There’s a faraway look in her eyes. It’s obvious she’s recalling some memory of her and Reece. A fond one, if the slight smile on her red-painted lips is any indicator. “Is it still true?”

“What?”

“That he only fucks in the mouth or in the ass.”

I shudder. Holy shit. That’s . . . insane, if it’s even true.

I hate that she knows so many intimate details about Reece—the man who’s grown cold and distant in the years I’ve been away. I shrug. “Maybe.” Despite that being exactly what our first two sessions consisting of, something in me doesn’t want Chrissy knowing all the juicy details. Yet there’s something more about the way she says it, as if it’s a fact that he has some weird hang-up about sex. “Why would he do that?”

She sighs. “I asked him once. In my mind, the only reasoning could be that he didn’t want to have sex where he could get a woman pregnant.”

Interesting theory.

“But he scoffed at that and said it had nothing to do with it. I guess it’s just a personal kink of his. Who knows?”

“So you and he . . .” I swallow the painful lump in my throat.

“No, not really. Nothing serious, anyway. We played a little a few years ago, but that was before I became an employee of the club. He runs a tight ship here and keeps everything professional. If you want something with him—something real—trust me, I’d never stand in your way. Besides, he doesn’t see me that way.”

It stings to know he’s treated me exactly the same as he would any submissive he took to his chambers for a session. But I’m not just any submissive. I’m not a submissive at all. And we have a history. We should mean more to each other than that. Yet, he didn’t deviate one inch with me. For me.

At first I assumed it was because of some childish oath he made to Cameron. But now I’m beginning to see it’s because maybe it’s like Brie said—he’s been hurt and has an ironclad wall up around his heart.

I still want the same thing I did six years ago. God, have I learned nothing? Despite my tough-girl persona, I’m still every bit in love with my older brother’s, very unobtainable, best friend. Shit.

Chapter Ten

Reece

 

Just fucking awesome. Now Hale isn’t answering my calls, and I’m positive it has everything to do with my relationship with Macey. I just wanted to congratulate him on his engagement properly, and invite him and Brielle out for a glass of celebratory champagne. I knew he was planning to propose, and I knew Brielle would say yes, but I haven’t actually spoken to him in days. Since I’m unable to get through to him directly, I call his secretary to leave a message.

“Are you calling about tonight’s engagement party?” she asks, interrupting me.

“Yeah, I am,” I say with smug satisfaction. A sinner like me is destined for hell, anyway. What’s one more lie?

“I’ve been getting calls all day. It’s been moved to the Estate Gala ballroom due to room-size constraints.”

“And that’s at North Oaks Country Club?” I take a wild stab in the dark. It’s the nicest place in the whole city.

“Yes, sir,” she confirms.

“Great, thank you.” I hang up, fuming and in disbelief that my supposed best friend wouldn’t invite me to his own fucking engagement party. The cocksucker.

Next I call the North Oaks Country Club and find out the event begins at seven tonight. I grab the dry cleaning bag that contains my one and only suit, and toss it on the bed. Glancing at my watch, I see I’ll have just enough time to shower and pick up a suitable engagement gift, before fighting the Chicago traffic to make it there on time.

When I arrive, I’m pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a smiling Brielle.

“You made it.” She hugs me. “Hale said he didn’t know if you’d be here.”

I nod and return her smile. The asshole didn’t even bother tell her that he snubbed me. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Hale stalks up, confusion etched across his face when he spots me. “Reece. You’re here.”

“You sound surprised, brother.” Now I’m just toying with him. The fuckwad.

“I didn’t know if you’d be able to tear yourself away from your activities at the club,” he returns, scowling.

We’re skirting around the elephant in the room. We both know we’re talking about Macey, yet we’re not.

“Of course I could. This is for you both.” I hand him an envelope containing a check for a thousand dollars. There’s nothing better to make him feel like shit for excluding me than cold, hard cash. “Congratulations.”

He peeks inside the envelope and his eyes widen. “Can I have a word?” Tipping his head at the bar, he and I start toward it, leaving Brielle to wonder what’s going on.

“What the fuck is this? You’re trying to buy me off because you know I’m pissed about you and Macey?” he asks, shoving the envelope in my face.

“That’s a gift. Keep it. I’m happy for you that you’ve found someone worthy of your affections this time. It has nothing to do with my involvement with Macey.” That’s the absolute truth.

The bartender heads over and we each order a drink, trying to figure out this new wedge between us. I thought things would blow over, but it’s growing worse.

Hale picks up his drink and the glass of champagne he ordered for his bride-to-be. “You know where I stand. Don’t fuck this up.” He heads back toward Brielle, leaving me to wonder what I’m really doing here.

I sip my Scotch slowly, surveying the room. Christ, everyone’s here. Oliver and Chrissy, and even a few members from the club are standing near the piano, chatting amiably. Everyone but me was included in the celebration, it seems.

When I spot Macey, it’s like all the air has been sucked from the room. My breathing hitches, and my hands ache to touch her. She’s stunning, entirely fuckable. She’s heading toward the bar, but she hasn’t seen me yet. Her gaze is on the floor, the long stem of an empty champagne glass between her fingers. She walks slowly, taking her time, and her eyes remain downcast as if she’s deep in thought.

I hate that some of the lively spark she’s known for seems to have slipped away. The urge to kiss her mouth, her neck, her chest flares inside me, and I have to tamp it down. Her hair is twisted into a fashionable knot at the nape of her neck, her dress is a deep plum color and strapless, drifting all the way to the floor. Her nails are still painted black.

She looks incredible. I haven’t seen her since I left her after our scene, and it strikes me again just how gorgeous she really is with that understated beauty. But leaving the way I did was the only option. Still, it torments me that I couldn’t provide her with aftercare, that I couldn’t be the one to draw her a warm bath and shampoo her hair. Nothing good would come of such intimacy, though, which was why I forced myself to leave.

“Hello,” I say when she’s closer, and her head snaps up.

“Oh. Reece.” She stops where she’s standing, as if she’s afraid to come any closer to the dangerous and unpredictable animal.

“Hi.” So much for a tempting pickup line. This woman turns me into a caveman capable only of uttering only single-syllable words. I’ve been trying to clear my head of the images of her hands bound with my ropes, the luscious spill of cleavage over her lacy bra, the expression on her face as I pushed her to her limits as she tried to hold back her orgasm. She did beautifully, and damn, she felt even better than perfection. But now, standing close enough that I can smell her sweet scent, I know I’m fighting a losing battle.

She lets out a deep exhale. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I wasn’t invited.”

Her brows squeeze together. “Seriously?”

“I’m always serious.” I take another sip of my Scotch.