Page 41 of Filthy Little Regrets (Princes of NYC #2)

twenty-six

CASSIA

Kyle, Mace’s wonderful personal assistant, kindly let me into his office while he was busy with a board meeting.

When I received the burrito and coffee this morning, an idea formed.

Married people have lunch all the time. It would be normal, even expected, for me to make an appearance at Rex Technologies.

I’ve been staying away from the Flatiron district on purpose, but today, that changes.

The Rex Technologies building is one of the tallest in the district, and the business occupies four floors, with the executive levels on the top floor.

I gaze out of the massive windows and down.

..way down, swallowing a flutter of nerves.

Though heights don’t normally scare me, I think most New Yorkers have an ingrained fear nowadays.

Turning away from the million-dollar view, I take a seat at Mace’s desk.

The computer is sleeping and jolts to life when I jiggle the mouse.

My attention zooms to the privacy curtains, verifying that they’re pulled down and keeping nosy worker bees from peeking inside Mace’s office when they walk by.

Leg bouncing, I key in the password Mace has used on his Rex Technologies apps.

While I haven’t uncovered any incriminating texts, I’ve gathered some useful information—passwords, usernames, bank accounts, investment accounts. Access to his schedule.

The board meeting was slotted for four hours, even though there’s one hour left, my eyes flick to the door anyway, worried he’ll burst in and yell gotcha. My stomach churns. I’m used to hacking from a safe distance. This is a new venture, and I can say conclusively my anxiety is not a fan.

Breathe, Cassia, breathe .

Inhaling, I disable the antivirus systems and then navigate to the command window, fingers flying over the keyboard.

My eyes jump to the door as the computer initiates the install of the program I created to mimic a basic Rex Tech program.

Something every employee would have installed but that Mace would never use as an executive.

The malicious software downloads from the remote server I created with a refurbished system.

I don’t know how long my Trojan horse will last in his system, but hopefully long enough to gather solid evidence.

I adjust the antivirus settings to allow the software to exist without alerting Mace to the potentially dangerous program, and lock the computer.

I log back in and double check everything just in case, then leave the computer behind, heading to the small table in his office and ordering lunch.

There are a few texts from Mace’s phone.

MALIK

What the fuck was that?

Consider my shares sold. Fuck you and your father.

The message from Crue is a link to a video of a woman singing.

She feels vaguely familiar, but I can’t place her.

There are a few from some guys who are sucking up to him, and one from an automated system that reports on his dad’s whereabouts.

That’s...weird but also not surprising.

Mace likes to stalk me. Keeping tabs on his dad isn’t far off from that.

Much to my relief, Mace hasn’t received any messages from other women. This isn’t a traditional marriage, but I think I would be pissed. I’m his wife. It’s nice to know he’s respecting the vow of monogamy.

My excuse for coming over arrives right before Mace does. I slide my phone into my purse and thank Kyle for bringing it in. A heady rush of cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves tickles my nose as he sets down the takeout bags.

“He should be in shortly. The board meeting just finished.”

“I’m happy to wait,” I say with a smile that I hope screams I’m head over heels for my husband .

Kyle nods and leaves me to it. Placing the food out on the table, I go over what I’m going to say.

I’ve never been to Rex Technologies before.

I haven’t invited Mace to share lunch since our little arrangement.

Will he think it’s suspicious? A flutter of nerves erupts in my chest. My attention strays to the computer for a millisecond.

It’s fine. I locked it. I tested the Trojan on my own system.

Even if he finds it, there are plenty of people who would want to plant a virus on systems at Rex Technologies. I have nothing to worry about.

There’s something to be said for primal bonds.

Ever since we hooked up, my body is keenly attuned to the brush of Mace’s gaze, and it touches upon my shoulders as I set down the garlic naan.

Taking a breath, I slowly turn. I brace myself for meeting him face-to-face after laying the groundwork to betray him.

Guilt slams into me with the same weight of his attention.

I’m such a hypocrite. I hate lies, and here I am, ready to lie with the best of them. Rose deserves more than prison, though.

He’s standing in the doorway, fingers gripping the door handle, breath held tightly in his chest. Does he already know what I’ve done?

