I’ve never been particrly patient when ites to women. They rarely dare to make me wait. I simply leave if they do.


    It’s thirty minutes past when we should’ve left, and there’s still no sign of Sutton. The door to her guest room is closed, and she doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.


    Probably because she knows I can’t leave without her.


    Showing up to my own engagement part without my fiancée isn’t the tone I want to set for this marriage.


    With the way my mother is blowing up my phone, it might be toote.


    This over-the-top soirée is being held at her house on Jupiter Ind, where most of Palm Beach’s elite are waiting for us. Making desperate social climbers cool their heels is one thing, but making my mother wait is courting disaster.


    It’s just not worth the hassle.


    Sutton is about to learn that lesson the hard way.


    “Christ,” I mutter, checking my Rolex again.


    I pace outside her door like a caged beast, resisting the urge to break it down. I might have done that already if I wasn’t worried about getting sidetracked and making us eventer to our own party.


    The memory of ourst night together on my yacht haunts me—her curves drenched in moonlight, her breathy sighs carried away by the ocean breeze.


    Five days of meetings in Russia haven’t dimmed the want.


    If anything, being apart has only sharpened it to a deadly edge. It’s been five days of only the memory of her to keep me warm.


    Then her door opens and allints die on my tongue.


    Holy.


    Fucking.


    Hell.


    The ivory halter dress I chose hugs every lush curve of her body. Strategic cutouts reveal teasing glimpses of side-boob that make my mouth water.


    The woman at the boutique said this dress would be a good bnce of “ssy yet sexy.”


    But as I look her up and down, it’s sexy, sexy, sexy on repeat in my head.


    Her natural beauty puts the surgeon-crafted features of the socialites I’m familiar with to shame. She bites her bottom lip nervously, still ying innocent while her body is putting dangerous ideas in my head.


    It’s like kryptonite.


    I’m not supposed to actually want my contract bride. This is all for show.


    But my jaw drops all on its own.


    “Wow.”


    A blush paints her cheeks as she smooths nervous hands down the dress. “Are you sure it looks alright?”


    “You look perfect.”


    In the dress, out of the dress—perfect either way.


    “Is it too tight?” She tugs on the seam, straining the fabric across her chest in a way that makes me want to groan.


    “It’s just tight enough.”


    She looks down at herself with a sigh. “It took forever to squeeze into. The top— Well, I’m falling out the sides a bit. I’m not sure it’s supposed to fit like?—”


    “It fits amazingly.” I don’t bother hiding my appreciation, my gaze sweeping over her again. “You’re going to kill them tonight, Sutton.”


    She stands a bit taller, but the first step she takes in her strappy ck stilettos has her stumbling into my chest.


    “Shit. These things are death traps.”


    I catch her around the waist, my thumb brushing over warm, bare skin. “But they’re worth it.”


    “Says the man who isn’t going to face-nt in front of the elites.”


    Smirking, I take her hand. “Hold onto me; I won’t let you fall. Now,e on, we’rete.”


    Her hand stays in mine all the way through the building and out the front doors, where she gasps at the stretch limo waiting along the curb.


    “We’re taking that?”


    “I knew I’d need a driver. I won’t be able to focus with you in that dress.”


    Her blush spreads down her neck. “Right. But a limo? It’s a bit… much.”


    “And you’ve just described my mother in four words.” I hold open the back door, ushering her into the backseat.


    She slides into the limo’s plush interior, immediately fidgeting with the diamonds dripping from her wrist. The nervous gesture draws my attention to her hands—delicate, with short, practical nails.


    Not the garish, manicured talons I’m used to seeing on the women in my world.


    “What’s your mother really like? I need to know more about her.”


    Sutton’s question is like a bucket of ice water on my thoughts. I drag my attention from where it’s focused on her dress riding up her thighs.


    “The technical term would be ‘ball-buster.’”


    “Oh, God.”


    I wave her worry away. “I’ll be right beside you the whole time. My mother’s intimidating, but she respects authenticity. You’re nothing if not authentic.”


    “So don’t try to suck up to her?” she guesses.


    “Fast learner.”


    She dusts an imagined piece of lint from her dress. “Who else is going to be at this thing?”


    “About a hundred of Palm Beach’s finest, hand-picked by my mother.”


    She jolts forward like she’s going to swallow her tongue. “I’m sorry—what? A hundred? Like… one hundred? Why didn’t you warn me?”


    “What good would it have done?”


    As far as parties go, this one is smaller than most. If my future bride had been one my mother selected, it would’ve been five hundred guests, at least.


    As it is, she wants to keep things “intimate.”


    “It would’ve given me time to prepare!” Her blue eyes re with panic, her chest heaving against the delicate material of her dress in a way that is very distracting.


    I pull my eyes up to her pale face. “The less time you have to overthink these things, the better.”


    She slumps against the leather seat. “Not helping.”


