Chapter One — Remy

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I was bored as fuck and all I wanted to do was leave. But I’d only arrived twenty minutes ago, so leaving anytime soon was not an option.

No, that wouldn’t be proper.

Not that I ever gave a fuck about being proper.

The problem wasn’t mine, it was my mother’s. And, if she had a problem, it would rapidly become my problem.

Madge Devereux was not a woman who took things lightly. Everything in her life fell at the same level of importance. The crisis in the Middle East was on the same scale as keeping her manicure freshly lacquered. She didn’t have an off switch or casual bone in her body. Every word was said with the same cool indifference. She floated through life like everything meant something and yet, nothing at all.

I had only ever seen my mother come unhinged twice in my whole life. And neither of those occasions were nights I wanted to remember. The first was when my stepfather left her. The second was when she came home from some snooty function to find me and two of the cheerleaders at my high-class, prep school, fucking like animals on the Persian rug in the study. On both nights, her temper had risen so high that it shattered her self-imposed glass ceiling and she exploded in a fit of rage.

If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I’d deny it had ever happened.

To the world, Madge Devereux was the epitome of perfection.

I took a sip of my whiskey and cast a sidelong glance in each direction. Somehow, it seemed that all the thinking of my mother would conjure her up if I wasn’t careful. I knew that it would be unavoidable to have some sort of exchange with her. The room was full of people, but it wasn’t so packed that I could somehow manage to get lost in the crowd all evening until I found an appropriate excuse to leave. Besides, if she didn’t see me there, she might not believe I’d shown up. And it was very important she knew I was there. I’d done my part—I’d held up my end of our little bargain.

My eyes cruised over the clusters of impeccably dressed people that filled the ballroom of the Monarch Hotel. Most of them were old money. Families like mine.

I took another sip of whiskey, letting it linger on my tongue before swallowing it down. I liked to savor the burn. As the heat hit my stomach, I turned my attention from hunting down my mother, to seeing if there might be any women that caught my attention. It had been awhile since I’d fucked a high-society girl. It could prove to be a fun change of pace. They were usually eager to blow off some steam, and over the years, I’d become very skilled when it came to stripping off formal dresses and the often-complicated pieces hiding underneath.

Mmmm. Bingo. A blonde wearing a low-cut dress was giving me her best fuck-me stare. I knew her type. Bold, horny and fucked like a rabbit—for some cold hard cash. She more than likely wasn’t wearing anything under her dress—if she was, it was pink, lace and easy to remove. I gave her a subtle twitch of my lip to let her know she had been noticed.

Then, my eyes continued their appraisal of the rest of the women in the room. My eyes snagged on a tall, olive-toned woman in the corner. She was alone, sipping from a champagne flute. She caught me checking her out, and gave a slight smile before taking another sip. From a hundred feet away, I could tell she knew what she was doing. She tongued the rim of her glass and then, ever so slyly, looked out of the corner of her eye to make sure I was still watching her. She had long, dark hair that fell to the middle of her back in loose, wavy curls, and I knew exactly what I’d do with her.

Without even closing my eyes, I could see her bent over my bed while I grabbed a handful of her thick hair and pulled her head back as I drilled into her tight pussy. I had a feeling she’d be loud about it, too.

I looked away, not wanting to let myself get too worked up. My tuxedo was tailor-made, every inch of fabric molded perfectly to my body. Sadly, it left no room for a raging erection.

The woman had potential, though. I’d serve my time, and if she was still there when I was leaving, I’d take her home with me and live out much more than just the brief, fleeting scene in my mind.

I leaned back against the bar and watched the rest of the people. It was all so fucking fake. They all had more money than they knew what to do with, so to entertain themselves, they formed these little charity dinners to make themselves feel better. The ugly truth was that the bottles of Dom being poured out like cheap bottled water were worth far more than whatever funds would be raised.

Sure, I was rich and it had always been that way. I flaunted my wealth with expensive cars, watches, custom designer clothing and a never-ending obsession with fine food and drink. But, at least I was honest about who I was. I didn’t feel the need to parade around acting like I gave a shit about some cause, when in reality—I was just showing off for the elite. And that’s what this farce was. A mask. A pretense for these people to gather together and see who came in the most luxurious car, whose handbag cost the most, to gossip over who was fucking who, and who had had work done since the last get together.

I rolled my eyes before I checked my watch.

How long had I been here? And more importantly, when the fuck could I leave?

It had only been an hour.

Damn.

My stomach rumbled and I took that as my cue to go and check out the appetizers. Sometimes the food was interesting. Most of the time, it was not. Regardless, it would give me something to do to pass the time.

The spread was the same old standbys. Large prawns with a light oil and vinegar drizzle, prosciutto-wrapped melon, a cheese plate and, of course, caviar.

Boring.

However, I was hungry, so I picked up a tiny plate and loaded it up with just enough to get me through to the main course—if I had to stay that long. I didn’t even know what the event was for. The ballroom was set up with a stage and tables were gathered in front, loaded down with so many floral arrangements, you’d have thought a florist delivery van exploded in the room at some point during the set-up process. After the cocktail hour, there would be a dinner, during which the speaker—or speakers—would come out and say their piece, imploring for donations to their cause. Then, a band would take over and there would be dancing and more drinking to loosen up some wallets… and the thighs on that leggy blonde. All the while, random announcements would continue on the progress of the donations, and more speeches to coax the attendees into giving more.

I sighed. It was exhausting just thinking about it. I’d made a mental line in the sand with myself. I’d stay through dinner, and then snake out during the dancing part of the event. No one would even notice I was gone. By then, my mother would have seen me and I’d be free to leave.

