to get me into trouble.

And him.

He had a lot to lose, too.

So why wasn’t I ending it?

I was standing in the middle of a burning room, daring myself to stay as long as possible before it was time to run.

“Are you ready?”

Jack looked over the hood at me, straightening his navy blue and pink polka-dot tie over his pink pin-striped shirt. Not many men would brave such a color, but New Orleans men were a different animal, and it looked good on him. Especially with his matching navy blue slacks.

I smiled lazily. “Ready for what?” I asked, glancing at Kristen Meyer as she climbed out of the back of Jack’s Jeep.

Tyler had said I could bring a friend, and I thought it would be more comfortable—or comforting—to have backup when I knew Jack was going to spend his afternoon schmoozing.

“Are you ready for the party?” Jack repeated. “You’re Miss Antisocial-Constantly-Uncomfortable-Wants-to-Be-Home-Instead-of-at-a-Party-Ever, so I guess I shouldn’t worry, right?”

His lips were spread from ear to ear, pleased with his own assessment of me, and I just rolled my eyes.

“Ah.” Kristen spoke up, smoothing down her sleeveless knee-length peach dress. “So it’s not just me. She’s always difficult.”

She shot me a joking glare as she put her hands on her hips and grinned.

Apparently she thought we were close enough to insult each other in good humor.

I cocked an eyebrow. “Just because I don’t bounce around like I’m in a Skittles commercial doesn’t mean I’m difficult.”

And I walked off, hearing their snorts behind me as they followed.

I almost went for the side door, next to the covered driveway, but I caught myself just in time, remembering I had to keep up the pretense that I’d never been here and most guests wouldn’t use that door. Of course, my brother was informed about how close Marek and I had gotten, but that didn’t mean I could be careless.

Before we even reached the front door, though, it opened, a butler I hadn’t seen before greeting us.

“Good afternoon.”

“Hello.” I nodded, taking a few steps into the entryway and stopping.

Kristen and Jack strolled in behind me, and the sunlight fanning across the floor slowly fell away as the door closed.

I inhaled and instantly dipped my head, trying to hide the smile caused by the flutters in my stomach. I loved his smell, and I suddenly realized my new favorite place was being curled up in his sheets, where that scent covered me.

“Ms. Bradbury,” I heard a voice say from above.

I looked up, seeing Christian descend the dark hardwood stairs with one hand on the cast-iron railing, and I immediately felt a light layer of sweat break out on my forehead.

Yes, this was definitely inappropriate. I shouldn’t have come.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.” He looked at me quizzically as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Yeah, I shouldn’t be, should I?

I forced a smile, taking him in. I was glad to see I hadn’t over – or underdressed.

He wore black slacks with black shoes, and while he hadn’t put on a tie, he still looked dressy in a light blue oxford with his sleeves rolled up. I’d decided to take advantage of the warm October weather and wore a sleeveless dress that fell just above my knees, but while it was mostly white, it was filled with a spatter of pink and blue flowers in the middle that looked a lot like a watercolor painting. It was vintage, and I loved it.

“Hi, Christian,” I greeted in a light voice. The pleasant-teacher one I used for the students. “Yes, your father invited me. This is my brother, Jack.” I waved my hand, joking, “He’s nicer than me. I promise.”

He nodded but didn’t smile.

“And you know Ms. Meyer.” I gestured to Kristen.

Christian gave her a half smile, but there was something that still wasn’t right. I didn’t know if he’d already been put off before we got here, or if it was my overactive sense of guilt that he might not want me here, but he seemed displeased about something.

We’d made some progress in class, and his work outside of the classroom was excellent. Whatever was bothering him wasn’t getting in the way of his performance, so I could only hope it had nothing to do with me.

The quiet butler in his white jacket and black tie approached us. “Everyone’s out back,” he told us. “Down the hall and you’ll see the glass doors.”

“Yeah,” Christian spoke up. “Follow me.”

And he turned around, leading us to the back of the house. The echo of mine and Kristen’s heels drowned out any other sound as Christian took us across the white marble floors of the entryway to the slate tiles of the kitchen toward the French doors leading out to the patio.

“Wow. Look at this place.” Kristen’s whisper was filled with awe.

But I refused to look around. If I did, I’d see the door leading to the study where he’d mauled me four days ago or the stove where I’d made breakfast wearing only his shirt.

