Shame roiled around his stomach until he thought he’d puke at himself.
And then, he felt anger. A whole fucking lot of it.
Oh, no, lady. She wasn’t going to ruin his life.
He wasn’t going to fucking let her turn him into a puppy like Graves, panting after her affection…
No. Fucking. Way.
“WELCOME TO MASTER LUKE’S PARTY, LET’S GET DRUNK AND GET IT ON!”
Peyton felt like she’d just stepped onto an alternate planet when she and Gary walked into what could only be called a “Playboy” mansion, all compacted into a three-floor apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a striking view of the Windy City spread from one wall to the other, embraced by a huge L-shaped open terrace, and littered with people walking around in their pajamas—if what they were wearing could even be called that.
And if all that weren’t enough to shock and appall a normal woman, Peyton was completely aghast at the almost orgasmic voice in the background of a woman saying: “WELCOME TO MASTER LUKE’S PARTY, LET’S GET DRUNK AND GET IT ON!”
But all that was nothing, nothing, compared to the moment her eyes landed on Luke. The man who’d taken her in every way she could have been taken. The man who’d taken her to Heaven and now was slowly, surely, taking her to the pits.
If Peyton had seen him in this very manner the first time she’d met him, she would have never, ever, approached him to say hi, much less asked if she could keep him company. He radiated power and appeared totally…unscrupulous. Rebellious. Badass. Making her realize that a woman like Peyton didn’t stand the chance of daylight with a playboy like him.
If there had been a god of pure lust and sex in Greek mythology—without the love aspect attached to it, like with Eros—then she had no doubt that his name would be Luke Fucking Preston.
He didn’t even look apologetic when their eyes met. With his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched tight, he held one almost-naked woman protectively against him like he’d fight anyone who tried to take her away, while the other girl in a barely-there nightie pressed sinuously into his back.
A tsunami of hurt crashed over her, and Peyton could not even believe she’d let this womanizer fuck her without a condom. She gaped at the two beautiful women, the blonde with a sheer nightie and no underwear, no less, and the curly haired one wearing nothing but a sheer red camisole and matching sheer thong panties. And then there was Luke, of course.
Glorious and godlike in that classic underwear, the same one he advertised, taking her breath away just by the sight of him and that ripped, lean body that had introduced her to pleasures she could have never in her life imagined.
“Hey Gary, who’s your new friend?” a woman suddenly came over and asked.
“Oh, this is Peyton Lane, one of the sharks where I work. Peyton, this is Sasha, she’s from the tenth floor.”
Peyton smiled stiffly and greeted the redhead, surprised when the woman bent to whisper in her ear. “You’d better not waste your efforts here, honey,” she told her with a serious pout. “Gary’s gay. But if you want a surer thing you can try him.” She pointed toward Luke as he furiously slipped into a pair of jeans.
Peyton could feel her insides reach a boiling point. My God. He was the closest thing to a gigolo that she could have imagined, and yet she’d been daydreaming about him for the past few weeks as if he were her very own “Mr. Right.”
She hadn’t even been able to close the six-hundred-million-dollar sale of the tech company she had on her hands, having only two bidders stuck at the same starting-bid price. She needed to pressure, needed to close, and she desperately needed the offer price to rise at least 10 percent, otherwise her company would only take a minor cut. If Peyton managed to get at least sixty million more, then the firm’s commission percentage skyrocketed and her partners would be extremely pleased with the profit. But, oh, no, she’d been too busy fantasizing, daydreaming, and thinking about Luke Womanizer Preston to even do what she was paid to do.
Coming here was perhaps a good thing, though. Because now, having caught him almost in the act of doing God knows what strange sexual act he’d been about to do, she was confirming to herself what she’d suspected the instant she saw his picture in the magazine advertisement.
He was a liar and a cheat and a snake and not even worth a second of her very limited and very precious time anymore.
“Hi there, we haven’t been introduced,” came from a man who’d been staring at her with discomforting, laser-beam eyes since she and Gary had come in.
He was dark and frightening, dressed in leather pants and completely shirtless. The pants were so tight on him she could make out all the muscles of his legs. “I’m Phillipo. I live in the building across.”
She forced herself to smile and shook his damp hand, trying not to wipe her palm when he let go of her. “
Hi. Peyton.”
“So do you sleep in that?” He signaled down at her work clothes, since she unfortunately hadn’t had time to go change. Clearly, she was a little overdressed here.
“No. Do you?” She signaled down at his leather pants, about to be ripped open at the seams.
He chuckled. “No, I don’t sleep, that’s the point. Leather is like my second skin.” He smiled a meaningful smile meant to seduce her. “You know…you look remarkably like Audrey Hepburn.”
“I get that sometimes,” she said. He seemed awed at the resemblance and all of a sudden it made her feel extremely good, to be getting such attention from a man—any man—in front of Luke’s narrowed gaze, just because her pride demanded it.
“Well I’ll bet no one’s told you that she’s my favorite movie star of all time. I dote on her, cherish the ground she walks upon.”