There’s a storm in his dark eyes. Every carefully laid plan evaporates at the sight of him.

His heather blue suit is sculpted to his muscular form, showcasing strong thighs, a solid torso and cut arms. Mace’s tan shoes perfectly match his outfit.

The man knows how to dress himself, I’ll give him that.

The stubble along his jawline is surprisingly unkempt, but I kind of like it.

I especially love the way it scraps along my thighs.

Clearing his throat, he shuts the door and shoves his hands into his pockets, eyeing the containers of food. His jaw clenches. “I didn’t expect you.”

Okay, yeah. He’s pissed.

My pulse races. “I brought lunch since you sent me breakfast. I can leave, though.” Whirling around, I grab a bag and place the first container inside of it, trying to calm my pounding heart. He won’t do anything to me here, right? There are too many witnesses. I can escape and go to Rose’s.

The fine hairs on my body rise one by one, a tidal wave of awareness as he closes in, but I force myself to act natural, to keep loading the food back into the bags.

The more I panic, the more guilty I’ll appear.

Tell that to the anxiety banging around inside my chest. The tips of Mace’s shoes bump my heels, his hands falling on either side of me.

My stomach flips. He cages me against the table, looming over me, and inch by inch, he presses his body against mine.

Eyelids fluttering closed, I swallow around the lump in my throat.

He nudges my head with his cheek, and despite all the warning signs and better judgment, I tilt my head, exposing my neck.

Starting at the base, right at the center of my thudding pulse, Mace drags his nose along my throat, breathing in with a hum of approval.

By the time his lips find the shell of my ear, I’m trembling.

Fear and lust course through me. The adrenaline from the possibility of being caught tangles with dopamine, an intoxicating mix that has my breath shuddering out of my lungs.

“You have no idea how angry I am,” he says, voice strained.

Fuck. He knows. How? I was so sure it would work. “Mace,” I begin, but he grabs my chin with one hand and my stomach with the other, tugging me against his body. My heart stops.

“And here you are,” he continues, the pads of his fingers pressing into the softness of my belly, pushing my body against his. Fear chases lust, ping-ponging inside of me. An influx of scorching heat and frigid ice. “My pretty liar,” he murmurs.

“Mace,” I manage to say, even with the tight grip on my jaw.

He shushes me and pushes two fingers into my mouth. “Keep saying my name, and I might do terrible things to you.”

My eyes widen, and on instinct, my lips close around his fingers.

He releases a low groan. “That’s it, baby, show me how much you regret lying to me.

” His other hand drifts to my dress, tugging the hem up my legs.

Slipping his fingers out of my mouth, he drags the wet pads down my chin, placing his fingers around my neck like a choker.

“Time to admit the truth, Cassia. Tell me how much you enjoy your husband fucking you,” he says, knuckles caressing between my thighs.

His words shock the air from my lungs. Is that what this is about?

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes. “Confess.”

“What am I admitting?”

“You’ve been lying to yourself, swearing you hate me,” he murmurs, fingers pulsing on my throat as he drags my dress a little higher. “But you want me, too, don’t you?”

Relief shoots through me. He doesn’t know.

Fear slowly dissipates, leaving my limbs trembling and the heat of his touch scorching my insides.

I’m still trapped, but the thing is, I like the feeling.

I like being surrounded by his strength.

To know that, if he wanted, he could destroy me. Anticipation shoots through my veins.

“And I’m tired of you lying,” he continues, cupping my cunt with his hand. He chuckles at how damp my thong is and the way I arch into his hold.

I have no words. My mind’s ability to function has fled, along with the fear. He’s right—I’m a liar, about more than one thing. It almost feels cruel to let him continue knowing what I’m about to do, but he grinds his palm against me and electricity lights up my insides. I gasp.

He hums. “The thing is,” he says, slipping his hand into my panties.

“You don’t even have to say it. I know that, despite how much you want to hate me, your body craves me as much as mine craves you.

” He slides two fingers through my folds, gliding down with ease to tease my entrance.

“Every time that pretty mouth screams my name, I know you’re lying. ”

My walls clamp down on his fingers as they ease inside of me. His thumb ghosts over my clit, and I release a heavy exhale, dropping my head back against his shoulder, his hand still a pretty necklace.