“It’s a large house,” I commented to Christian ahead of me. “I mean for just you and your dad.”

We all walked through the doors, and Christian turned around, regarding us casually.

“He’s my father, not my dad,” he pointed out, looking around. “And this is his house, not mine.”

Reaching over, he grabbed a bottle of water from the neatly lined-up beverages on the refreshments table and offered a cocky smirk. “Have fun,” he said, and then spun around, walking away.

My brother appeared at my side, shaking his head and watching Christian stroll away to his friends. “Pretty cold for a fourteen-year-old.”

Yes, he was.

However, I couldn’t help but envy him. Maybe if I’d known my own mind at that age as well as he did, I wouldn’t have behaved so stupidly. He stood his ground, he knew who he was, and he held everyone to a standard. Christian wasn’t denying himself good things because he was damaged. Rather, he was shielding himself against harmful things because he’d been disappointed.

Sometimes second chances were too much to ask. Or maybe he’d realize that his dad was still learning.

“Ms. Bradbury.”

Speak of the devil . . .

Elation swept through my chest, and I couldn’t keep the smile at bay this time.

Turning around, I held out my hand, keeping up appearances. “Mr. Marek,” I greeted as he took my hand, a mischievous look crossing his face.

He was dressed in a black suit, cut to flow with the shape of his body.

And even though the suit was dark-colored, his white shirt and light blue tie gave off a casual and bright appearance for a luncheon set outside.

He took longer than necessary, holding my eyes just enough to tell me I was on his mind, and then he turned to my brother, holding out his hand.

“Jack, right?” he asked.

My brother held out his hand, taking Tyler’s. “Yes, sir. Jack Bradbury.”

“Hi, Mr. Marek.” Kristen held out her hand. “I’m Ms. Meyer. I teach—”

“Earth Science.” He cut her off, nodding and taking her hand. “Yes, I know who you are. Welcome.”

I glanced around, wondering how long I should stick around before I left. Jack would undoubtedly stay until the party ended. The amount of suits here, all important people in New Orleans, was a social buffet for my brother, and I was sure he couldn’t wait to start making the rounds.

Kristen had the personality to fit in anywhere. She probably made friends easily. I was different.

Not difficult, just different.

And right now I was sure I’d have more fun at home repotting some plants or sharpening my new steak knife set.

“Well, make yourselves at home,” Tyler told us, gesturing with the rocks glass he held in his hand. “Food and refreshments are over there, so feel free to help yourself and mingle.”

He spared me a quick glance before addressing my brother again. “There are some people I’d like you to meet,” he told Jack, taking him away.

“And, Ms. Bradbury?” He turned back around, leaning in. “The ladies are over there.”

He nodded to the clique of beige and pink congregating around the tables, laughing and talking.

“It’s probably safer,” he said, and I jerked my eyes back up to him just in time to see his smug smirk before turning away.

Safer?

As in, I’ll be less intimidated?

I snorted, following Kristen over to the refreshments. Maybe he was teasing me. Maybe he was challenging me, but I wasn’t bored anymore.

Picking up a champagne flute filled with some kind of orange liquid, I floated around the party with Kristen, taking in the lively atmosphere and the beautiful day. The backyard was paved with more slate tiles, similar to the ones in the kitchen, with sparse sections of lush grass here and there. There were a few trees, as tall as one-story houses, and around the perimeter a cast-iron fence and a vast offering of foliage, including ferns, rosebushes, and neatly trimmed hedges.

There were tables with hors d’oeuvres and refreshments, as well as a full bar, because New Orleanians drink for everything. Even funerals. Lunch would most likely be served at the tables instead of buffet style, because, well, Tyler Marek didn’t do business half-assed.

And this luncheon was business.

The centerpiece of the backyard was a rectangular-shaped pool with deep blue tiles, which made it look like the Mediterranean Sea. Or so I believed. I’d actually never been there.

And then, glancing to the left, I instantly paused, seeing a single tennis court. I narrowed my eyes.

Why hadn’t I noticed that this week when I was here?

It wasn’t like I’d spent any time outside, but I’d taken a look through the doors at least and noticed the pool and the beautiful landscaping.

My feet and legs tingled with the desire to get on the court and break a sweat. I suddenly wanted to hold a racket and chase the ball again. For years I’d try—sporadically—to get back on the court and feel comfortable, but it never worked. Now I wanted to.

