Prince Albert: A Billionaire Stepbrother Romance (37 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DELANEY

"
Kombanwa
," I say, bowing as I speak my greeting, good evening, in Japanese.  "
Hajimemashite.  Watashi no namae wa Delaney Marlowe desu
."  I introduce myself in Japanese, already rusty after not speaking it since I've been in Texas.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Marlowe."  Akira Ito is young, probably late twenties, and looks like a Japanese film star.  No one told me that.  How do I say
I thought you were an old man
, in Japanese? He's covering my hand with his and looking me in the eye, apparently not content with just a Japanese greeting.  "You speak Japanese with ease.  Tell me you didn't just learn an introduction for us."

My father walks up beside me, claps his hand on my shoulder, and Akira drops my hand.  "Delaney was an Asian Studies major in college," he says.  "She's been studying Japanese for years."

"I'm thrilled to be helping with Gaige's tour," I say.  "And I'm very much looking forward to visiting Japan."  Mentally, I'm only partially here.  I haven't seen Gaige all night, not since what happened earlier in my bedroom.  As soon as he left, I slid my fingers between my legs and made myself come.  It was impossible to wait after what he'd done to me, how close he'd brought me to the edge and then stopped.  Touching myself did nothing to satisfy me, though, and the aching between my legs tonight is a constant reminder of where I want Gaige to be.

My father's voice jerks me out of my daydream.  "Isn't that right, Delaney?" he's asking.

I nod.  "Yes, of course."  I have no idea what I've just agreed to.

"Then I will look forward to giving you a personal tour when you're there," Akira says, before he walks away.

A personal tour?  How much of the conversation did I miss?

My father turns to me.  "Nice job," he says.  "Akira Ito seems impressed with your Japanese."

"I'm sure he just didn't expect you to be sending someone who spoke the language," I say.

My father sips his scotch.  "Watch yourself over there," he says, looking at me meaningfully.  Then, his expression changes as someone else walks up to us.  "Congressman Adams.  Where is your lovely wife?"

I stand beside my father, smiling as he makes introductions and parades me around like the proud father he is.  But I'm looking around, searching the faces in the crowd for Gaige.  The annual Fourth of July party is a tradition of my father's.  He hosts it every year.  It's an all-American Texas barbecue on steroids, over-the-top and ridiculous, complete with Texas state representatives and the mayor in attendance, and a fireworks display at the end that rivals the town's own display.  It's a huge business party hosted by Marlowe Oil.  And my father will spend the evening with my mother at his side, greasing palms and courting new contacts.

One of the catering staff walks by with a tray of glasses, champagne flutes with raspberries and blueberries in the bottom that ensure even the drinks are part of the patriotic theme.  I snag a glass, reveling in the moment of silence with no one bothering me.  That sense of peace lasts less than five minutes until Chelsea approaches me.  "You've been busy," she says, her expression pinched.

"I hope that's a compliment," I say.  I know it's exactly the opposite, but I'm determined not to let Chelsea ruin my night.
Nothing
is going to ruin my night, not with Gaige's words running through my head, like some kind of dirty mantra:
I'm going to expect you to be dripping
.

The thing is, I am wet.  Exactly like he wanted.

Chelsea sips from a cocktail.  "I spoke to Mr. Ito," she says.  "He wants to give you a
personal
tour of Tokyo."

I nod.  "I'm sure the company will show all of us around."

"And here I thought you were all about Gaige," she says.  "But you'll just bat those big eyes of yours and try to wrap everyone around your little finger, won't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."  I down the rest of my glass of champagne in one gulp, and grab another from a tray as it comes by.  I don't care if Chelsea is my boss or not; I'm about to punch her right in that stupid, pinched little face.

Before I can say anything else, Gaige is by my side.  "Evening, ladies."  Chelsea greets him with an air kiss and the sight makes me hate her even more.

