Tempt Me - Caitlin Crews Page 0,24

would show everyone that his heart was in the right place whether they could see it or not.

“Conventionality?” Rory blinked, and this time, when her gaze strayed from his it went toward his chapel. “You?”

He felt his mouth curve in one corner. “Me.”

“But what would that even look like? Whips only twice a week and chains on alternate Thursdays?”

She amused him. That was the part he couldn’t seem to get past.

“I was prepared to commit myself to a vanilla life,” he told her, because now this was becoming another way she could entertain him, and he had no intention of analyzing that, thank you. “Vanilla means—”

“I know what vanilla means,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. Cute, but unacceptable. He filed that way “I’m pansexual, hello.”

“How foolish of me to forget.” Her eyes narrowed a bit at his dry tone, but he ignored it. “I picked the perfect vanilla bride, prepared to march happily down a vanilla aisle, and had I done so, I would have carried on dutifully, vanilla to the end.”

The truth was a bit more complicated than that. Lady Jenny Markham, his perfect vanilla bride, was perhaps a bit more delightfully twisted than he’d anticipated. Or known, since he’d never touched her during their whirlwind courtship.

When he’d had the distinct displeasure of walking in on her and the man she’d ended up marrying, he’d recognized their dynamic instantly. It certainly hadn’t been anything he’d sensed in her on their few dates, though he did wonder, now and again when he thought of that strange period in his life, if that was why he’d chosen her. When he could have chosen anyone.

But then, he’d always had an eye for submissives hiding in plain sight. Like his house cleaner, for God’s sake.

Not that any of it mattered now. He and Jenny would have married for convenience’s sake, but she’d chosen someone else. Someone far less convenient who clearly made her far happier than he ever would have. And he couldn’t help but think that despite the considerable embarrassment of being so publicly jilted, he’d had a lucky escape.

Because here, now, he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever imagined that he could be vanilla for an evening, much less a lifetime.

“No one should have to spend their life pretending to be someone they’re not,” Rory told him, very seriously. And he let her, because she didn’t realize that she ought to have been intimidated by him, and for some reason he found that charming. “The world is filled with people who are withering away and dying because they think they need to wear masks all the time. I think it’s a good thing that you’re living your truth.”

Conrad endeavored not to wince at that. “Yes, thank you. ‘Living my truth,’ indeed. How... American.”

Rory shrugged, and gifted him with another eye roll. “I know, I know. Americans, so embarrassingly in touch with their feelings. How gauche. Whatever is the world coming to, with all this maudlin sentiment?”

That she had a point was one more thing Conrad chose not to examine. He concentrated on her, instead.

“You keep pushing us away from the conversation we ought to be having,” he pointed out mildly. “If you’re having second thoughts, you know where the door is. I will continue to enjoy my evening, uninterrupted. You can go back to doing whatever it is you were doing.”

“I was on a date.” He’d spent years perfecting his facial expressions—or rather, his lack thereof. And yet despite that he must have done something, because she grinned. “I’ve had a lot of dates since I last saw you. I’ve always liked dating. It’s like a social media post, but in person.”

“I’m happy to say I have no idea what that means.”

“Everyone knows that social media is all about curating, yes?” She waited for him to shrug and clearly took that as assent. “Picking the best parts, leaving out anything that’s sad or weird. Which I think is a good thing, by the way. Some things you should save for your friends. And dating is the same. You have to take all the best parts of you and kind of act them out for an evening. They do the same. Then, if all the performances match well enough, you get to have sex. It’s fun.”

“That sounds delightfully progressive-minded,” Conrad murmured. “I applaud you. But I can’t help thinking about the fact that all that curation led to you against my wall, begging me to make you come for the first