A Man of Wealth (The Kingmakers of Kensington Book 2) Read online

  I’m momentarily distracted when Heidi Garrison steps in front of me.

  “Conner! How good to see you,” she says with a fake smile plastered on her face. I want to push her out of my line of vision, but then I see Vivienne turn toward me and look at Heidi. She doesn’t like that her date is talking with another woman. Jealousy. I can work with this. She wears it better than I do. I smirk and raise my glass a little in her direction as I lean in and kiss Heidi’s cheek.

  “How are you?” I ask. The last time I saw Heidi, her naked ass was up in the air as I fucked it. Then I got a call and had to leave. That was two months ago. She texted me something about a shoot in Milan.

  “Fine. I just got back. I loved it so much over there, I just couldn’t leave,” she gushes as she launches into a series of stories about her travels. Heidi isn’t a horrible human, she’s just a privileged model who likes the powerful men in this city. It’s her kink, and she’s not ashamed of it. She lives for being arm candy at state dinners. She may fake her smiles, but she doesn’t lie about her goals in life, and that I can appreciate.

  I add the occasional “uh-huh” and “that sounds nice” to the conversation, but my peripheral vision stays with Vivienne who keeps her body language telling Jared he might get lucky. I’m impressed and loathing of it all at the same time. Why am I letting her get under my skin?

  At some point, Jared leads her over to a table and they sit down. Vivienne leans in and puts her elbow on the table and her chin on her hand as she nods enthusiastically at him. There’s some boring awards ceremony that is supposed to happen after this lengthy cocktail hour and then some dancing. I’m not looking forward to any of it.

  I watch Jared place a hand on Vivienne’s leg and something in me snaps. I turn to Heidi.

  “It was great to see you. We’ll have to catch up more later,” I practically growl as I turn away from her.

  I plow through the crowd toward them. What the fuck is she playing at? This was not the plan. She was only supposed to talk to him, not physically flirt with the man.

  When I’m looming over them, Jared looks up, his face pales a little and he nonchalantly pulls his hand back. But it’s Vivienne’s look of relief that has me dialing up the rage I feel. This wasn’t part of her plan, he’s every bit the asshole that I thought he was.

  “Vivienne, may I have a word…please.” I add the last word through gritted teeth. Jared looks between us, apparently hopeful that this obscenely hot woman will choose him over me. What a fucking twat.

  “Oh, of course, Conner. Conner, this is Jared Pallin. Jared, Conner Sterling.” He nods at me, and I nod at him. Neither of us says a word.

  “Excuse us, Jared. I’ll definitely give you a call this week,” she says with a smile as she stands and this time takes my outstretched arm with such force I fear she may cut off circulation. I lead us out of the ballroom and down a hallway to the back elevators. I never use the main ones here because I don’t like prying eyes.

  “W-where are we going?” Vivienne asks as she looks back at the gala ballroom.

  The doors open and I pull her inside, walking her to the wall where she presses her back against the cool wood veneer. “You and I need to have a little chat,” I growl as I loom over her like the monster I am.

  “About what? Why are you so angry? I was doing what we planned.”

  “NO! You were not!” I yell after the doors slide closed.

  “Fuck you, Conner,” she yells back and pushes on my chest, only I weigh over twice what she weighs, so I don’t budge.

  “You were supposed to chat professionally with him, not act like some escort girl waiting to please him,” I say, my voice clipped with anger.

  “An escort girl? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Isn’t that how the press gets their information? They fuck for it,” I ask as I smirk.

  “Fuck you! Do you even know what a journalist does? Do you have any idea the danger I’ve put myself in just to try to get the truth out? You don’t have a damn clue, do you? You’re just a spoiled, shit for brains, oaf of a man-child, who wouldn’t know work if it smacked him in the face,” she retorts with a huff.

  “I thought we were past the name-calling portion of the evening,” I state coldly. “But if we’re going there, how about that I didn’t think you were a gullible, money-hungry, two-faced whore who writes lies that ruin people’s lives!”