When he steps back from her, his gaze drifts slowly up the length of my body, and I flush warm.  "You both look lovely," he says, but his eyes are only on me.

Gaige has this way of making me feel naked when he looks at me, so self-conscious I'm nearly squirming.  Of course, I am practically naked in this dress.  It's short, like so fucking short it's practically indecent, especially for a work party.  I almost changed at the last minute, but Gaige's words kept echoing in my head.  The short and sexy dress was a concession to the fact that I didn't do what he expressly ordered – I just couldn't bring myself to leave my bra and panties at home.

Chelsea turns to Gaige.  "Akira Ito certainly seems to think Delaney looks lovely tonight."

That's it.  I
am
going to punch her.

Gaige looks at me, his gaze intense.  "Is that so?"

I smile, forcing a nonchalant tone.  "He's the Japanese point of contact for your tour," I say.  "He's the Vice President for Public Relations of the bike manufacturing company that's hosting you.  He's offered to take us on a tour of Tokyo, personally.  It's extremely kind of him."

"Oh, don't be modest, Delaney," Chelsea says, putting her hand on Gaige's arm.  Gaige flinches and steps away a few inches, but it doesn't seem to deter Chelsea.  "Akira is quite young, especially for someone so successful.  And I'm sure he means to take Delaney on quite the
personal
tour of Japan."

I can feel my face redden.  "That's not true," I snap.

Chelsea smiles.  "Delaney, you're so modest about your accomplishments.  She's so good at establishing
personal
relationships with clients."

Does she know about me and Gaige?

Gaige gives me a look that makes me want to melt, and I know I have to get out of here. "Excuse me," I say, turning to leave.

"Delaney," Gaige says, but Chelsea's hand is already on his arm.

"Gaige, I need you to meet Mr. Patterson," she says.  "Mr. Patterson, how are you?"

I head for the bar and order a cocktail, watching Gaige as he shakes hands with the group Chelsea is introducing him to.  He glances over at me, and I turn toward the bar.  I'm embarrassed by Chelsea's intimations that I'm interested in Akira.

As if on cue, Akira's voice breaks through my thoughts, and I inwardly groan before plastering a smile on my face.  "Akira-san," I say.

"I hope I'm not being too forward by saying that I'm very much looking forward to your visit to Japan."  He holds up his beer. "
Kampaii
," he says. 
Cheers.

I smile politely.  "No, of course not.  Not at all," I say.  "We're all looking forward to a tour."

He nods.  "Yes.  All of you.  Of course."

"Excuse me, Ms. Marlowe."  One of the catering staff, dressed in black tie, interrupts, handing me a folded slip of paper.  "There's a message for you."

Akira gives me a slight bow.  "I'll let you attend to what you need to, Ms. Marlowe," he says.  "But I look forward to seeing you soon."

I open the note, my breath catching in my throat.

Corner of the maze in the garden.  Five minutes.  Don't be late.

I spin around slowly, scanning the crowd for Gaige, but he's gone.  Chelsea is laughing, playfully touching the hand of some suit I don't recognize.  My father and Anja are talking to a group of middle-aged businessmen or politicians.

For a second, I think I should probably just go back inside the house.  I could slip away from here, away from the glad-handing and grab-assing and all of the off-the-books deals being made, and just go to bed. 
That
would be the smart thing to do.

The not-so-smart thing to do would be the thing I'm about to do.

I slip through the crowds unnoticed, my cocktail in hand, walking past the guesthouse and down the lawn toward the garden.  The estate is ridiculously huge, set on twenty acres, a lot of it wooded, but the grounds around the house are large.  The garden is modeled after English gardens, but with Texas flair, of course.  There's a maze in the corner made of greenery and I wander through it, almost surprised I remember the way, only making one turn that leads to a dead end before I reach him.

Gaige is standing there holding a drink, and wearing a tuxedo.  The party is black tie, which is ridiculous given the weather and the fact that it's a July Fourth party in Texas, but Anja insists we're not a bunch of hicks.  It's still warm and humid, even though it's almost eleven at night.