A love of tennis may have been “beaten into me,” so to speak, but it was still love.

The guests had separated into factions, it seemed. Christian, along with a few friends I recognized, had plates loaded with food and were disappearing back into the house, probably for a movie or video games. I couldn’t imagine this scene was a lot of fun for them.

The ladies—or wives—had grouped off, and while they appeared to be enjoying themselves, I didn’t want to surrender to whatever mold Tyler challenged me with. Many of the ladies, I was sure, ran charity organizations, wrote successful blogs, and had careers of their own; however, there was still a good-ole-boy mentality in this city that kept women on the sidelines.

I set down my empty glass and picked up another of the same drink. It was nonalcoholic but still a delicious concoction of orange juice, pineapple juice, and Sprite, I believed.

With Kristen following, I headed over to Jack as he chatted with a small group of men, including Tyler, Mason Blackwell, and a few others I didn’t recognize. I couldn’t imagine why Tyler had invited Blackwell—I knew he didn’t like him—but I was sure it had everything to do with business and nothing to do with pleasure.

“The other party has already endorsed Evelyn Tragger,” one of the gentlemen said casually, speaking to Blackwell. “She’s plainspoken and hard-nosed. She has a good reputation north of Baton Rouge, and she’s very popular with certain circles here.”

“And she is not happy with you, Mason,” another guest joked before taking a sip out of his rocks glass.

I stopped behind Blackwell, no one noticing my presence.

“Of course she’s not,” Blackwell asserted. “Most unmarried women are disgruntled.”

The group broke out in laughter, some nodding in agreement, and their ignorant, pasty, self-satisfied smiles suddenly irritated me.

Straightening my back and crossing my arms over my chest, I cocked my head. “And because you’re male that makes you worthy of office?” I retorted.

Everyone turned to face me, suddenly noticing I was there, except Jack. He simply let his head fall back as he sighed, probably bracing himself for my antics, which he knew all too well.

Blackwell looked at me with a half smile and definite amusement in his eyes. The three gentlemen I didn’t recognize regarded me with interest, appearing surprised but not the least bit offended. I had no idea what Tyler was thinking, but I could feel his gaze on me.

“Uh, gentlemen.” I heard the laughter Tyler kept contained. “This is Ms. Easton Bradbury. She’s a—”

“Voter,” I finished for him, pinning Blackwell with a stern stare. “And I’d like to know, Mr. Blackwell, why it is that with one hundred senators in this country, only about twenty are female?”

I didn’t so much care either way about the gender of our leaders, but I was interested in hearing his answer.

“None of them are from Louisiana or from the South, for that matter,” I added. “In fact, Louisiana has elected only one female senator throughout history.”

That was a lie. There’d been three, actually, but I wanted to see if anyone would correct me.

He stood there, one hand casually sliding into his pocket and the other holding a glass of something brown.

“The job goes to whoever is qualified,” he answered, and I almost laughed.

“Twenty-eight percent child poverty rate,” I pointed out, “and one of the largest prison inmate increases in the country.”

Politics and history went hand in hand. I couldn’t love one without being informed about the other.

I held his stare. “We’re also the unhealthiest state in the union, based on obesity, suicide, alcohol consumption, and teen pregnancy.”

His stare faltered for a split second, and I deduced either he was unaware, aware but didn’t care, or he had no response.

The problem with people like Blackwell was that they treated public service as an extension of their careers. It was a means to gain influence and change laws that kept them from making money in whatever manner they chose. Their public service wasn’t about the public at all.

And I wasn’t so sure Tyler had a nobler agenda, either.

I took a deep breath, lifting my chin. “I just told you that much of your future constituency is underfed and undereducated,” I clarified. “Now, I would never base my vote on someone’s race or gender, but you can be sure my vote isn’t guaranteed simply because you have a dick.”

Tyler choked on his drink, coughing, and the other gentlemen broke out in snorts and laughs that were quickly concealed with a hand over the mouth.

Kristen cleared her throat, and I could tell she wanted to laugh, while a smile tugged at Blackwell’s lips.

Leaning in, he whispered in my ear, “But you haven’t seen it.”

His smooth voice was filled with sexual innuendo, and I stilled, feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand up. This guy was disgusting.