  The elevator stops on my last word and the ping sounds as the doors open. Neither one of us moves as both our chests heave with anger.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” she says as she points to the hallway outside the penthouse suite. “This evening is over. I don’t make deals with arrogant assholes.”

  I step back into the hallway. “Don’t like when someone speaks the truth, do you?”

  I take another step back and am surprised when she steps out after me and pushes one finger against the middle of my chest.

  “I always speak the fucking truth. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, the truth hurts sometimes, doesn’t it, Mr. Sterling, or shall I call you Pound?”

  “You lied about my mother!” I yell not caring about the volume of my voice now that we are alone on this floor.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “The article you published about my family’s business. You said my mother only married my father for his money, and that is not true. You said that my mother was known as a cold and heartless woman who likely had many enemies, which was the cause of her untimely death.”

  She falters and frowns. “I didn’t say that.”

  “I read the article. You were listed on the byline, so yes, you did,” I reply.

  She shakes her head. “I quoted someone who said that, but the final version I saw had that being said by an anonymous source followed with another quote from another anonymous source saying that such rumors were untrue.”

  I pause and look into her eyes. They are wide and filled with confusion. Is she fucking with me?

  “And I’m supposed to believe that?” I ask.

  She narrows her eyes. “Fuck you. I’m done here. You think I’m such a horrible person, then why the hell are we here right now, riddle me that, Mr. Shit for Brains?”

  “Because you wanted to get information from Jared that was going to serve a purpose for both of us; it’s a symbiotic relationship, but maybe you don’t understand what that means…” I walk her backward until her back hits the elevator doors and I lean down so our eyes are nearly level. “It means that you needed me, and I needed you, and if we worked together, we’d both get what we needed. Or maybe, that was never your endgame.”

  Her lavender scent fills my flared nostrils. I swear she softly whimpers as she looks into my eyes. “I hate you,” she whispers as she licks her lips. I watch her little pink tongue dart out from between them and suddenly my cock is standing at full attention beneath my slacks.

  “I hate you more,” I reply as I lose all my self-control and lean down, crashing my lips against hers. Our mouths meet in a torrent of emotions that begin to battle in my brain as I thrust my tongue against hers. She moans and I can hear the lust and frustration fighting in her sound. Her hands come to my shoulders, and for a split second, I think she’s going to push me away, but then she surprises me and pulls me closer.

  I reach down and grip her ass, hauling her up my body as her legs wrap around my waist, her skirt hiking up in the process, exposing her flesh to my palms. I walk toward my room leaning my backside against the lock so that the key in my pocket activates it. It opens and I press my elbow down on the handlebar and push us inside. I swat her ass. She lets out another groan, only this time it’s pure lust. I slam her against the wall and deepen our kiss as my right hand moves toward her center, my finger tracing the outer edge of her lace panties. I can feel her wetness on the fabric. I suddenly don’t want to feel any clothing; I want her naked. I want to feel her skin sliding across mine. I blindly search for the zipper of her dress. I find it and sl
owly pull it down, exposing an inch of her side at a time. She’s not wearing a bra and I grin against her lips like a boy who just discovered his birthday gift has been hidden in plain sight.

  Her fingers begin fumbling with the buttons of my shirt as I try to extricate her arm from the strap of the dress. We are a frenzy of movement, yet I keep one hand under her, stroking her wet flesh through the thin fabric of her panties.

  She releases her legs from my hips and slides down my front letting her dress fall to the ground as she pushes my shirt open and begins working on my pants. I look down at her exquisite body. She’s ten times more gorgeous than I thought possible. And when she stands back up after yanking my pants and boxer briefs down with one pull, I’m treated to a sight I wasn’t expecting. Above her hip bone is a small tattoo of a horse. It’s a black silhouette. Unexpected. Everything about this woman is unexpected. I look to my right and find the sofa, the arm of it is the perfect height for what I have in mind. I finish pulling off my pants, underwear, and socks after kicking off my shoes. She reaches for her heels, and I stop her, shaking my head as I spin her around and bend her over the sofa’s arm. I can’t help myself as I palm her ass cheek and then slap it. I’m pleased with the pink mark left behind.

