Chapter 28: King of Deception: Chapter 28

Two weeks later…

I shimmy my dress down over my hips and then smooth my hair in the mirror. We’re late.

Gris and I spent all day signing papers and meeting with lawyers. It’s official. I now own ten percent of Kincaid Enterprises.

Luke joked that in one stroke of my pen, I had taken on a massive amount of debt.

But I know he was kidding.

Gris and his brothers agreed to honor the original terms and paid Kincaid a handsome sum to connect their casinos to the Kincaid Las Vegas tunnel.

I don’t know how happy the Smiths are with the arrangement, but when I’m around, they play nice.

Gris swears its fine.

But I think I’ll find out the truth tonight. Because tonight, I meet the duchess. Gris’s mother.

Another wave of nerves crashes over me. I don’t have the best track record with future mother-in-laws.

And I did not intend to be late tonight.

It’s a family dinner.

And by that, I mean all of the Smiths and all of the Kincaids, along with their wives.

Even Jake and Nia are coming, which should be interesting. More likely awful.

My belly flutters with nerves again, as I lean over the bathroom counter to apply more gloss in the mirror.

That’s when Gris enters the bathroom, fiddling with his cufflink.

He stops when he sees me, his gaze catching mine in the mirror. “That’s some dress.”

I run a hand over my silk-clad hip. I was going for Jackie O. It’s silk, pale, strapless, but it’s still relatively conservative in its cut and lines. “Don’t tease me,” I wrinkle my nose. “I’m nervous.”

I cap my gloss, the ring on my finger catching the bathroom light. It’s like the one Preston gave me in that it’s a diamond, set in platinum.

But this one is a family heirloom. From the turn of the century, it’s hand-cut for candlelight, the elaborate setting flaring on either side to meet the stone, encrusted with diamonds and filigree, it radiates beauty and warmth.

Or maybe those are just my feelings.

“I’m not teasing,” he says as he moves closer, the power of his body making me tense in the best way possible. “You look like a woman who should be ravaged.”

“Gris,” I warn, even as a little thrill snakes down my spine. “We’re already late.”

“They’ll wait.”

“My dress,” I cry, trying again.

His answer is to bend me over the counter, skimming the silk back up my legs. “I can’t be held responsible for the dress.”

“It’s going to wrinkle,” I gasp.

“You’ll be more relaxed,” he answers with a cheeky grin before he bends down behind me.

With the fabric pooled about my waist, he yanks my thong down my thighs and then dives in tongue-first.

The intense pleasure that zings through me makes me cry out as I clutch at the faucet.

I can’t think, I can’t breathe, and I definitely can’t protest as pleasure radiates through my body.

He inserts a finger inside me, working me like only he can as I lift my hips to chase the pleasure.

I’m already close to orgasming, my body so tight, my toes have curled in my heels.

But he must feel that I’m pushing close to the edge because he stops, standing behind me.

I cry out a small protest but he only grins again, shucking his pants down his thighs.

His tie is still tied, tossed over his shoulder, his shirt buttoned as he sinks inside me, stretching me, filling me. Our eyes are locked in the mirror, but as he bottoms out, mine close.

He feels so good.

I reach back, stroking my fingers over his hip, wanting to feel more of his skin.

“Bella,” he groans, bending down close to my ear. “You’re going to make me cum in a flash if you keep touching me like that.”

“I love your skin,” I sigh back. “I can’t get enough.”

He rumbles in my ear, pumping into me, as he wraps his hand around my front, fingering my clit.

I see stars as intense pleasure courses through me. How does he do it? How does he turn me into this woman who doesn’t care about anything other than his touch?

He manages to push even deeper into me, my whimpers of pleasure filling the bathroom as my legs tremble from the building orgasm.

My hair is pooled in the sink, my face twisted in pleasure as he pulls out and then quickly thrusts back in, sending me over the edge.