“Tyler,” a woman said behind me. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Blackwell pulled back, still smirking, and I turned my head, seeing a beautiful blonde in a red wrap dress walk up from behind.

And I tensed, remembering her. She was the blonde from the Mardi Gras ball last year.

She came to stand at Tyler’s side, and I instantly felt heat rush to my cheeks.

“I’m Tessa McAuliffe.” She smiled, holding out her hand. “And you are?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Tyler cut me off.

“Tessa,” he interrupted, stepping up to me. “I need to speak with Ms. Bradbury.” He smiled politely, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Please excuse us for a moment,” he told everyone.

I narrowed my eyes, ready to object, but he grabbed my elbow and led me away from the group so fast I nearly stumbled along the brick path.

“What are you doing?” I whispered as he moved his hand to my back, continuing to lead me off the patio and into the house.

But he didn’t answer.

Most of the guests were outside, but there were a few scattered about, browsing around the house, as well as servers gathering food and supplies to refresh the tables.

“Tyler, someone will see us,” I whisper-yelled this time, trying to dig in my heels and stop him.

But once we were past the bustle of the kitchen, he took my hand and pulled me down the dimmed hallway and past the foyer to his den.

He opened the door, dragged me inside, and slammed it closed. Releasing my hand, he walked behind his desk and crossed his arms over his chest, locking eyes with me.

What the hell was wrong with him?

The woman simply wanted an introduction. Did he think I didn’t know how to be discreet? She couldn’t possibly have recognized me.

Or maybe he was angry about my behavior before she arrived. I guess I wasn’t so discreet.

“What did he say to you?” Tyler barked out. “When he whispered in your ear?”

I cocked my head, choosing to be stubborn.

“Does it matter?” I played.

He shook his head, letting out a bitter laugh. “Not everything that’s in your head needs to come out of your mouth,” he scolded.

Ah, now we were getting somewhere.

“Are you angry because of what I said or because I drew attention to myself?” I inquired, crossing my arms as well. “Maybe I shouldn’t wear any short skirts either.”

He placed his hands palm down on his desk and glared at me. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Right.” I smiled. “Let me guess. I forgot my place. Legs open, mouth closed, right?”

He pulled up, slowly circling the desk and looking down at me. “Don’t be dramatic.”

My skin tingled, and my heart sped up. “What are you really mad about?”

“What did he say to you?” His full bottom lip was tight with tension.

“I forgot.” I shrugged. “Something about his dick.”

His entire face hardened. “I should’ve hit him.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m not a child!” he bellowed. “I’m an adult who picks his battles. I don’t just run off, half-cocked, no matter how much I wanted to see him bloody for even getting near you.”

“Too bad,” I taunted, a slight smile on my lips. “If you had, I’d be in here on my knees, sucking your dick right now instead of thinking about his.”

His eyes flared, and he bared his teeth. Grabbing me by the jaw in one hand and hovering his lips just over mine, he slowly swung me around and slammed my ass against the desk, the small tray of file folders on the corner spilling to the floor.

My blood raced. Yes.

I hopped up, planted my ass on the desk, and wrapped my hungry legs around his waist as he moved his hand to the back of my neck and came down on me, his lips hot and strong.

I whimpered, his tongue sending thrills down my body, spiraling in my stomach, and throbbing between my legs.

His hands were everywhere, underneath my dress, inside my panties, and gripping my ass.

“Tyler,” I groaned, nibbling and kissing his lips.

“You drive me crazy,” he breathed out, sounding angry as he sucked and bit my lip.

One of his hands left my ass and shifted to grip my breast through the dress. The other moved to my hair, holding my head back by the scalp.

He ripped his mouth away from mine, and I whimpered at the sting.

He glared down, tightening his hold on my breast. “Tonight you will be on your knees,” he whispered, kissing me, “and I’m going to like the sound of you shutting up. Now, get out there and make me jealous.” He pulled away, grabbing my upper arm and yanking me off the desktop. “It’ll make your punishment more fun.”

He walked around his desk, and I tightened the muscles in my legs to keep them from shaking. The fierce heat between my thighs ached, and I winced with the discomfort.

But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how worked up he’d gotten me. I could get what he gave me anywhere. At least that’s what I’d lead him to believe.

Standing tall, I pivoted on my heel and walked for the door.

“And, Easton?” I heard him call.

