Page 13

I smile and nod as the investor rambles on about market trends, but my mind is a million miles away, still reeling from Mark's electrifying kiss on the dance floor. The ghost of his touch lingers on my skin, sending shivers down my spine despite my best efforts to focus on expanding my business contacts at this lavish party.

“So, what do you think about the potential for growth in the luxury services sector, Ms. Desmond?” The venture capital investor's question snaps me back to reality.

I clear my throat, scrambling to remember the key points I had prepared.

“Absolutely, the demand for high-end, personalized experiences is on the rise. My agency is uniquely positioned to capitalize on that trend by...”

As I begin my well-rehearsed pitch, my gaze can't help but wander across the room, searching for Mark's imposing figure.

He's engaged in conversation with a group of men, leading the conversation. They’re all hanging on to every word he says.

The memory of our kiss flashes through my mind unbidden—the way he pulled me flush against his muscular body, the intoxicating scent of his cologne, the searing heat of his lips on mine. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before, a kiss that consumed me entirely and left me aching for more.

“... don't you agree, Ms. Desmond?” The investor's voice intrudes on my thoughts once again.

“Yes, certainly,” I reply automatically, silently cursing myself for allowing Mark to distract me.

I've worked too hard building my business to let one arrogant, infuriatingly attractive man throw me off my game.

But even as I steer the conversation back to safer topics, I can feel the magnetic pull of Mark's presence, the way my body instinctively reacts to his proximity.

It's maddening, this hold he seems to have over me after just one earth-shattering kiss.

I take a deep breath, channeling my inner CEO. I'm Quinn Desmond, dammit.

I run a successful high-end dating agency.

I control my own destiny and need to take advantage of this party to attract more clients.

But then, my eyes find Mark again, and this time my attention shifts to the stunning brunette who has taken him aside for a private conversation.

She's all long legs and perfect curves, just the type of woman a notorious playboy like Mark Zolotov would be drawn to.

An irrational surge of jealousy twists in my gut as the woman laughs at something he says, and he joins in. She whacks him playfully on his chest, and he wipes away tears of laughter. Clearly, they know each other well.

I try to dismiss the feeling, reminding myself that I have no claim over Mark.

And yet, I can't seem to tear my gaze away from them.

My mind conjures up scenarios of what might happen after the party.

Will he take her back to his place?

Has he done this in the past?

“Ms. Desmond, your thoughts on these new dating apps?” The investor's question jolts me back to the present.

I put on a smile, hoping it doesn't look as forced as it feels.

“I believe it's a very impersonal approach. A true match requires digging deep into a person, and the whole swiping thing gives people so many options that they often swipe past the right person along the way.”

“You’re right, Miss. Desmond! Absolutely right.”

I excuse myself and make a conscious effort to talk to more people, the very reason I'm at this party in the first place.

But even as I throw myself into networking mode, my mind keeps circling back to him and her . The hold he seems to have over me after such a brief encounter is infuriating.

I excuse myself from the group I’m conversing with, desperate for a moment to gather my thoughts. I head over to the bar.

“Vodka martini, dry, please,” I tell the bartender, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.

As I wait for my drink, I can't help but sneak another glance in Mark's direction.

He's still engaged in conversation with the brunette.

I quickly look away, heat rushing to my cheeks. Get a grip, Quinn, I chastise myself.

My drink arrives, and I drink it faster than I should, so I order another before I finish the first, just in case.

A familiar voice interrupts my spiraling thoughts. “Well, well, if it isn't the lovely Quinn Desmond.”

I turn to find Charlie Letvin standing uncomfortably close, his eyes raking over my body in a way that makes my skin crawl. “Charlie,” I acknowledge, forcing a tight smile. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

A lie. Mark told me we’re here to show Charlie Letvin what an incredible couple we are. But now, I find myself alone while Mark does God knows what with that brunette.

He leans in, invading my personal space. “I'm full of surprises, Sweetheart. And I must say, you look absolutely ravishing tonight.”

I take a step back, my discomfort growing by the second. “Thank you, but I should really get back to Mark.”

Charlie's hand shoots out, gripping my wrist. “What's the rush? Surely you can spare a moment for someone who could have been a client.”

His touch feels like a vice, and panic starts to build in my chest. I try to pull away, but his hold only tightens. “Charlie, please let go.”

“Come on, Quinn,” he purrs, his breath hot against my ear. “We both know there's always been something between us. Why resist it? We know you and Mark can’t possibly last. What do you see in him, anyway?”

