Page 142 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Abby

He’s late. The asshole is late.

I waited until Hunter and Zara exchanged vows and Isla’s Great Dane, Tiny, provided a diversion by leaping onto the drinks table and downing an entire bottle of champagne in one go.

Nope, not making it up. Tiny does have a taste for bubbles.

It was enough to send everyone into peals of laughter, and it took Liam’s brute strength to finally bring Tiny under control.

During the melee, I happened to glance at Cade, who jerked his chin in the direction of the house.

I lifted up my chin, but his glare intensified.

He arched an eyebrow in my direction, and I shivered.

Fire zinged under my skin, and my pussy clenched.

All of the nerves in my body seemed to tighten with anticipation, and I turned and slunk off in the direction of Hunter’s townhouse.

Thankfully, everyone was outside, so there was no one to watch my walk-toward-shame as I crept up the silent corridor, up the stairs, and toward the door that I assumed opened into the bathroom.

I pushed the door open, then walked toward the window on the far side.

I peeked down to find I could see the wedding guests gathered below.

Hunter and Zara were laughing and talking with Liam and Isla.

The rest of the guests—I recognized Michael and Karma Sovrano, as well as Sinclair and Summer Sterling, and JJ Kane and his girlfriend Lena among them—gathered around talking to each other.

And among them was Cade, the doucheworm.

He asked me to leave, yet he made no move to follow me.

Now, I stare at him, take in the broad sweep of his shoulders, the way the jacket stretches across his back and pulls across that tight arse of his, and how the sleeves tighten about his biceps and show off his incredible physique.

Zara says something to him, and he throws his head back and laughs.

Seeing the column of his magnificent throat lengthen sends a pulse of heat shooting down my spine.

He must sense my perusal, for he glances up and meets my gaze.

The hair on the nape of my neck rises, and my thighs quiver.

It’s as if he’s reached across the distance and touched my core.

He lowers his chin, and a smile twists his lips—that mean smile of his which has my nerve-endings stretching in anticipation.

Shit, shit, shit. Did he catch me ogling him?

Did he sense me taking in every dip and angle of his body, every flex of his muscle, every hard, gradient of his sexy-as-hell torso, every stretch of those powerful thighs of his, the incline of his profile, the dip of his chin, the—

He breaks away from the crowd and begins to walk toward the townhouse.

I yelp, then scamper across the bathroom and latch the door.

I didn’t mean to, but the thought of standing here like some kind of virgin waiting for the high priest to come and take my chastity, is more than I can bear.

I’ll have to give in to him eventually; doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy.

Footsteps approach the door, and I slide back.

Jeez, that was quick. He must have run up the stairs to make it here so quickly.

The handle of the door jiggles, then he says, "You in there, Sparrow?

" His voice reaches me through the door. The wood does nothing to temper that growly edge to his tone which sends heat shooting through my veins. Oh, my god. Surely, just his voice can’t arouse me further, can it?

“Open the door, Abby.” He twists the handle again.

I take another step back.

“The more you delay the inevitable, the more it’s going to hurt.”

What the—? A squeak escapes me, then I slap my palm over my mouth.

Liquid warmth pools in my center, and I squeeze my things together.

Oh, my god, oh, my god. How dare he threaten me with that promise?

How dare I want him to follow through with it.

Am I a masochist? Is that why the thought of him hurting me seems to turn me on even more?

"Open. The door. Now." He lowers his voice to a hush. I shiver. I see my arm reaching forward and realize I’ve already walked toward the door. Oh, god. I can’t disobey him.

I can’t. As much as I want to stand up to him, if he asks me to do something in that tone of voice, I can’t possibly say no.

The latch clicks off, and the door swings open.

His big shoulders fill the doorway. I gulp.

"Hello Sparrow." He takes a step forward. I sidle back.

He steps inside and shuts the door behind him. The click of the lock falling into place spins a jolt of apprehension down my spine.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"What do you think?" Without taking his gaze off of my face, he shrugs off his jacket, then folds it and places it on a chair that’s pushed up against the wall. He removes one cufflink, then the other. Then proceeds to fold up his sleeves. There’s a deliberateness to his movements, a preciseness that hints at the intensity of his motives.

I gulp.

His smile widens. The cruelty in his gaze seems to deepen until those mismatched irises glow with an inner light that hinges on maniacal. He prowls forward, and I skitter back until my back touches the wall. I gulp, turn around and reach for the handle of the windowpane.

"I wouldn’t," he says in a soft voice.

I shiver, grip the handle tighter for a second, then another, then slowly lower my hand to my side.