The only other time I've seen Gaige in a suit is at the July Fourth party the summer of my eighteenth birthday.  I have a hard time deciding if he looks better in this or in the racing gear that fits him like a glove.

Gaige doesn't move.  He just stands there, watching me.

"What Chelsea said --" I start, but he interrupts me quickly.

"Chelsea is a bitch," he says.

"Gaige, the two of you never..." My voice trails off.  I can't say what I want to ask, because I'm not sure I really want to know the answer to the question.

Gaige steps close to me, his voice low in my ear.  "What do you want to know, Delaney?"

"Nothing," I say.  "The way she talks to you..."

"You think I fucked her?" he asks.  His fingers trail along my arm, and I shiver at his touch.  "Is that what you want to know?  You should say what you mean, Delaney."

"Fine," I say.  "I'm asking if you fucked her."

"Does it matter?" His face is close to my neck, and when I feel him inhale deeply, I close my eyes, wanting his lips on me.

"Yes, it matters," I say.  I put my hand on his chest to stop him from continuing to do what he's doing to me.  I feel like he's unraveling me.

"Why does it matter?" he asks.  "You wanted us to be a one-night stand, didn't you?"

"I -" I shake my head.  "I -- you're right.  I don't know.  It's none of my business.  And, yeah, one night."  I'm too confused right now to be angry.  Earlier, he acted like he couldn't keep his hands off me, as if one night wasn't enough.  And now, he acts like we're just hooking up.  "You know what?  I should go."

I turn to leave, and he catches my wrist.  My drink splashes in the glass, and champagne drips onto my hand.

"No," he says.  "You're not leaving."

"It was a mistake coming here."  But the way he looks at me, like he did in my room earlier, makes me melt.

Gaige's eyes never leave mine, as he leans over, tilting his head down and slowly licking the droplets off my skin, his tongue lingering, moving so slowly I think I might die.  He takes the drink from my hand and sets both of our glasses on the ground a few feet away before turning to face me again.  "You sure about that?"

I swear my body is so responsive to him, that he can make me wet with merely a glance. 
Why is that?
  I like him, and then I see him with Chelsea, and I'm sure I despise him.  "It was a mistake," I repeat.

He reaches for my wrist again and brings it to his mouth, touching his lips to the sensitive skin on the inside.  My body – my stupid traitorous body – responds with raised goosebumps along my arms and hardened nipples against my bra.  Gaige looks up at me.  "Chelsea and I did
not
fuck," he says.

"Okay," I say.  But I'm not entirely sure.

"You didn't come down here to talk about Chelsea," he says.  "But, just so you know, I've never touched her."

"She wants you to," I say.

"The way that the Japanese businessman wants you?" he asks. 
Touché.
  Gaige slides his finger under the strap of my dress, and then looks at me.  "You're wearing a bra," he says.  "That's disappointing."

My heart races when I look at him.  "It went with the dress."

Gaige raises his eyebrows.  "Panties?" he asks, and a knowing smile creeps over his face when I nod.  He takes my earlobe in his mouth, his tongue flicking over it slowly, sensually.  "I suppose you made yourself come earlier, too, didn't you?"

I swallow hard.  "Yes."

"Did you think of me?" he asks, his hand gripping my waist, sliding down the side of my hip tightly.  He makes a sound under his breath, low and primal.

"Yes," I whisper.

"You've been a very bad girl, Delaney Marlowe," he says, his breath warm on my ear.  "I left you with very specific, very particular instructions.  I told you not to wear a bra or panties, and definitely not to touch yourself, and you did both.  I wonder whatever should I do with you?"  I want to reach up and unbutton his shirt, slide my hands across his bare chest.  I want him right now, out in the open, so close to everything, the din of music and people up near the house.  Anyone could wander in at any moment, and yet I still want him.