I spun around to see him eyeing me with the phone to his ear as he made a call.

“Louisiana has had three female senators throughout history, not one,” he said with a cocked eyebrow before looking away and dismissing me.

I let the corners of my mouth turn up before I walked out.

He might just have my vote, after all.

—

“All right.” I held the racket in my right hand and the yellow tennis ball in my left. “Stand between the center mark and the sideline, and you have to serve into the opposite service court,” I instructed Christian. “You can hit the lines, but if the ball shoots outside of those boundaries, you’ve lost that point.”

He nodded, the same little scowl on his face that his father often wore. It was funny, because I think that look intimidated most people. It looked like he was angry, but it was just the look of him paying attention. I’d been getting it more and more in class lately.

Most of Christian’s friends had already left the party, only a few still sticking around because their parents were still here. When I’d inquired about his tennis court, he’d said it had come with the house when his father bought it years ago. But to his knowledge, it was never used.

Still, it appeared well kept, though the net could be changed. It was stained from the heavy rains over the years and frayed.

I tossed the ball into the air above my head and swung the racket from behind, the dull popping sound of impact sending shivers up my arms. The ball flew over to the other side and landed in the other service court, bouncing several times before it finally came to rest against the fence.

“And then is it the other person’s turn to serve?” he asked, his hands in his pockets.

I handed him the racket and walked over to the side in my bare feet, grabbing a new can of balls he’d brought out.

“No. You serve the whole game,” I called back, looking over to the garden and seeing more guests begin to leave.

“The whole game?” he blurted out, sounding daunted.

I tried not to laugh. “Not the whole match,” I pointed out, emphasizing the different vocabulary. “Just that game. Men’s singles generally have two sets per match, a third if needed.”

I peeled off the lid from the can and popped the sealed top, instantly dipping my nose in and smelling the new-ball scent. It reminded me of summers and sweat, Gatorades and sore muscles.

“Do you play any sports at school?” I asked him.

He reached his arm up, dipping his racket behind his head and throwing a practice swing.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. “I play soccer, but . . .”

“But what?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just get . . . pressured, I guess,” he confided, attempting more practice swings. “I don’t think I’m very good. The other team or everyone watching sometimes gets in my head, and it’s all I’m thinking about.”

I smiled to myself, knowing exactly what he was talking about. It was very common for athletes to feel the crowd’s expectations, and winning was as much mental as it was physical.

“Do you know what I realized when I played tennis?” I asked him. “I realized that you’re playing a part in a way. When you put on that uniform or grab that ball, you sometimes have to become someone else to play the game. Braver, harder, tougher . . . When you’re in a competitive situation, you’re you times ten.”

His eyebrows pinched together, like he understood what I was saying but wasn’t sure what to do with the information.

“An easy way to put on that new mask is to do something to your appearance,” I suggested. “I used to create elaborate braids before pulling my hair back into ponytails for a match. It kind of helped me get my head into the game and feel tougher,” I told him. “Other athletes paint their faces . . .”

He nodded, looking pleased with that idea.

“Hello.” A woman’s voice interrupted, and I turned my head to see the blonde from earlier, Tessa McAuliffe.

I narrowed my eyes but quickly recovered. I’d thought she’d left.

Many of the guests had filtered out, and I was getting ready to grab my brother—who was deep in conversation with one of the mayor’s assistants—and Kristen—who was chatting with the son of someone important from somewhere important—as well, to leave. Tyler had been in and out of the party, talking to a few people and making eye contact, probably to make sure I was having fun.

But I’d been fine.

I’d spoken to several guests, and my brother was in his element. Tyler had been on my turf a few times, so it was only fitting that I got to invade his.

And it had been eye-opening to see the people he surrounded himself with. Blackwell, other politicians, and members of the elite.

And then Tessa McAuliffe, who I remembered also hosted a morning news show. It was reasonable to believe Tyler had invited her due to the influence she held or her media connections, but I still didn’t like the way she said his name.

Or the way she was so familiar with him.

“I tried to introduce myself earlier,” she said, holding out her hand, “but he swept you away so quickly.”

She gazed at me with a twinkle in her eye.

I nodded once and took her hand. “Easton Bradbury.”

“Tessa McAuliffe.”

“Yes, I know,” I responded, turning away to hand Christian the can of tennis balls before facing her again. “From the morning show, right?”