If only I could hold out until then. I stood near one of the bistro tables to dig into my plate of food, keeping one eye on the crowd at all times.

“There you are, Remington,” a stilted voice called over my shoulder.

Fuck.

I threw back the rest of the contents of my whiskey and wiped my fingertips on my cocktail napkin. I quickly replaced the flinch on my face with a charmed smile as I turned to see my mother approaching. She floated towards me and lightly embraced me, making sure to punctuate our moment with a brief air kiss somewhere near my left temple.

“Good evening, Mother.” I greeted her, keeping my decidedly false smile firmly in place as I made eye contact with the two couples that had followed in Madge’s wake over to me.

She gave a curt nod in response before turning to her company for the introductions. “Remington, this is Charles Grant and his wife, Janice. And this is William Sterns and his wife, Melinda.”

I nodded along, pretending I knew why she had bothered to drag them over to meet me in the first place. Apparently, Charles Grant was the founder of a charity that my mother was—not so subtly—insinuating that I should take an interest in—which really meant donate money to. I was so deep in my perfect son routine that looking back—I couldn’t tell you what the cause was. Something about saving some variety of exotic mushrooms from some island off the Australian coastline.

Whatever it was, I wasn’t interested.

The two couples stayed for some small talk, most of which I ignored. They excused themselves after a few minutes of idle chit-chat and I released a silent, undetectable sigh of relief. Holding up my doting son facade for more than a few minutes was absolutely exhausting.

“Remington, dear, were you even listening to a word they said?” Madge asked me as soon as the others were out of range.

“Yes, Mother, mushrooms. Absolutely riveting.”

“At least you had the decency to cover up those God-awful tattoos,” she commented under her breath.

I was tempted to pop off my titanium cuff links and roll up my sleeves. I had a full sleeve of tattoos on my left arm, and a growing collection on the right. My mother had ignored me for nearly a month after she discovered my first tattoo. I was sixteen at the time and talked a buddy into letting me use his ID to go downtown and get my first ink. I’d gotten a snake design wrapped around my upper arm. It was a little faded now from too much sun, and I hadn’t bothered to get it fixed. Eventually, I’d design something to go over the top. The design itself meant nothing to me. It had just been a cliché act of teenage rebellion.

“It’s lovely to see you too, Mother,” I replied, keeping my voice even to match her detached tone.

“It would’ve been even more lovely if you were to have brought a date. Surely, among your following, you could have found someone suitable to dress up and bring along. You know, people talk, darling. You’re too old to have such a filthy reputation. It really isn’t becoming at all. It’s far beyond time for you to settle down.”

“I hardly think twenty-seven is too old, for anything.” I gritted my teeth, keeping them bared in a forced smile. If anyone in the room were to see us, it would look like a friendly mother-son chat. It was almost alarming how easily I slipped into this mode.

“Truly, philandering as you do is unacceptable at any age,” she purred.

I couldn’t tell what had her on edge, but whatever it was, I knew I needed to tread carefully.

“As you well know, there are certain…expectations that are to be met if you wish to continue receiving your funding.”

There it was.

It always came back to that between us. Whenever I stepped a toe out of line, she was right there behind me, reminding me that she still controlled a good majority of the purse strings, and that if I wanted to continue to enjoy my accustomed lifestyle, I needed to keep it together.

“Well aware, Mother.” My teeth were clenched together, but I managed to keep a smile on my face.

“Excellent. Enjoy the night, Remington. And do remember to provide a donation before you leave for the evening. I suggest nothing less than twenty-five.”

I nodded and watched as she glided away, her legs barely giving the appearance of movement under her long dress.

Twenty-five grand? Is she fucking insane?

I blew out a puff of hot, frustrated air as soon as she was gone. More than ever, I just wanted to get the fuck out of this place and unwind. And the best possible way to decompress, at least in my world, was found between a gorgeous pair of legs.

I abandoned my plate of appetizers and circled back to the bar to get another finger of whiskey. I knew it would take an obscene amount of alcohol to get me through the night, and had planned ahead to have my driver on call. Besides, I had a feeling I’d be a little more than occupied on the drive home.

The woman with the long, dark hair was nowhere to be found and my heart—or was it my cock?—sank a little with disappointment. But then I saw her, and all hope quickly rebounded. She was probably half a foot shorter than me, but with my six foot two frame, that would still make her fairly tall. Her hair was dark, but pulled back into some complicated arrangement. I had no way of telling how long it was, but I found myself quickly swapping her out in my previous fantasy and imagined releasing it from whatever contraption was holding it up and tugging and pulling on it as I fucked her from behind.

And what a behind it was…she was wearing a black dress that seriously seemed to be suctioned to her curves. Her waist was slim and flared—perfect to an hourglass set of hips and a perfectly round ass that was cupped and accentuated by the dark dress. When she turned to the side, I nearly choked on my drink as my eyes followed the curves of her spine over her round, perfectly taut ass.

Fuck. I had to have her. And I didn’t have any time to waste. If she wasn’t already taken, she would be soon. Most people wouldn’t think a charity ball was much of a meat market. But, then again, most people had never been on the inside of one of these events to see how it all played out. I’d been studying them since I was a young teenager. Drop-dead gorgeous women like her were here for one of two reasons…they already had a wealthy husband or boyfriend or—they were looking for one.

I sure as hell wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. I hadn’t had one of those in years. But, a good night with a beautiful woman sounded just about perfect.

I threw back the rest of my drink, set the glass back on the bar and made my way across the room.