Fake Empire(46)

She holds my gaze as she comes, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Her thighs tremble with aftershocks as I raise my head to meet her gaze. She blinks at me, sleepy and satisfied.

We stare at each other to the soundtrack of waves pounding sand, reconciling what just happened with who we were before. I’m expecting a dismissal. For her to adjust her pajamas and pick up her book and act like nothing just happened. Instead, she sits up and reaches for my shorts.

I snag her wrist and hold it. “I’m okay.” My dick wants to get acquainted with her mouth. Very, very badly. But if I let her blow me, this will feel transactional. Even scores. I want things between us to feel unfinished. I want her to wonder what I look like, fully naked. When I come.

Scarlett laughs, pulling out of my grasp to deliberately graze her hand across my crotch. “You’re kidding.”

“Doesn’t sound so great, does it?” I hold her gaze, not leaving any question about what I’m referring to.

Her lips tighten. “Real fucking mature, Sport.”

I lean forward to press one final, bruising kiss to her mouth. She kisses me back, then bites down on my bottom lip. I chuckle as I pull away, running my tongue across it to check for blood and tasting a sharp, metallic tinge. I reach out and tug her nightgown back into its proper place, covering her naked body from the moon and the stars. “Good night. Red.”

Then I stand and walk back inside, leaving her to stew.





When I wake up, sun is streaming in through the windows and Scarlett is beside me in bed. Fast asleep and curled on her side with one hand tucked under her cheek. Her dark hair is a tangled mess fanned across the pillow. Her lips are parted and one strap of her nightgown has fallen off her shoulder.

I picture her writhing beneath me last night.

I’m painfully tempted to pull that other strap down and pick things up right where we left off last night.

Scarlett likes a challenge. She may have wanted me last night, but I’m certain any intimacy would have lasted about as long as the sex did. I want her desperate for me. I want her to admit there’s more than attraction between us.

We’re not there yet. Before last night, I wasn’t sure if we ever would be.

I slip out of bed, trying to be as quiet as possible. I didn’t hear her come to bed last night, so it must have been late. After our encounter, I lay awake for a while, too worked up to fall asleep. Probably should have jerked off, but I wasn’t sure how long I’d have before she’d follow me up here.

Scarlett is still sleeping when I finish using the bathroom and getting dressed. I head downstairs alone. Her father is seated in the formal dining room. The table is spread with an assortment of every breakfast food imaginable.

Hanson Ellsworth closes The New York Times with a crinkle when he sees me.

“Morning, Crew.”

“Hanson.”

“Sleep well?”

I force all thoughts of the time I didn’t spend sleeping from my head. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” With that, I’m all but dismissed. Hanson turns back to his paper as I fill a plate with fresh fruit, pancakes, and bacon.

Josephine Ellsworth enters the dining room a few minutes later, balancing a teacup and a half of a grapefruit. She visibly brightens when she sees me. “Crew! Good morning.”

“Good morning, Josephine.”

Scarlett’s mother launches into a recap of the party yesterday as I eat breakfast, one that requires little input on my part. I nod and grunt between bites as she goes on about the catering and flowers.

Hanson completely ignores his wife as she talks. I realize this is the romantic relationship Scarlett grew up witnessing. A few more pieces of her prickliness start to make sense.

She appears as I’m stealing seconds, dressed more casually than I’ve ever seen in a pair of jean shorts and a tank top. Her hair is up in a ponytail that swings as she walks. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, dear.” Josephine is speaking to her daughter, but her eyes are on me. No doubt she’s taking this opportunity to observe how we interact with each other.

Hanson merely grunts a response, not bothering to look up from his paper.

This table could comfortably seat a couple of dozen people, but Scarlett takes the seat right next to me. Her hair brushes my arm as she leans over and pours herself a glass of orange juice.

“I’m glad you slept in, sweetheart. You’ve been working too hard,” Josephine says.

“Mm-hmm,” Scarlett mumbles, grabbing a croissant and some strawberries.

“I was thinking we could do some shopping in town today. And Marcy Whitman said her daughter is back in town. She wants to get lunch. What is her daughter’s name? I couldn’t remember last night.”

Scarlett rolls her eyes. “Lucy.” She pops a strawberry in her mouth.

“Right. Lucy. We’ll leave right after you get changed.”

There’s a quiet sigh beside me. “Fine.”

“I was thinking you and Crew could come down next weekend as well. The country club is having a—”

“I’ll be in Paris next weekend, Mom. I need to approve the final designs for rouge.”

It’s news to me—the trip to Paris and that Scarlett told her parents about her new business venture—but I say nothing.