She grinned, squinting her eyes playfully. “Not a fan?”

“Oh, no,” I shot out. “I’m sure I would like it well enough, but pop culture isn’t really my thing.”

She nodded, and I let my eyes fall down her body for a moment. She looked like everything I wished I was.

Her red dress stood out against the other female guests’ beiges and pinks, and she walked with grace in her tan heels. Her hair was neatly coiffed in an up-do, with locks of rich blond hair falling around her face. Her makeup was soft, and her posture was confident.

My dress seemed childish now, and the dark blue heels I’d rushed out to get to match the splatter of flowers on the dress were cheap compared to hers. It wasn’t that I didn’t have the money for designer things. I’d made a small fortune playing tennis and even modeling in ads for clothes and tennis shoes. I simply had no interest in spending my money on things I considered impractical.

Until now.

She was a woman, and I felt like a girl next to her, with my hair hanging in loose curls instead of up, looking sophisticated. I should’ve done something with it.

What does Tyler prefer? Does he think she’s prettier? More presentable? I—

And then I cleared my throat, stopping myself.

Ridiculous. How the hell did I get filled up with all of these insecurities all of a sudden? All that mattered was me. How I felt comfortable and what I liked.

And Tyler certainly seemed to like something about me.

“And what do you do?” she asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I took a deep breath, stepping over to the side to slip back into my heels. “I teach at Braddock Autenberry.”

“Where Christian goes to school?” she inquired. “What do you teach?”

My toes ached as I pushed them back into the tight-fitting shoes. “American and World History,” I replied.

And then I stopped to look at her. “Are you here in support of Mr. Marek’s campaign?” I asked, ready to find out exactly what she was about.

“Mr. Marek?” she joked. “Doesn’t he allow you to call him Tyler?”

I straightened my shoulders, glancing at Christian to see him running to collect all of the balls he’d hit.

“He’s the parent of a student,” I clarified. “I wouldn’t be so familiar.”

“Not even when you two are alone?”

I held her eyes even though my pulse raced in my chest.

Was she really that perceptive?

Or had Tyler confided in her?

No, he wouldn’t do that. It would be a betrayal to confide in another woman about his relationship with me.

She let out a small laugh. “It’s not hard to figure out, Easton,” she gloated. “I know most of the guests at this party, and none of them are teachers at Braddock Autenberry.”

I heard Christian’s footsteps off to the side as he ran back over to this side of the court. She must’ve seen him, because she inched closer.

“And judging by the way he scans the party from time to time, in search of you, I’d say he’s very territorial,” she pointed out, looking over her shoulder to the party.

I followed her gaze, seeing Tyler around a group of men, and as if on cue, he twisted his head and locked eyes with me at once, already knowing exactly where I was. Then his eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened, making it clear he didn’t like Tessa and me talking.

She turned back around, looking smug. “He’s been doing it all day, you know?”

No. I hadn’t known. And while I liked knowing I was on his mind, she might not have been the only one to notice. My brother, now Tessa—how long before others knew there was something going on between us?

Hell, Mason Blackwell probably recognized me from the Quarter the other night, too. My job, Christian, and Tyler’s campaign . . . there was too much risk.

She smirked and turned around, walking away, obviously successful in doing whatever it was that she’d set out to do. Maybe she wanted me out of the way, maybe she intended to out us, or maybe she was just having fun, but one thing was clear: She wasn’t on my side. She enjoyed making me squirm.

I quickly glanced back over to where Tyler had been and noticed him gone.

“Shit,” I mumbled under my breath.

I looked over at Christian. I loved seeing how hard he was working. I wished I could stay on the court longer with him, but it was time to get out of here.

And never be anywhere in public with Tyler again.

After saying goodbye to Christian, I traipsed across the lawn and stepped back onto the walkway. I entered the house and searched out Tyler, starting with his den.

Peeking inside, I saw no one, but when I heard voices coming from the next room, I quietly pushed open the door and saw Tyler with three other men around a pool table.

An older man in a slate-gray suit hit Tyler on the back as he bent over the pool table to take a shot. “There’s not enough money in the world to buy you charm, Marek,” he stated, letting out a laugh.

Tyler shook his head and took the shot, slamming the six into the side pocket. His brother, whom I’d already met, leaned on his pool cue, while another man, a few years older, puffed on a cigar off to the side, all of them smiling and looking relaxed.

