The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(22)

“Wrong. I kissed you, fingered you. Licked your pussy. In short, I ruined you.”

Waving her hand, she gave a dismissive sound. “No, you didn’t,” she said. “No one has been ruined.”

Was she serious? “I assure you, I have. Therefore, I must ask myself if it was planned, as a way to force the marriage between us.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped, her gaze narrowing. “I went there to start living my life. To have fun after waiting on you for a year. I definitely am not trying to trap you into marriage.”

“Did your father know you were attending last night?”

“My father?” She gaped at him, her eyes round and big. “He would lock me in my bedroom until my hair turned gray if he even suspected I planned to go.”

Preston didn’t believe her. Not after Lloyd’s shenanigans with the Twenty-Third Street property. This was manipulation, pure and simple. “Oh, of course. This was coincidence, merely a chance meeting at the most lurid event of the year, with us in complementary costumes.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Preston.”

“Lies don’t become you, Katherine.”

Roiling with fury and frustration, he studied her through his lashes. Brown hair was elegantly styled atop her head, showing off that creamy column of throat he’d kissed last night. He could almost remember the taste of her, the smell of lilacs on her skin. Her cries in his ear. The way her fingers clung to him when she found her release.

He no longer wanted that knowledge, didn’t care to know what she sounded and looked like when she climaxed. Didn’t want to see that delicate bone structure and luscious mouth sitting across from him, as if she hadn’t ridden his tongue last night. Everything was now tainted, stained with the knowledge of what he’d done.

He could not allow himself to be attracted to Lloyd’s daughter.

Dipping into his pocket, he withdrew his cigarette case and lighter. He lit a cigarette and inhaled a lungful of smoke, the ritual infusing some much-needed calm into him.

Scowling, she shook her head and reached for her drink once more. “I am not lying, no matter what you believe. This is a horrible mistake, nothing more. We’re both going to forget last night and act like it never happened.”

“Until you get home and inform your father of what you learned tonight. I suspect he’ll be at my doorstep in an hour.” Preston almost smiled. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Lloyd’s face when Preston refused to marry the girl.

Her lips parted, disbelief coasting over her expression. “You think I want to marry you, after all you’ve done? I’d rather die a shriveled-up spinster.” She set the glass on the side table with a snap and stood. “You are impossible and absolutely the worst man I’ve ever met. I’ve told you the truth. If you refuse to listen, then that is your problem. I’m leaving.”

Oh, no. She was not allowed to go now. He would have answers if it killed him. “Sit down, reinette,” he said in a silky and commanding tone. “I’m not nearly done with you yet.”



That deep seductive voice . . .

As much as Katherine didn’t want his words to affect her, she couldn’t resist his tone, the one he’d used last night.

I want to hear you beg properly. Then I might let you come.

She suppressed a shiver. Preston Clarke was her King Louis. It seemed impossible that the man who’d kissed her so sweetly and so passionately, the one who’d done all manner of wicked things both to her and in front of her, were one and the same.

I saw his cock.

Her skin warmed, like she was standing in front of a roaring fire. Granted, it had been a very nice cock, but she never would have guessed it belonged to Preston.

He masturbated and spent on me last night.

He’d been beautiful while doing it, too, with his head thrown back, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief. Everything about their encounter had been lovely and perfect. How could such a generous and playful man be the same one sitting in front of her now, so cold and remote?

He continued to smoke, watching her with those intense dark eyes. Where had her teasing king gone?

He wanted to talk? Fine. He owed her answers, as well.

She lowered herself back into the chair. “Start explaining, then, because you watched me on the dance floor. You invited me to your box. This is your fault. Is this a jest to you, another way to control my life, as you’ve been doing for the last year?”

He exhaled a thin stream of cigarette smoke and it curled through the air to surround his face. Tingles ran up the backs of Katherine’s legs. She’d never seen a man smoke before, not up close, and why was that so appealing? Because it called attention to his mouth?

He is the very last man to whom I should be attracted.

She had to stop thinking of last night, of the fantasy, and remember the real man sitting across from her now. The one who hadn’t wanted to marry her. The one who’d been keeping her on the shelf for a full year. Granted, he hadn’t known Katherine was honoring the betrothal, which made her feel even more foolish.

But as her aunt liked to say, a woman had to know her worth—and Katherine would not allow him to make her feel small ever again.

“Katherine, I was dressed as your lover. It’s impossible to think we wouldn’t have noticed the other. And you’re so—”