I'm about to tell him exactly where he can shove his “something” and how he could only hope to be the quarter of a man Mark is when a deep, commanding voice cuts through the tension.

“I believe my fiancée asked you to let go, Letvin.”

I turn to see Mark standing behind Charlie, his broad shoulders squared and his eyes blazing with barely contained fury.

Charlie releases my wrist, turning to face Mark with a sneer. “Zolotov. I should have known you'd be sniffing around.”

Mark takes a step forward, his presence imposing and dangerous. “And I should have known you'd be harassing a woman who wants nothing to do with you. As usual.”

The air crackles with tension as the two men stare each other down, a silent challenge passing between them. I can feel the history, the bad blood that runs deep. When Charlie takes one step closer to me, I see Mark reach into his coat pocket.

Is that a gun he’s threatening to pull out?

Charlie’s eyes follow his hand, and then, to my surprise, Charlie scoffs and takes a step back. “Whatever, Man. She's not worth the trouble.”

He shoots me one last leering glance before slinking away, disappearing into the crowd.

I let out a shaky breath, my heart still pounding in my chest.

But as I meet Mark’s gaze, I'm struck by the intensity within it. It's not merely anger or protectiveness. It's something much more primal, more possessive.

“Are you okay, Quinn?” His voice is softer now, the earlier possessiveness replaced by genuine worry.

I nod, willing my racing heart to slow down. “I'm fine. I was handling it, until you stepped in.”

Mark frowns. “Are you… upset?”

“No,” I say, passive-aggressively. “I’m not upset. I’m just sick of you coming over and taking control of every single situation I find myself in, like some god damn alpha.”

Mark’s frown deepens, his blue-gray eyes searching mine. “I was only trying to help, Quinn. Letvin was practically holding onto you.”

His tone catches me off guard, and a flicker of guilt dances within me. Maybe he was just trying to protect me. But why does he have to do it in such a domineering way?

“Well, next time, let me handle it,” I snap back, my voice sharper than I intended.

There’s a charged silence between us as Mark’s jaw tightens, his gaze unwavering. “Fine,” he finally says, his tone clipped.

I feel a pang of regret about how I lashed out. It wasn’t completely fair of me to blame him for coming to my rescue after knowing what he knows about Letvin, but the truth is, deep down, I’m still reeling from the sight of him with that brunette.

Before I can think of a way to smooth things over, Mark nods towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here,” he says curtly.

“I think I’d rather stay,” I protest, but he grabs my hand and pulls me away from the bar.

***

Mark's grip on my hand remains firm as he guides me through the throng of partygoers, his broad shoulders parting the crowd with ease. As we step outside, the cool night air hits my flushed skin, and I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head.

But my momentary relief is short-lived as Mark practically shoves me into the waiting limousine, his jaw clenched tight. He slides in beside me, slamming the door with more force than necessary.

“What the hell was that about?” I demand, my earlier gratitude giving way to indignation. “How can you force me to leave the party? I don't need you swooping in like some kind of savior.”

Mark's eyes flash dangerously in the dim light of the limo. “Some kind of savior? Letvin had his filthy hands all over you!”

I bristle at his accusation. “He wasn't putting his hands all over me. And even if he was, he wouldn’t have gone far.”

“You don’t know him like I do, Quinn!” he challenges, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “From where I was standing, it looked like you were about two seconds away from becoming another name on his list.”

“Screw you, Mark,” I spit, my temper flaring. “I'm certainly not your property.”

He leans in close, his breath hot against my cheek. “Who said you were?”

I despise how my body reacts to his, how my pulse races, and my skin tingles. I resent that even now, in the heat of our argument, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to close the distance between us, to feel his lips on mine once more.

This change in our situationship makes me feel dizzy with conflicting thoughts. I need to get out of here before I make another mistake—like the one I made on the dance floor, leaning into the kiss and drawing him in for more. Besides, the alcohol is making me impulsive, fiery, and heated.

“Well, enjoy your delusions,” I say, yanking on the door handle since the car is still on wait. “I've got a party to get back to.”

But before I can open the door, Mark's hand shoots out, slamming it shut. He traps me in, his body just inches from mine. His scent, an intoxicating blend of power and masculinity, envelops me, clouding my senses.

“Drive,” he tells the driver, his eyes not leaving mine.

He leans in even closer, until our noses are practically touching. “We’re going home, Quinn. Our work here is done tonight.”

His proximity to me fans the flames of desire that have been smoldering inside me all night, and I can feel the heat creeping into my cheeks. I open my mouth to deny his decision, to lash out, but no words come.

