Chapter 10: Scandalous Park Avenue Prince: Chapter 10

THE SMOKE FROM Benoit’s cigar wafted in my direction from where he sat across from me at the Carnegie Club. Lounged back in a deep-seated velvet armchair, he had been studying me keenly the entire time I’d been flipping through the menu, but I couldn’t seem to concentrate on any of the words on the page.

All I could think about—all I’d been able to think about all damn day—was Preston. From his showing up on my doorstep, to the sexy performance that I never should’ve watched, but couldn’t seem to help myself, to leaving him on my stoop this morning with the promise I’d let him look at me a little closer next time…

Had I lost my mind? Gone temporarily insane? Was a gorgeous young guy all it took to set off a midlife crisis?

Benoit took a deep drag of his cigar and motioned for the waiter. “He’ll have the same,” he said, nodding toward me. “And we’ll take a bottle of your best cognac.”

I arched a brow. “A bottle?”

“Mhmm.” He smiled at the waiter. “That’ll be all.”

I shut the menu, setting it on the low table between us. “Rough day?”

“You tell me.”

My eyes shot up to his, and a wicked smile curved his lips.

He glanced down at the stogie he held between his fingers and practically purred, “I have a theory.”

“And what’s that?” I settled back in the chair and rubbed at where my neck and shoulder met. The tight muscle made me wish I’d gone for a massage instead of drinks and a smoke with Benoit.

“You seem tense.”

“That’s not a theory.”

“No, but it’s a symptom of my theory.”

“Do you plan on spitting it out, or do you want me to guess? I haven’t had a drink yet.”

“I’ll ignore the obvious pun, but only because I’m far too curious about what the pretty young thing from the other night has done to get under your skin. What was his name? Presley?”

How the hell did he do that? Know exactly what I was thinking?

The waiter returned, and as he went about setting up our drinks, I cleared my throat. “Preston.”

“Ah, yes, sweet, gorgeous trouble, that Preston.”

He had no fucking idea how right he was about that.

“Still not hearing a theory,” I said, taking the glass the waiter handed me. I lowered my nose to sniff the fruity aroma and then took a small sip, letting it swish around on my tongue. When I nodded, the waiter poured a couple more fingers into my glass before doing the same for Benoit.

Another man arrived with my cigar and went through the ritual of clipping and lighting the end, getting it nice and even before presenting it to me.

The first drag was like heaven. It was almost enough to make me forget that Benoit had somehow nailed the reason my mind had been elsewhere.

Once we were alone again, Benoit tapped his fingers along the arm of his chair. “You’ve done something you feel both excited and guilty about. That’s my theory.”

“And you think that has something to do with Preston?”

He raised a brow, challenging me to tell him otherwise.

But I couldn’t. He’d always been able to read me too well, a fact that pissed me off now, when I wanted more time to figure out what the hell I was going to do.

“Goddamn you.”

A chuckle escaped the far-too-perceptive man across from me as I puffed on the cigar.

“What can I say? It’s a gift.” Benoit tilted his head. “Or maybe it’s just that I could sense all that sexual tension between you two. Things were bound to combust. So…did they?”

Combust? Well, he did. All over my hand.

Shifting in my chair as that sinful memory did things to my dick, I tried to give a nonchalant shrug. “Possibly.”

Benoit groaned. “I should’ve ordered something stronger than cognac to loosen those lips.”

“No,” I said, and shook my head. “Too much alcohol is what started things in the first place.”

“Oh, I see. So your head’s still a little sore from last night, then.”

That’s right—Benoit didn’t know about the charity event. He just assumed whatever my transgressions were began the night before, but I’d been keeping this little secret close to the vest for a few weeks now. Not allowing myself to think about the kiss that night with Preston. Forcing myself to deny the instant chemistry I’d had with the gorgeous young man who’d been coming and going from my house over the last few years as…Serena’s boyfriend.

I took a long sip of my drink, hoping the smooth liquid would help the feeling of unease that hit whenever I thought about that particular part of this insane situation.

“Archer?”

“Huh?”

“I asked about your head. Were you drinking last night?”

“No.” I eyed my friend over the rim of my glass. “But that would at least give me an excuse for what I did do.”

“Ah. Something with him.”

“Yes. But last night wasn’t the first time.”

Benoit’s hand stopped midway to his mouth, and his lips parted in surprise before curving into a sly grin that told me I was in a whole world of shit.

“Well, look at you, Mr. Robinson—sorry, Mr. Carrington.”

The reminder of what Preston had called me as he’d stroked himself in my sitting room had my own dick stiffening between my thighs. Something that wasn’t lost on Benoit as I shifted to prop my ankle up on my knee.

“Boy oh boy, whatever thought just popped into your head, I want to know all about it.”

“Nothing popped⁠—”

“Something sure did, mon ami. It’s between your thighs and getting harder by the second. Tell me, did that thought include Preston doing something like this?” Benoit brought his cigar up to his mouth and wrapped his pouty lips around it, sucking on the head.