I straightened my back. “Mr. Marek, I’m sorry to interrupt.” I opened the door fully and took a step inside. “My brother and I are heading out, and I wanted to thank you for the invite.”

He stood upright, and I didn’t miss the way his eyes drifted down my body.

The cigar guy let out a laugh. “Can I invite her to my next party?” he asked. “She’s a pretty little thing. And pretty entertaining, too,” he added, and I realized he must’ve been in the group of men outside.

And then Jay smiled. “Yeah, I’ve never heard anyone speak to Blackwell that way.”

“You see?” Tyler turned to me, looking playful. “You can’t go. Your charms are in demand.”

“They’re not charms,” I shot back. “It’s called an education. And I can’t stay, unfortunately. I have plans this evening, so again, thank you for having me.”

I turned to leave, making it only a few steps before a hand hooked the inside of my elbow and spun me back around.

“Wha—” But my protest was cut off.

Tyler’s mouth covered mine, his hands holding my waist and pressing my body to his.

I squirmed, pushing against his chest even as the taste of him sent tingles down my thighs.

What the hell?

I grabbed his bottom lip between my teeth and bit, feeling him jerk back and break the kiss. But he didn’t let me go.

“Gentlemen”—he spoke to them but looked at me—“would you excuse us, please?”

I heard some amused, low voices as they walked past us, out the door, but I was too embarrassed to look. My face felt flushed, and I wanted to hit him.

They closed the door behind them, and I didn’t wait a second longer.

I slammed his chest, finally getting him to step away. “How dare you demean me like that in front of others!”

“You liked it,” he retorted, turning around to replace the cue on the rack.

“They could tell someone!”

“The one in the tan suit is sleeping with his kids’ nanny. The other one has his secretary keeping track of his mistresses, and the other one was my brother,” he replied. “Most of us are gentlemen—outside of the bedroom anyway,” he added, “and we don’t share each other’s secrets. You wanted me to claim you. So I did.”

I hadn’t wanted him to claim me.

Okay, maybe I had hoped he would’ve said or done something when Blackwell made an advance, but I didn’t want to be treated like his personal piece of ass in front of a group of men.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You just compared me to their illicit affairs.”

He let out a sigh, dropping into a high-back leather chair. “What got you pissed off—again—that made you want to leave?”

I pressed my lips together and turned around, walking for the door.

“Tessa McAuliffe,” he called out, and I stopped in my tracks.

Spinning around, I glared at him. “I couldn’t care less,” I told him. “And I’m not angry.”

“No, but you’re a hell of a lot of trouble,” he retorted. “I think that’s what I like most about you. You’re worth every second of fucking frustration you give me.”

He relaxed into the chair, his head resting on the hand he’d laid on the armrest.

I inched closer, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Have you slept with her?”

“Yes.”

I let out a quiet breath. I didn’t like that.

“When was the last time?” I asked.

He kept his eyes on mine and spoke calmly. “A couple months ago.”

I got closer, hating everything I was hearing but unable to stop the conversation. Of course he’d slept with her. She was beautiful and sophisticated, and I was a hot mess.

I cleared my throat, my gaze faltering. “Were you exclusive with her?”

“No.”

I moved my lips, barely getting the words out. “How many are there at one time?”

“Many.”

I felt my chest shake, and I looked away, feeling my eyes burning.

So he didn’t do monogamous relationships. No one kept his attention for long.

But that’s what I wanted, right? I was the same. We were the same.

So why was what he told me so hard to hear?

“Jesus, you’re stupid.”

I shot my eyes up, seeing him shake his head and look down on me like I was pathetic.

He rose from the chair and walked toward me. “You’re young and naive.”

I breathed hard, pinching my eyebrows together and scowling.

“You ask the dumbest questions, and you’re having the tantrum of a child,” he charged. “It bores me.”

I growled low, ready to leave, but he took my face in his hands and spoke hard, his voice and the heat of his breath taking me over.

“Yeah, I’ve had women,” he admitted, baring his teeth. “Lots of women. I’m thirty-five fucking years old, for Christ’s sake.” He shook my head slightly. “Tessa McAuliffe is a beautiful woman, and we’ve enjoyed each other many times.”

I rammed my palm into his chest, but he didn’t budge. “Many times?” I raged.

