Rex Roy.Even I’ve heard that name mentioned in the news. Heir to the Roy fortune. He’s mentioned in every business magazine’s list of the world’s richest people, sometimes gracing the cover. He’s not even thirty.
Billionaire. Philanthropist. My mystery dom.
Murderer.
I have no proof, but I know it’s him. . . and I think he knows I know.
What game is he playing? What is going on?
In the front of the room, the conductor strikes up the band. Violins sing with a sweeping melody. The lights around the room dim, leaving only the chandeliers overhead to bathe everyone in a halcyon glow. Everything’s lovely and muted except for the man towering over me. Every detail of him stands out in stark relief against the blurring background.
I watch his perfect lips shape the words before I hear them. “Dance with me.”
Even knowing he’s killed people, I ache for him. My whole body shudders with the desire to go to him. I want it more than anything in the world.
He extends his hand.
Then I realize what he’s asking. He must read the shock on my face because he pivots to Jordan. “You don’t mind if I steal your detective away for a dance.”
Jordan blusters a negative, and Rex says something back. He claps the chief on his shoulder, waving in the direction of the bar. He’s buying me a moment to get a hold of myself.
Or he’s carrying out his plan to get us alone. And can’t both be true? I hadn’t realized I was playing chess with a grandmaster. I’ve let myself blunder around, blindfolded, for too long.
That stops now. I’m going to get answers.
I can do this.
I can face him.
When he turns back, I’ve mastered my breathing and my expression, but not my reaction to him. The heat in my belly, the flush in my face.
“Well?” he murmurs, and the world narrows. We’re the only people in the room. “One dance?” His dark eyes twinkle like he knows how tempting he is. Surrounded by the scent of him, it’s easy to forget he’s anything but the dom who tied me up and let me fly so freely then held me afterward.
“Would you prefer I wear the gloves?” He reaches into his pocket. “I brought them.”
My heartbeat flutters frantically, pounding in my throat.
“No,” I rasp. “That’s okay.” He planned this. And he thought of the gloves. . . for me.
It’s so sweet and perfect I could cry.
“All right, little bird.” There’s a challenge in his smile.
I can’t cry. I can’t fall apart. I have to fight this, fight my reaction to him. “Don’t call me that.” I grab the fraying edges of my courage, take a smooth step forward, and put my hand in his.
It’s huge and warm, and I swear I feel his pulse under my palm. Or maybe that’s my own heart booming in my chest.
“As you wish.” And there’s nothing but fondness in his tone. He closes his fingers over my hand, and a shudder goes through me.
“Breathe,” he orders softly, and the command helps my lungs expand. “Just breathe. That’s it. Good girl.”
I shoot him a savage look even as I cling to his hand. His fingers are strong, with some rough callouses on the insides of his knuckles.
I haven’t touched anyone like this in so long. I’m actually holding his hand. I want to hold it forever. It’s so wrong, and yet, his touch is the only thing keeping me on my feet.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t do this.
I have to.