“No. Jesus.”

When he did it again and blew the smoke in my direction, he batted his lashes. “But you want him to, don’t you?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

“That’s not a no,” Benoit crooned as he lounged back in his seat, propping his arm on the velvet frame. “But if he didn’t suck on your”—Benoit’s eyes moved to my cigar, and he grinned —“head, then what exactly did he do? The nervous energy coming off you tells me it was more than a kiss but less than a fuck, so…”

“Are you out of your mind? Of course I didn’t fuck him.”

“Yet.”

I quickly glanced around us before bringing my eyes back to his, knowing the only way to stop his wild guesses was to give him something substantial to feast on.

“We kissed last month at the Elysium charity event, or he kissed me, and then⁠—”

“Hold the hell on.” Benoit’s eyes narrowed on me. “That tasty little morsel kissed you last month and you didn’t bother to tell me? I thought we were friends.”

“We are, but⁠—”

“Archer Carrington, this is unacceptable. I told you when I slept with that sheikh in Dubai this past summer. How dare you keep something this delicious from me?”

The pout was back and in full force as he slumped back in his seat looking all kinds of put out, and he had every reason to be. He was right—I had kept this from him. Hell, I’d done my best to keep it from myself. But after last night, I’d realized the time for that had come and gone. I was feeling things for Preston that I’d never expected to, and I needed to work out what to do with that. So I’d called the one person I knew wouldn’t judge me—unless, of course, it was about keeping my scandalous secrets to myself.

“I wasn’t trying to keep it from you.” I let out a sigh and rested my cigar on the tray between us, leaning forward to say in a lower voice, “I was just— Look, I was ashamed of myself, okay? As far as I knew, Preston was straight and dating my daughter. I didn’t expect it to ever go anywhere.”

Benoit leaned forward also. “But it did, didn’t it?”

I licked my lips. The taste of cognac lingered there. “It did. And I think I want it to go…further.”

“I knew it. I told you that boy wasn’t straight. And you called me delusional.” He let out a huff, but a sort of glee lit his eyes. Of course he was enjoying this. This kind of debauchery was what he lived for.

“I didn’t exactly have the whole story then,” I admitted. “I assumed Serena was actually in a relationship with him—I mean, it’s been years. And the whole fucking time it’s been nothing but a cover. How did I not see that, Benny? She told me they’ve been faking it for everyone, that they’re nothing more than friends, and I—” I ran a hand over my face, so many emotions warring inside me that I didn’t know where to focus. I took in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before letting it out. “I need you to tell me this is crazy. That I shouldn’t be thinking about him.”

“Oh, honey, you chose the wrong person for that, and you know it. I don’t make it a habit to talk someone out of a good time.”

“Even if it could blow up my world?”

“Always focusing on the negative.” Benoit tsked. “Why don’t you focus on blowing something much more enjoyable instead? Like your pretty young thing. Now you know for sure he’ll enjoy it.”

“Jesus.” I lifted my glass but then thought better of it and picked up the cigar instead. The latter wouldn’t lead to nearly as many bad decisions, and right now my head was full of them.

“Fine.” Benoit sighed, swirling the contents of the glass in his hand. “Is it complicated? Apparently so. But no one needs to know what happens behind closed doors.”

That sounded so much like what Preston had said about no one having to know that I startled a bit.

“It’s not like you’ll be parading him for everyone at the Winter Ball, for Christ’s sake. So I say enjoy that tight, smooth ass while you can. You’re not getting any younger. Well, until you agree to a little Botox.”

Something about his words stung, and it wasn’t the reference to my age. Sure, I kept my personal life under wraps, but it wasn’t because I was hiding anything. Whatever this was with Preston was the first time I’d actually need to keep things a secret.

The thought should’ve turned me off, so why was it that a thrill shot up my spine just imagining sneaking around with him? It was wrong on so many levels, but the thought of bending him over my desk the same way he’d practically lain across it the other night had my cock stirring.

I hadn’t felt such an intense reaction to anyone in so long, so why shouldn’t I indulge myself this once? Or twice.

No one had to find out. Preston was a master at keeping a secret, that much had become clear.

He wanted me. And God knew I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Shirt spread wide, pants around his thighs, that mouth-watering dick in hand…

“You’re right.”

Benoit’s eyes widened, and he almost choked on his cigar. He coughed, waving at the smoke. “I am?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because you gave in so easily. I had at least two more rounds of reasons for why you shouldn’t deny your dick.” He blew on his nails and polished them against the shoulder of his shirt. “Haven’t lost my touch.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell Benoit that it was Preston’s image and the idea of touching him again that had been the deciding factor here. No, I was going to let my friend bask in his hand at my undoing. That way, if I fell flat on my ass, I had someone other than myself to blame.

“Well, then.” Benoit picked up the bottle of cognac and poured us both another glass. “Cheers to you, mon ami. What are you doing here with me? Go get yourself some of that hot young ass.”