As she gave herself up to him, he was the only man she had ever loved—and the only one she would never truly have. Samuel T. was like her, just worse—a soul who could never settle down even as he strolled down the brick pathways of social expectation.
“Fuck me,” she demanded against his lips.
He was breathing hard, his body rigid under that expensive suit, ready for her … but instead of giving her what she wanted, he stepped back, dropped her skirt, and stared at her remotely.
“Samuel?” she demanded.
With deliberate slowness, he raised his fingers to his mouth and sucked them in. Then he ran his tongue up and down and between them, licking her essence from his skin.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”
“What.”
Samuel leaned in. “I’m going to go back to your father’s party and sit down at his table. I went ahead and switched the seating arrangement so Veronica is next to me. You’ll know when I put my hand between her legs—you’re going to see her stiffen and try to keep her composure as I do to her what I just did to you. Watch her face, Gin. And know that as soon as we leave, I’m going to fuck her in the front seat of my Jaguar.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Like I said, watch me, Gin.”
As he turned away from her, she wanted to throw something at the back of his head. Instead, she gritted out, “Isn’t it Savannah?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Like I care about her name? The only thing that matters is … she’s not you.”
On that note, he strode off, his fine patent leather shoes clapping out over the bricks, his shoulders set, his head up.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she noticed for the first time that the night was cold. Even though it was eighty degrees.
She should have told him about the lawyer, she decided. Then again, she had picked the doughy little man precisely because she knew that sooner or later Samuel T. would find out.
At least one thing was for sure. Samuel T. would be back. Somehow the two of them couldn’t stay away from each other for long.
And eventually, she was going to have to tell him about Amelia, she thought. But not tonight. Not … anytime soon.
If that man found out she had hid his daughter from him all these years?
He might just kill her.
ELEVEN
After Lane left the conservatory, the idea of going back to his father’s party was utterly unappealing—especially as he heard the quiet gonging that announced dinner was being served. But considering his other option was to go see Edward, he—
“Lane?”
Refocusing, he looked through the archway into the dining room. A tall brunette woman in a pale gray gown was standing in front of one of the antique Venetian mirrors, the view of her bare shoulders as lovely from the back as it was from the front.
Speak of the devil, he thought. But he smiled as he went over to her and kissed her smooth cheek. “Sutton, how are you?”
More like, what are you doing here? She and her kin were the “enemy,” the owners of the Sutton Distillery, makers of the famous Sutton brand of bourbons and liquors—which was not to say he, personally, had anything against the woman. Traditionally, however, people from that bloodline were persona non grata at Easterly … in conversation … in nightly prayers.
And they were KU fans. So they wore blue, not red, at games.
Now that was something he could actually get worked up about.
As they embraced, she smelled like the rich woman she was, her delicate fragrance lingering in his nose as he stepped back, just the way her perfect body and couture gown flashed again when he blinked.
But that wasn’t because he was attracted to her. It was more in the way he’d remember a museum-quality painting or a Duesenberg.
“I didn’t know you were coming down this weekend.” She smiled. “It’s good to see you after all this time. You’re looking well.”
That was funny, he felt like shit. “And you, beautiful as always.”
“Are you staying through the Derby?”
Over Sutton’s shoulder, he caught sight of Chantal entering the dining room, her floor-length, brilliant yellow dress sweeping in along with her butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth attitude.
Only long enough to get papers filed, he thought.
“Lane?” Sutton prompted.
“Sorry. Actually, I have to go back up to New York soon.” After all, those poker games weren’t going to play themselves. “I’m glad to see you—surprised it’s at Father’s dinner, but glad.”
Sutton nodded. “It’s a bit of a surprise for me as well.”
“Here on business?”
She took a sip from her glass of wine. “Mmm.”
“That was supposed to be a joke.”
“Tell me, have you seen …”
As she trailed off without throwing in a proper noun, there was, once again, no reason for her to finish the sentence with “Edward.” For a number of reasons.
“Not yet. But I’m going to go out to the farm.”
“You know, Edward never comes into town.” Sutton took another delicate draw off the razor-sharp lip of her glass. “I used to see him a lot back before he was … well, we were on the University of Charlemont board together even though I’m a KU fan, and …”
As the woman continued on, he had the sense she was not so much informing him of things he already knew, but reliving a period of her life the loss of which she mourned. Not for the first time, he had to wonder what had really happened between his family’s golden boy and their competitor’s lovely daughter.