The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(26)

His gaze returned to Katherine. She was smiling at Lockwood, and Madame de Pompadour’s teasing grin flashed through Preston’s mind. The encounter had been scorching, one of the best of his life.

Please, my king. Give me more.

Heat licked through his veins at the memory. She’d driven him past the point of reason, to where he’d have done nearly anything in that tiny salon. Did she think he pulled his cock out and stroked it in front of just anyone?

It turned out that Katherine hadn’t told her father about the ball. Lloyd most definitely would’ve demanded a wedding straightaway if she had, which meant Preston had been . . . wrong about her. She hadn’t set out to seduce him into marriage at the French Ball. Their meeting was a coincidence, as improbable as that sounded, based on nothing more than simple attraction. He’d noticed her smile and her long legs, not to mention the naughty innocence in her gaze. She’d seemed both delighted and shocked at the revelers on the dance floor, and that combination had lured him in like a moth to a flame.

Now he couldn’t get that night out of his head, specifically the image of her with her legs spread, her pussy glistening and swollen from two orgasms. It was the most arousing sight he’d ever witnessed and that it had been this girl—the innocent and gently bred, list-making Katherine Delafield—was driving him absolutely mad.

And she was here tonight with another man.

“Everything all right over there?” Kit put down his menu. “You seem more intense than usual all of a sudden.”

“I’m fine.”

“Really?” The waiter delivered another round of drinks and Kit waited until the man departed before speaking. “Should I be worried?”

“Of course not.” Preston took a long gulp of scotch, the burn a pleasant distraction from all that was happening by the windows.

Kit folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “I see you’re drinking again. Quite a lot, if tonight is anything to go by.”

Sighing, Preston carefully placed his glass on the table. “I’m not Forrest, but point taken.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

It was hard to let the words out, but the reminder sat not even twenty feet away, unrelenting and beautiful, and smiling at another man. No way could Preston enjoy a relaxing dinner while Katherine and Lockwood were on the other side of the room. Besides, he had to get this weight off his chest somehow.

Taking a deep breath, he faced his friend. “I did something terrible.”

“For you, that could mean any number of things. Did you cheat a lumber company? Bribe the wrong politician?”

“Nothing business related.”

“Is there anything in your life that isn’t business related?”

“Sometimes, yes. But you’ll never find out what it is unless you stop teasing me.”

“Ah, so it’s a woman. Let me be clear: if you made a pass at my wife, I’m going to stab you in the balls with my butter knife right here in the dining room.”

“What did I just say about teasing?”

Kit drummed his fingers on the table, his expression somber. “Who said I was teasing?”

Preston barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I seduced an unmarried debutante.”

Kit’s eyebrows flew up. “I wasn’t aware you knew any debutantes. You’re firmly anti-debutante.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Preston filled Kit in on the broad strokes of what happened at the French Ball and Jane Street, not mentioning the girl’s name.

“So you ruined her,” Kit said flatly.

Preston shifted in his chair, his eyes flicking toward Katherine once more. The trio were toasting with champagne, all smiles, and Preston gnashed his teeth. What was she doing? Lockwood was trolling New York for an heiress like an angler on the open seas. Was she seriously interested in becoming a duchess? Or had Lloyd orchestrated the dinner to push his daughter into Lockwood’s path?

Whatever the reason, Preston didn’t like it. Four nights ago she was ready to have an affair with him. Now she was letting Lockwood court her?

“Christ, what’s Lockwood doing here?” Kit’s voice dripped with loathing. “Why does every woman in Gotham look at him like he’s a chocolate bonbon and Tiffany’s diamond bracelet rolled into one?”

Indeed, Katherine was grinning at Lockwood like a lovesick fool. A muscle ticked in the corner of Preston’s right eye.

“You must be kidding.”

Preston whipped his head toward Kit. “What?”

“Her?” He mouthed, “The debutante?”

There was no use denying it. Kit knew him too well. “I was unaware it was her at the time.”

“I bet. But now you have to marry her, considering.”

“No, I don’t. It didn’t go quite that far.”

Kit gave a harsh laugh. “You know such things don’t matter, not in our world.”

“I told you, it didn’t go that far—and you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Oh, there are sides now?” Kit leaned in, his mouth a thin, white angry line. “She’s friends with my wife, Preston. Harrison’s wife, as well. What were you thinking?”

“I don’t see how that matters. It’s no one else’s concern what occurs between Miss Delafield and me.”