  She turns her head. “What’s that for?”

  “That’s for fucking driving me crazy,” I growl.

  I reach to the floor and pull out the condom I keep in my wallet for such occasions and make quick work of putting it on. I run one hand down her back before pulling her panties down her legs. They fall to her ankles. I look back up at her exposed pussy. Running a single finger through her wet folds, I slide it inside her and then add another, scissoring them until I feel she’s ready for me. I might be an asshole, but I’d never intentionally hurt a woman, even if I want to hate-fuck her.

  I lean forward over her until my lips are nearly touching the shell of her ear. “Hang on tight,” I whisper as I line myself up with her entrance and sink into her in one long thrust.

  Chapter 8

  Vivienne

  I let out a gasp as I feel Conner fill me in a single thrust. It’s been a while since I’ve had sex, and I was in no way thinking I’d be having sex tonight, and especially not with Conner Sterling. I arch back as he pulls out and thrusts in again. I match his pace as we violently slam into each other, over and over. I grip the couch cushions. The girth of his erection stings as he moves inside me, but I don’t care. I like the pain. It makes me feel alive. It reminds me how much I hate this man. I shouldn’t be doing this, but I don’t care. If having him this one time gets it out of my system, then bring it, Pound.

  Neither of us speaks, we emit groans and grunts as our bodies slap together. Both of us greedily chase our own release. I reach down between my legs, knowing that if I can just rub my clit the right way, I can finally have the orgasm I’ve been needing for weeks, the one that no amount of battery-operated boyfriends can provide me.

  Suddenly, my hand is slapped away. I start to protest until I feel Conner’s thick fingers against my clit. His movements become rough, matching mine. I try to bring my hand back. He sandwiches my fingers between his and together our fingers circle my clit. But he’s in control, not letting me move how I need to, how I want to.

  “Conner!” I whimper.

  “Not yet,” he growls as he picks up the pace. Damn him and his fucking need for control! I start bucking against his hand, searching for the friction I’m craving in my delusional state of near ecstasy.

  His pace quickens and he finally gives me what I need. My hand drops away, as I relinquish control to his ministrations, and damn it if he doesn’t play my body like a violin.

  “Oh God!” I cry out as I reach my climax. I hear him grunt from behind me as he slams into me once more. His body gives a shake as mine goes rigid, both of us momentarily lost in the depths of our releases.

  I feel myself sinking against the sofa, all my muscles relax for a few seconds as my breathing goes back to normal. I slowly realize the gravity of what has just happened. No. No, no, no. I can’t sleep with Conner Sterling. What the fuck was I thinking? I mean, it was fucking good, but no.

  I squirm beneath him, and he pulls out of me, making me wince a little. I reach down and pull my underwear up as he leans over the sofa and grabs a tissue, handing it to me while he turns to dispose of the condom that he somehow managed to put on. I quickly do my best to clean up, but it’s no use. I just need to get out of here. I find my dress on the floor and start putting it on. My legs are shaky from the heels and bending over for so long. I go to put a hand on the wall as I try to pull my zipper up, when Conner’s hand wraps around my waist, drawing me back against him. He’s still gloriously naked and I can feel all of him against my backside.

  I swallow. Why am I so nervous? I put on my proverbial big-girl panties and slowly turn to face him. My eyes momentarily look him up and down. Holy. Shitballs. This man is…just wow. He’s tall, that I knew, he’s muscular, but not like a bodybuilder. His muscles are large but only because he is large. His body is perfection. He must work out at least two hours a day. He looks like a fitness instructor or a model. Except for his tattoos, he has so many tattoos. Down his side, over part of his chest, and up toward his neck. On both his arms and one thigh. I could spend hours analyzing all of them. I have so many questions. I look and find him watching me. He has zero shame about his body. He knows he’s good-looking, what an ass.

  “I should go,” I mutter as I try to yank on the zipper again.