“That's what I thought,” he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Home it is.”

As the limousine begins to move, I try to ignore the electric tension between us, the crackling chemistry that seems to have a mind of its own. Mark's intense gaze remains fixed on my face. He still has me caged in, as if he's attempting to decipher the storm of conflicting emotions swirling within me.

Time seems to lose all meaning. Logic flies right out the window. All I can think about is how badly I want this infuriating man.

Before I can think, I part my lips, and his crash against mine, his tongue demanding entrance to my mouth. I don’t resist. I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his dark, silky hair. His hands roam my body, cupping my hips and then sliding up my thighs, hiking my legs up to rest on his. Then, he pulls out from beneath me and inches his body over mine.

I moan and grab the back of his neck, arching my body against his, my nails digging into his skin.

As the passion between us intensifies, I feel a primal need to get closer to him, to be one with him.

His hand slides up my thigh, the heat of his touch searing through the thin fabric of my dress. I gasp and reach for the buttons of his shirt, telling him it’s okay, telling him I want more. The tension between us reaches a fever pitch. “Tell me you don't want this,” he growls, his voice a low rumble that sets my insides on fire.

“I can’t,” I whisper, sliding my leg completely through the slit.

His eyes roam over my body. “You’re going to be the death of me, you hear that?”

I open my mouth to say something—anything—but the words die on my lips as he kisses me again. I quickly undo every button on his shirt. God, I need to take off his coat, need to remove that shirt, need him naked above me. The back of the limo be damned.

“Mark,” I moan into his mouth, biting his lower lip. In response, he slides his hand up between my thighs. Slowly, agonizingly. I part my legs, his fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake until he reaches the apex.

My body jerks when he dips his fingers under the lace edge of my panties and lets it slap back against my skin. His touch is electric, sending shivers racing down my spine. God, how I want him. I've ached for him since that first heated kiss on the dance floor, and now, here we are, alone in the back of a limousine, our restraint hanging by a thread.

I moan, arching my hips into his touch, abandoning any pretense of resistance. The next thing I know, he has my panties sliding down my legs.

“Open up for me,” he commands, and this time, I don’t bristle at his tone. His voice is thick with desire, his warm breath tickling my ear as I comply. I revel in the thrill of being wanted like this, my body responding eagerly to his touch despite the cloud of alcohol lingering in my system.

When his fingers begin to tease my folds in torturous exploration, I clutch his lower back, begging for more. Slowly, he slides a finger through my slit, before slamming it into me. I gasp, my hands falling down from his back, nails now digging into the leather seat beneath me.

He teases, taunts, and drives me wild with desire. When he curves his finger and taps against my clit from inside, my head spins, the world reduced to the feel of his fingers inside me. The way he knows just where to touch to make me break apart.

“God,” he moans into my ear. “You’re so wet.” Then, he takes to my neck, sucking at it. I throw my head back just as he picks up the pace, adds another finger, and circles them inside me.

I buck off the chair as his fingertips hit that one sweet spot. “Right there,” I moan, breathily.

I feel his own breath hitch in his throat as he pounds me relentlessly, just where I want it. I feel a small spark emerge, ready to burn through my body. I’m teetering on the edge of orgasm, my moans taking over the car.

“Cum,” he commands. “Let me watch you cum, Quinn.”

The way he says it sets me alive. I close my eyes and grip the seat, and the wave begins to take its route. I see slivers of light, can hear the blood pound in my ear, and then, the most beautiful high washes over me as I cum to the tune of his fingers, my muscles clenching tight around him, my legs trembling beneath him.

He wraps his arms around my waist and kisses my neck until the last wave of pleasure subsides. I’m exhausted, drained, yet so desperately hungry for him.

Without thinking, I reach for his belt. He slides his fingers out from my pussy, and reaches to help me with the belt before coming back in for a kiss. I let out a sigh.

He stops, his hand reaching for mine, preventing me from loosening the buckle. I whimper in protest, my eyes flying open to meet his. “You've been drinking,” he says, his voice a low growl. The tension in the car spikes again, this time with a different kind of energy.

I blink, caught off guard by his sudden change in demeanor. “I had a few Martinis at the party,” I try to argue, my voice defensive. What’s it to you?”

He rakes a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching. “I don't want you making decisions you'll regret in the morning, Quinn. Not when it comes to this, to us.”

In one swift motion, he gets off me and gently pulls down my dress until the hem is back at my ankles.

I swallow hard, my mind reeling as I try to process what just happened.