I scream as the orgasm rockets through me. But he doesn’t pause. With almost punishing precision, he pumps in and out of me, several quick thrusts that have him spitting and cursing until I feel him break, his guttural moan hissed in my ear as he fills me with his cum.

We stay like that, bent over the sink, for at least a minute until we finally push up. “Crap,” I mutter as I look at myself in the mirror. He’s made a complete mess of me.

He only laughs. “You’ve never looked more gorgeous.”

“I cannot meet your mother like this,” I protest, my eyes going wide. My makeup is smudged, my hair a mess, and don’t even get me started on the dress. I can’t wear it. It looks like it was tossed into a puddle and then wrung out.

“Fix your hair,” he kisses my shoulder several times. “I’ll pick out a new dress.”

“Something your mother will approve of,” I call. “At least make it good enough that she’ll remember my name.”

Gris stops in the door again, and then crosses back to me. “She isn’t forgetting your name, luv, and she’s going to love you. She’s been praying for one of us to marry for actual years. You are an answer to her prayers.” And then he strokes my jaw, turning my face to kiss me.

He’s gone a moment later, as I shuck off the dress and clean myself up, at least my face. I’m going to dinner with his family with cum on my thighs but I’m not worrying about that. I know Gris did it on purpose.

He comes back in with a different strapless dress, just as I’m reapplying my gloss. This one is a pale blue that is knee length instead of past the knee.

It shows more skin, but it should be all right. I don’t say a word as he maneuvers it over my head, zipping it into place.

“Ready,” he says, his fingertips sliding down my arm.

“Ready,” I answer, the nerves still there but I can say this… the orgasm really helped to calm them.

Lacing his fingers through mine, we make our way out to the car.

Everything about this dinner feels so right. From the way Gris hands me into the passenger seat, to the way he holds my hand the entire drive.

And when we finally pull up to the valet station, the last ones to arrive at Cheval Blanc, my nerves give another flutter.

“Sweetheart,” Gris murmurs, kissing my shoulder again. “No worries. All right?”

Lord, do I love this man. Everything about this moment is so perfect. “I’m fine. But thank you for worrying.” I don’t even know how to express how happy I am to marry him. All I keep saying over and over is, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” And then he kisses me, long and slow and full of the intimacy that has made my world so vibrant with color.

It’s then that I realize we have an audience. My family and his stand together on the other side of the glass.

Our hands linked, we make our way inside.

And all my fears evaporate as an older woman leaves Triston’s side and greets me with a wide smile. “You must be Arabella.”

“Your Grace,” I let go of Gris’s hand to curtsy. “I’m so honored to meet you.”

She waves away my formality and pulls me into a warm hug. “And I’m thrilled to meet you.”

I hug her back.

It’s then that I catch Mrs. Wingate out of the corner of my eye. I knew that Preston was still staying at the hotel.

She stares at us, her jaw locked, her gaze full of vitriol. I thought she’d be happy that I wasn’t marrying Preston. That I’d given back the ring.

Then again, I’m joining the family she most wanted an association with. And I, gangster’s daughter that I am, will officially become a lady when I marry Gris.

Lady Griswold.

I don’t care about that part at all, but I know she does. Turning back, I smile at my soon to be mother-in-law.

“Now tell me,” she says as she gives me another squeeze. “What are we thinking about for the wedding?”

Gris steps up next to me. “Would you permit us to marry on the estate, mother? I’ve been telling Arabella how beautiful White Cliffs is.”

The duchess’s eyes light up. “Oh, that would be so wonderful. And, of course, you must all come stay.”

“It will hold all of us?” Mason asks, his arm around Charlotte.

“Of course. It’s been in the dukedom for eight generations. The house can hold the entirety of the nobility should it be necessary.”

“How many bedrooms do you think the estate has?” Triston asks his mother, looking genuinely curious. “I never paid attention.”

The duchess waves a dismissive hand. “Too many to count,” she answers, looping her arm through Triston’s.

I see my brother Mason’s eyes spark and I roll mine. Mason is forever dreaming bigger. I think I might know what his next investment will be…