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Maddox

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

I look where the guy seated next to me is looking. He doesn’t wait for me to answer. It’s a good thing he didn’t. I’m not in the same camp as everyone else, that Blaise Lexington, with her long black hair, pale skin, and one eye green and the other blue, is easy on the eyes.

Women who are cold as ice, who surround themselves with men just as cold, are not my cup of tea. And if her cold eyes and glacier expression don’t have me running the opposite direction, her traumatic past would. My sister’s is difficult enough to deal with.

“A broken, beautiful creature. I wonder what kind of man can get past her armor.”

Is this guy for real? I must have looked at him like he’s crazy. He laughs and introduces himself.

“Name’s Walter. Walter Spinx. I write romance under W.S. Spinx.”

That would explain his romanticized view of Blaise and her traumatic past.

“Isn’t she involved with the guy with the messed-up face?” I jerk my head at the guy standing behind Blaise.

Blaise and her grandfather are seated at a table in the front of the ballroom. Next to her are her cousins, four large guys who are looking down their noses at the rest of us rich mortals. On the other side of Sir Lexington is his only sibling, Sir Arthur Lexington.

“If so, he got the shitty end of the stick, having to stand behind her rather than be seated at her side.”

Good point. I lift my drink, and taking a slow sip, I study Blaise over the rim of my glass.

What is the ice queen like in bed? My guess is she is as lively as she is now, sitting straight as a board with her gaze forward, shoulders pulled back, and her small hands clasped primly in front of her on the table.

And what is it with her and wearing only silk or satin? Is plain cotton not good enough to touch her smooth, pale skin? Or how about the ridiculous gloves that cover her fingers and the length of her arms?

Tired of studying beauty that is only skin deep, I swing my gaze around the room and lock eyes with a blonde bombshell who is more to my taste. Evie Lawson. Lawyer to the rich and famous. Philanthropist, donating money and her time to causes that help women and children. A great conversationalist. She pats the top of the empty chair next to her. I excuse myself and head over.

She greets me with a smile, and after sitting, I move my chair closer. Her leg rubs against mine, and the friction gets me hot down there.

“How are you, Maddox?”

“Good, you?”

“I could be better.”

“Like how better?” I say near her ear.

“Like my legs wrapped around your waist with you deep inside me better,” she says in a low voice.

Did I mention Evie can talk dirty?

“Should we get out of here?” I walk my fingers down her thigh.

“Too obvious. Let’s wait for the dancing to start.”

“No one is here for dancing, Evie.”

“Didn’t you read the follow-up invite to the first one?”

“Hell no. If I read every goddamn one that crosses my desk, I’ll never get any work done.”

“Then let me tell you why the guests will stay until the party is through. The dance is a cake walk.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” I haven’t done the cake walk since the school carnival, and that was grade school.