He nodded, getting in my face. “Yeah, many times.”

But as I felt my eyes pool with tears, he came closer and grazed my lips with his. “All before you,” he whispered, making my breath stop. “There hasn’t been anyone since you.”

I stayed still, needing to pull away but wanting to stay.

“That’s why you’re stupid.” He grabbed the backs of my thighs and lifted me onto the pool table. “Why the hell would I want her or anyone else when I’ve got this?”

And he pulled up my dress, pulled my panties to the side, exposing my pussy, and dove down, capturing my clit in his mouth.

My eyes rolled and my head fell back as his hand pushed the top half of my body down to the table.

“Tyler,” I cried out. “You have to stop.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep the tornado low in my belly from building further, but he was going too damn hard.

His lips covered my clit, sucking it in between his teeth and warming me with his hot breath against my entrance. He was sucking so hard.

And then he began dragging his tongue up and down my length, switching between that and more sucking as I slowly fell backward on the table. Reaching behind my knees, he pushed them up to where they nearly touched my shoulders, opening me completely for him.

My thighs instantly tensed, wanting to close, because I felt so exposed, but he started kissing and biting and do everything that drove me mad.

“The door’s not locked,” I pleaded.

But then he plunged his tongue inside me, and I cried out.

“Oh, God,” I gasped, my pussy pulsing so hard I could barely think of anything except the need to fill it.

“Tyler, the lock,” I gasped, whimpering. “Please.”

I felt his mouth leave my skin, and I looked down to see his eyebrow cocked.

“I thought you liked standing in the middle of burning rooms,” he challenged.

Asshole.

He smirked and walked over, turning the lock on the door. Striding back to me in long steps, he slid his arms under my thighs and pulled me to the edge of the table. He then hooked his fingers in my panties and slid them down my legs, my heels having long since fallen off.

He dipped back down, lapping at my clit and swirling his tongue around the nub as he worked to unfasten his belt.

“When Tessa’s happy, she smiles,” he commented against my skin. “When she’s angry, she smiles.”

I threaded my fingers through his hair, listening.

He rose and pulled me up, reaching behind me and unzipping my dress. “You’re the complete opposite,” he said, staring into my eyes. “You say what you think and you refuse to indulge people you can’t stand. You’re like a ball of fire I can never hold for too long.”

He pulled down the top of my dress, bra straps with it, and pushed me back down to palm my breasts and rub his thumbs over my nipples.

I groaned, letting my eyes fall closed.

“You belong in my bed every night, and I fucking hate that I can’t have you there,” he gritted out, his hands working between our bodies. “I want to buy you shit just to have you throw it back in my face, and I want to fly you to Fiji just so I can rip a bikini off of you.” I felt the hot tip of his cock at my entrance, and I could feel the wetness between my legs.

“I said my dick was yours, and I meant it,” he breathed out, grabbing hold of my hips as he slammed his dick inside of me.

I cried out, feeling the sweet ache of him stretching me. He clamped a hand over my mouth, pounding into me harder and harder. I loved the feel of him, how he fit me so perfectly. I loved the smell and taste of him, both of which excited and calmed me.

But what I loved most was his eyes watching me as he stood above me.

“You’ve been a bit of a brat today,” he scolded.

I nodded, squeezing my eyes shut.

“You were jealous, weren’t you?” he asked.

I bit my bottom lip, groaning as he took his hand away from my mouth and began to rub circles on my clit.

“Yes,” I breathed out.

“Why?”

I swallowed, my mouth like a desert from the exertion. “She talked to me about you,” I started, my breasts bouncing back and forth with his thrusts. “She talks about you as if she knows more about you. She gets to touch you in public and call you ‘Tyler.’”

He came down, never once breaking pace as his face hovered over mine.

“She’s not getting any of this, baby,” he whispered. “She’s not the one I can’t stop watching or thinking about.”

I gave a weak smile, and his knuckles grazed my cheek.

My pussy began to tighten and clench, and he rose up, thrusting harder and faster.

“Oh, God,” I panted.

“Now are you going to be good?” he challenged, holding my hip in one hand and my breast in another.

I arched my neck back, taking everything he was giving me and closing my eyes. “Yes,” I whispered.

But as the orgasm exploded between my legs and floated up to my belly, I smiled, knowing I could never keep that promise. And he didn’t want me to, either.