terms. “You want two men panting after your pretty little body?”
It feels like the answer should be no, but the little flip in my stomach means maybe yes. Is that wrong of me? My desires aren’t anything straightforward and numerical. I could paint them, these feelings. They would look like Cleopatra, but she wouldn’t be seductive and knowing. She would be afraid. I’m over my head with these men.
Christopher prowls toward me, and I clutch the pillow tighter as I evade him. It means giving him a glimpse of my bare back, but it’s better than being cornered. He keeps coming at me. I keep stepping back, until I hit something warm and breathing and unmovable.
Sutton.
I’m between both men, caught with only a pillow to cover me. Christopher’s eyes are completely merciless. He doesn’t feel sorry for anything that happens next. When I glance over my shoulder, Sutton looks a little kinder. Enough that he runs a gentle hand along my side, soothing, settling me for whatever comes next.
“What are you doing?” I ask, but it’s not a direct question. Not only for Christopher or for Sutton. It’s for both of them. For the room, which has closed me in.
“Nothing you don’t want,” Sutton murmurs in my ear. When he speaks like that, it’s easy to see why someone would do business with them. They’d stake their entire livelihood on a handshake with this man, his word worth more than a thousand other signatures.
And still my vision wavers, the whole world wavy and ocean-like. Underwater, that’s what I am.
“Drop the pillow,” Christopher says, and he sounds the very opposite as Sutton. The opposite of reassuring. He’s pure danger like this. “Let’s see what we’re paying for tonight.”
A slap on the face couldn’t have surprised me more. I step back into Sutton’s embrace, holding the pillow tighter. “I’m not a prostitute.”
He gives me a cold smile. “I’m not going to leave cash on the dresser, Harper. For many reasons, not the least of which is that you don’t need the money.”
If he had coaxed me for hours, I would have held on to the pillow. This Christopher, I know very well. This Christopher I know how to fight. I toss the pillow aside, casually, as if I’m naked in front of two men every day. “I wouldn’t be a prostitute, even without my trust fund.”
Christopher’s gaze doesn’t drop. He stares into my eyes hard, like he’s saying a thousand things without words. There are probably equations and pie charts in his head. “But I’m still going to end up paying for this.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, even though I know. I’ll pay my own price.
Sutton strokes his hand down the side of my neck. His mouth follows the same path. No wonder he was able to tame a wild horse. I would have followed him to the stream. Would have crossed the county to keep his hands on me. “You tell me to stop,” he says softly. “Tell me to punch Christopher in the face. Whatever you say, that’s what happens.”
Heady, that’s the feeling of power. Addictive. Terrifying. “What if I’m wrong?”
“There’s no wrong,” Sutton says.
Christopher’s lips twist. “If there’s no wrong, then there’s no right.”
I could kill him, this man who was my stepbrother and my former confidant. This man who controls my fortune. Yes, I could strangle him easily and feel relief.
But not before I lose my virginity to him.
“I’m surprised you would share.” I could be speaking to either of them, but it’s Sutton who could have demanded we never answer the door.
Sutton who could have insisted Christopher go away.
His lips move against my neck, an enticement all their own. My skin tightens beneath him. “Do you remember what I told you the first day? In the boardroom? I don’t mind that you have unfinished business.”
Make him suffer all you want, as long as you don’t go home with him at the end of the night. That’s what he said about the gala. Is that what he thinks about tonight? Except I won’t be going home with either of them. “Unfinished business,” I say, unsteady. “Is that what we’re calling this?”
Christopher’s eyes flash. “How generous of my business partner.”
Words fall like pebbles into a large lake, almost soundless. Deceptively small. “That’s what I did with the library, isn’t it?” Sutton’s voice is low and faintly mocking. “You wanted it but didn’t have enough. I helped you do it.”
“Helped.” Christopher tastes the word, sounding hard and accusatory. He