Understatement. He most definitely did not belong in this crowd.
“Don’t be silly.” She handed him a flute filled with bubbly liquid.
“Your net worth has about a hundred more zeroes than mine.”
She rolled her eyes. “We didn’t sign a prenup, you know. My income is your income.”
“No. It’s not.” He cupped her elbow, making sure he had her attention. “I’d never take your money, Stefanie.”
“So serious all the time.”
She took a sip of the champagne, her eyes on the near-barren dance floor lit by wavy, undulating lights meant to look like water. He could’ve guessed what she was about to ask, but before he could argue she’d divested them of both their glasses.
“Dance with me.”
“No.”
Her husband had turned obstinacy into an art form.
Sliding her hands into the black jacket and over his crisp white shirt, she tipped her chin, taking in every big, grouchy inch of him. The tuxedo had nearly turned her into mush tonight. On the drive over, she was tempted to untie that bow tie and then palm his crotch while murmuring dirty, fun promises in his ear.
She hadn’t, though, and now regret was a heaving, growling beast.
“It’s time to admit that you’ve earned me.”
He said nothing, but the storm in his blue-gray eyes said plenty.
She could read his pained expression as clearly as if he held a cue card. She didn’t like what she saw. He believed he was beneath not only the people at this party, but Stefanie herself.
Suddenly, she wasn’t interested in waiting until they arrived home to have her way with him. She was going to teach him an unforgettable lesson and collect what she’d wanted from him since their first night together.
Him. Tumbling over the edge of the orgasm cliff first.
“Walk with me.” She palmed his forearm. When he resisted, she gripped him tighter. “I promise no dancing.”
He walked with her as they meandered away from the crowd.
“No one here is better than anyone else no matter how much they’d like you to think so,” she leaned close to say. “No one is above gossip and I’ve heard it all. Monique’s third husband, Samantha’s Botox addiction. Terrence’s calf implants.”
Emmett raised an eyebrow.
“You heard me.”
She walked arm in arm with Emmett until they reached a curtained-off section at the back of the room. A thick swath of semisheer fabric was lit by a wall of white twinkle lights but she couldn’t see what was behind them.
Perfect.
She found an opening in the material and tugged Emmett with her.
“What the hell are you doing?” His voice dominated the small space, where open cardboard boxes with a few remaining champagne glasses were stacked. Evidently they were using this area as storage.
“We should be safe hidden here unless they run out of glassware.”
The fabric cast a blue light onto the planes of his angled face. So damn handsome.
“Stefanie.”
“You can call me queen.” She tugged his bow tie free, and seeing that strip of untied silk lying on either side of his collar had lust pooling low in her belly. “Guess what you become when you marry the queen?”