His gaze burned into mine. “Neither are you.”
That earned him a crooked smile. “Charmer.”
He kissed me again—soft this time. Slow. A promise in the shape of a breath. “Let them think what they want,” he said.
“And the truth?”
“The truth,” he said, voice dark and low, “is that I’d burn this whole place down if it meant keeping your name in my mouth a little longer.”
My breath caught. I buried my face in his chest, letting the warmth of him bleed into me.
“I’ve got meetings tomorrow,” I murmured. “Cake tastings.”
His lips found my temple. “And tonight?”
“Tonight, I want to sleep. In your arms. And forget, just for a little while, that I have to be perfect again tomorrow.”
He gathered me tighter. “Done.”
And just like that, I let myself exhale.
Wrapped in his arms, I wasn’t Portia the Planner. I wasn’t the fixer, the finisher, the woman with perfect hair and unshakeable poise.
I was just a woman who wanted.
And for once, I let that be enough.
18
SILAS
The days blurred into a haze of champagne and skin, a fever dream I didn’t want to wake from. After that night at The Palmetto Rose, when Portia pulled me into her suite and told me to stay, something shifted.
The weddings consumed Charleston—six brides, six grooms, a festival of love and excess that spun like a carousel. Cocktail parties on rooftops, receptions on private islands, dinners under chandeliers that cost more than most houses.
And through it all, Portia and I were a secret, a pulse beneath the surface, stealing every glance, every touch, every chance to burn each other alive.
I was happy, a feeling so foreign it scared me, but I didn’t want it to end. I couldn’t believe it—Silas Dane, The Ghost, grinning like a fool, addicted to her fire, her scent, her everything.
The parties were obscene, the kind only billionaires could pull off.
Last week, we’d boarded Ryker’s yacht, a floating palace docked off the Bahamas. Crystal flutes had overflowed with KrugClos d’Ambonnay, caviar had gleamed on silver spoons, and a string quartet had played Vivaldi while dolphins danced in the wake.
Portia had moved through the crowd in a sapphire gown that hugged her curves, her skin glowing under the stars. I’d caught her eye across the deck, her smile a silent promise, and later, we’d slipped below, finding a storage cabin piled with sails.
I’d peeled her dress off, her moans muffled by the ocean’s roar, her nails raking my back as I’d fucked her against the hull, the yacht rocking with our rhythm. It had been quick, desperate, her legs around my waist, my lips on her throat, both of us knowing we had minutes before someone noticed us gone.
Two nights later, Marcus had chartered a Gulfstream to Paris for a “casual” engagement dinner. The jet’s cabin had been all leather and gold, Dom Pérignon chilling in crystal buckets.
We’d landed at Le Bourget, had whisked to a private room at Le Meurice, where truffles shaved over risotto and Château Pétrus had flowed like water. Portia had worn emerald silk, her curls pinned high, and every time her eyes met mine, my cock had twitched.
After dessert, we’d snuck to a balcony overlooking the Tuileries, the city glittering below. I’d backed her against the railing, her dress hiked up, her panties shoved aside, and had taken her slow, deep, her gasps swallowed by the Parisian night. Her hands had clutched my shoulders, her body trembling as she came, and I’d followed, whispering her name like a prayer.
Back in Charleston, the parties hadn’t stopped. A gala at the Gibbes Museum, where art collectors had bid millions on Basquiats while Portia and I had fucked in a coatroom, her dress bunched at her waist, my hand over her mouth to stifle her cries.
A rooftop soiree at The Dewberry, where jazz had drifted over the harbor and we’d slipped into a service elevator, her lips onmy cock, my hands in her hair, the thrill of almost getting caught pushing us over the edge.
Every event, every stolen moment, had fed my addiction. I hadn’t known this feeling—happiness, lightness, like the world wasn’t a war zone. I didn’t trust it, but I craved it, craved her, and I’d burn everything to keep it.