    I press the button for the privacy partition, catching Uri’s curious nce in the rearview mirror before the ck screen hides him from view.


    “Usually, I’d be worried you’re about to murder me, but I actually think you’d be doing me a favor now.” She gives a shakyugh.


    “It won’t be that bad.” My eyes drift to the tempting curve of exposed skin. “The champagne alone is worth it.”


    “I’d rather be in sweats hiding under my covers.”


    The image of her in bed proves too much for my already-strained control. I slide closer, wrapping an arm around her waist.


    Her sharp intake of breath is music to my ears.


    “It would be a shame to waste this dress.” My voice drops to a growl. “And this body.”


    “People have seen more than enough of my body as it is.”


    “No such thing for me.” I nip at her soft skin. “And the whole point of this party is for people to notice you. They won’t have a choice while you’re wearing this.”


    My fingers pass along the inside of her thigh. Her legs part like she can’t help herself, opening for me.


    “I don’t want to be noticed, Oleg. I need to be?—”


    I stroke along thece front of her panties, and we both freeze.


    “What you need—” I circle the pad of my thumb against her center. “—is to rx. I know how to help with that.”


    My lips find her neck as I slip my thumb beneath the fabric, stroking her velvety softness. She rolls against my thumb, breathless. “The dress… My hair…”


    “Don’t worry, princess. I won’tpletely ruin you.”


    No matter how badly I want to.


    Five days of celibacy has me wound tight. Having her this close, packaged like sin incarnate—it’s more than I can stand.


    Not without a small taste, at least.


    She’s wet for me. Drenched. I spread her arousal with my thumb while she writhes.


    “But… Uri…”


    I grit my teeth at the sound of any other man’s name on her lips. Maybe I should ruin her just a little. Enough that anyone who sees her will know what she was doing before the party and who she was doing it with.


    Mine.


    I rotate my hand and slide my middle finger into her. She moans into my kiss as she stretches around me.


    I stroke out of her and push in with two fingers.


    “Oleg—!” she gasps.


    That’s more like it.


    She may be nervous about the party, but that hasn’t stopped her from soaking through her panties for me.


    I rain kisses down her neck as I work her with my fingers, feeling her surrender with every slide of our skin together. I’m unknotting her worries from the inside out.


    She curls her fingers into my hair and drags my mouth back to hers. Our tongues sh together as she rides my hand, rolling herself deeper onto my fingers.


    I reach out with my free hand until I find the volume knob, cranking the music to drown out the desperate noises pouring out of her.


    I’m supposed to be getting her pregnant. We’re here to make an heir and y at marriage—neither of which involve fingering her in the back of a limo.


    But I don’t care.


    I feel the first flutters of her climax around my fingers and nothing else matters.


    I grip her jaw, my hand syed across her pretty throat from ear to ear. “Come for me, Sutton.”


    Her pupils are wide, dark pools when she looks up at me…


    … and falls to pieces on my hand.


    When shees, I have to grit my teeth to maintain control. I’m on the edge of release just from watching her, and no woman has ever had this effect on me.


    I slide out of her and sit tall, trying to steady my breathing while she is sprawled across the seat, hair fanned around her head like a halo.


    “There. Now, you’re rxed.”


    Sheughs, pressing a hand to her chest. “If anything, I’m more nervous. Look at me.”


    I am looking at her—that’s the problem. I want to do a hell of a lot more than look at her.


    “I don’t see any issue.”


    “I look like I just got ravaged in a limo.”


    “I didn’t hear anyints while you were riding my fingers.”


    My hand is sticky from her, and I grudgingly grab a tissue from the backseat to clean myself up. I want to use my mouth—see if she tastes as good as she smells.


    Not now. Later.


    She scrambles to a sitting position, snapping her legs closed andbing fingers through her tangled hair. “I’m just lucky I brought some spare lipstick.”


    By the time we make it to the party, Sutton has managed to make herself halfway decent again, though I preferred her tousled hair and smudged lipstick.


    “We’re here,” I announce as Uri opens her door.


    She’s so focused on adjusting her dress that it’s not until she’s standing on the circle drive that she looks up and freezes.


    “Oh my God. That’s where your mother lives?”


    The mansion looms before us, framed by towering Corinthian columns. A marble walkway lined with meticulously sculpted topiaries leads to looming bronze doors. Through the windows, crystal chandeliers cast warm light across the gathering inside.


    “This is insane,” she whispers, edging closer to me.


    Just like I told her to do back at the penthouse, Sutton grabs my hand. Her fingersce through mine and squeeze.


    Like she trusts me to keep her safe.


    To protect her.


    It’s been a long time since anyone has expected anything like that from me. Almost twenty years, to be exact.


    I blink away the ghosts of my past and focus on the monsters in the present. About how best to protect my fiancée from what awaits her inside.


    I squeeze back, steadying her against my side. “Don’t worry. You’ve got this, Sutton. And I’ve got you.”