"Good girl." A moan bleeds from my lips. Oh, my god. Why does his praise mean so much to me?

"Turn around," he orders.

I turn around, but keep my eyes lowered.

"Look at me, Abby."

I tip up my chin, then slowly raise my eyelids.

My gaze clashes with his, and a thousand little fires spring to life under my skin.

This man? He’s going to slay me, and I’m not going to be able to stop him.

I’m going to open myself up to him, and he’s going to hurt me, and not just physically.

He’s going to rip my heart out of my chest and smash it underfoot, and I’m not going to be able to stop him.

My throat closes, and my breath comes in pants.

I feel the panic build in my stomach, then bubble up to my throat.

My shoulders heave. I’m aware of swallowing, of a burning sensation building behind my eyes, of the blood drumming in my ears.

Spots of black fleck my vision, then a firm hold grips my shoulder.

"Breathe," he growls.

I gasp, then blink, and my vision clears, to be replaced again by his stern visage. A nerve throbs at his temple and he flexes his jaw. I sway, and his grip on my shoulder tightens.

"Goddamn it." He moves toward me. I wince, then gasp, for he’s scooped me up in his arms.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"Tired of your questions, Sparrow. Tired of you looking at me with those big green eyes that cut through my walls. Tired of your making me feel guilty for wanting to see you punished for your transgressions."

"So, it’s my fault you’re finally feeling some emotions?" I scoff.

"Everything is your fault, Sparrow. Haven’t you realized that yet?"

I scowl up at him. "Nice, blame me for everything that you don’t agree with."

"Absolutely. Glad we got that out of the way." He stomps over to a second chair that’s pushed up in an alcove at the far end—that’s how big this bathroom is. I’m no stranger to luxury, given my father’s background and wealth, but this… This is in another league, all to itself.

"How rich, exactly, is Hunter Whittington?" I murmur.

"He’s taken." Cade sinks down into the chair with me in his lap. "In case you forgot, he’s married to Zara."

"I know that." I try to push up, but he merely draws me closer to that big wall-like chest of his.

"Then why all this interest in Hunter Whittington? Is it because he’s probably going to be the next leader of this country? Is that what attracts you, Sparrow? Power? Is that it? Because—"

"Hold on!" I slap my palm into his chest. "Are you jealous I mentioned Hunter? Is that the reason for this sudden outburst?"

His chest muscles harden. I peer up at him from under my eyelashes, to find him narrowing his gaze on me.

“Oh, my god, you are jealous that I mentioned Hunter."

"Don’t speak another man’s name in front of me."

I gape. "I’m merely saying that he—"

Cade clicks his tongue.

I firm my lips. "Why did you carry me over here anyway? I thought you wanted to make me hurt?"

"And I will. Just not yet."

"To what do I owe this sudden burst of empathy?"

"Let’s just say, I’d rather you be in full fighting spirit when I violate you next."

I flinch. Liquid heat flushes my veins. The flesh between my thighs dampens, and honestly, I can’t understand my reaction to his horrible words.

It’s obscene, and I’m appalled. And yet, I’m also turned on.

Which is par for the course with this man.

Everything he says and does shocks me, and it always seems to touch that darkness inside of me which yearned to be free from the moment I set eyes on him as a teenager.

Maybe he was more innocent then, but some part of me sensed the edginess at his core.

"Do you use those explicit words because you’re trying to shock me?"

"Is it working?" He smirks.

"Yes, but not in the way you think."

"Oh?"

I nod. "It doesn’t scare me, if that’s what you’re aiming for."

"Is that right?"

I search his features. "It makes me want to invite you to do your worst. It makes me want to show you that, no matter what you do, you’ll never break my spirit. Oh, you might draw an orgasm from me, but when it comes to my soul, you’ll never be able to master me."

A pulse leaps to life at his jawline. His eyes blaze. Then he bends his face and brushes my nose with his. "Is that a challenge, Sparrow?"

"That’s a—"

There’s a banging on the door. "Abby, Cade, are you in there?"

Solene’s voice reaches me.

I try to pull away again, but Cade doesn’t let me.

"Abby, you okay?" Her voice sounds worried.

Cade tilts his head as if daring me to say something to the contrary.

I tilt up my chin then call out, "I’m fine."

There’s silence, then Solene says, "We’re sitting down for lunch; thought you’d want to know before you’re both missed."

I turn toward the door. "We’ll join you shortly, Solene. You go ahead."

"You sure?" she asks.

"I’m sure. We’ll be there very soon."

"Okay." Her steps recede.

I try to slide off Cade’s lap, and this time, he lets me.

I head toward the door and unlatch the lock when he drawls, "Rain check then?"