  “Allow me,” he says as he reaches out and bats my hand away, he slowly tugs on the zipper and pulls it up one inch at a time as though he’s fascinated by how zippers work. “There,” he says as he finishes and steps back to admire his handywork as if zipping dresses takes skills.

  I look around the room at his clothes that still lie on the floor. “We shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have…” I trail off at a loss for words, which is a first.

  I feel his hand come up to my chest and then my neck where his thumb pauses on my carotid artery for a brief moment before he moves up to my jaw. He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and forces my face up to meet his gaze.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t have, but I’m not sorry that I did. I don’t want to admit we have chemistry any more than you do, but damn it if we don’t.” He looks away and I frown at the pained expression on his face. He drops his hand from my chin. “Go. You’re right. We’ll keep it strictly professional from here out.”

  I nod in confusion and walk to the door. “Goodnight, Conner.”

  “Goodnight, Vivienne,” he replies as he stares out the sliding door window toward the Washington Monument, his reflection a mixture of anger and confusion that mirrors my own feelings. He picks up his phone and types a message. Perfect, he’s already moving on to work, and I haven’t even made it to the door yet. I reach for the handle.

  “A car is out front. It will take you wherever you need to go,” he says quietly. I turn toward him, but he doesn’t look back at me. He just keeps staring out at the monument.

  “Thank you,” I murmur as I open the door and head to the elevator. As promised, I find a car waiting out front. I give the driver my address and watch the sleepy city as we drive through the quiet streets.

  My mind is racing through the events of the evening. Jared Pallin is definitely a creepy guy. So far, everything I’ve learned is telling me something is going on with his company. Before Mr. Control Freak Sterling stepped in, I did manage to get Jared’s number. I was claiming to want to interview him about how his company’s latest FDA-approved medicine has been helping children. He seemed very pleased with my idea. Now, if I can just get him alone long enough to interview him properly.

  And then there’s Conner. I can’t believe I slept with him. Why did it have to be so fucking good? And why does he have to be so gorgeous? He reeks of money and everything that I hate, everything I left behind.

  I’ve done a good job of leading a modest life since l
iving in D.C. No matter how many times my grandmother and brother reach out and try to coax me back, I don’t give in because I don’t want that life. I don’t want to be known as President Westerly’s granddaughter. I never wanted to be a debutant, a trophy wife, arm candy for some power-hungry politician. And that’s what I would be if I went back to them. I know what evil lurks behind that façade of perfection. My family is a fake. It’s devoid of actual love. My brother might be the only one who loves me, and my grandmother is getting too senile to remember her place or her fake front as a doting family matriarch.

  The car stops outside my apartment and the driver opens my door and waits until I’m safely inside. I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up as I shut the door. Looking out at the dark street, I see only the driver getting back in his car. I decide I’m sensing things that aren’t there and I hurry up to my second-floor apartment. I get inside and toss my heels off as I make my way to the shower. I can smell Conner’s cologne on my dress as I take it off, and I briefly close my eyes as I feel the slight burn between my legs where he took me to new heights while temporarily erasing the animosity between us. He wasn’t wrong, we do have good chemistry, but it’s a fragile chemistry that could explode in our faces at any given second.

  I toss my dress over a chair and remove my still wet panties, dropping them into my clothes bin. I turn on the hot water in my small shower and step beneath it, letting the droplets wash away any trace of the man that momentarily broke down my defenses tonight. He may have been able to do it once, but he won’t be able to do it again.

  I get out of the shower and wrap a towel around my body as I do my nightly routine. I’ve been sleeping in the nude for years. I hate clothing on when I sleep. It feels binding.

  I walk back into my room when something about what Conner said earlier makes me stop and frown. He said something about a quote in one of my articles. I walk to my computer and pull up what I submitted to my editor. It reads as I wrote it. Then, I look at the email that I got back from the editor. Also correct. It wasn’t a front-page story, so I didn’t save a copy. I stopped doing that after my first article was published. I’m not vain. It’s just my work.