All the eyes turned back toward me.
“You’re wrong.” I shrugged as Andromeda gasped. Guess I stepped across the line of southern manners. “It’s in Twilight of the Idols.”
Ball’s in your court, asshole.
He blinked. “I’m not wrong. You’re wrong.”
And now we were back in kindergarten. Phenomenal.
“Guy reads a lot, and I mean a lot. My vote goes to Cannon,” Delaney announced with a nod.
“It’s Sartre!” Michael snapped. “He believed that we had to be aware of existence and our own strengths.”
“You’re close,” I admitted with a nod. “Sartre believed that we should be aware of our existence without the assumptions we naturally inherit through our routines, but Nietzsche authored the other quote.”
Michael’s face turned red. “You’re wrong!”
“I’m not.” I shrugged.
“Someone look it up!” His hand shook slightly. And somehow I was the one with a temper problem?
Cell phones appeared in various hands, but neither Michael, Persephone, or myself moved an inch.
“Oh man,” Andrew muttered, looking at his phone.
“Ha! We win,” Sawyer announced with a grin, turning his phone so the others could see. “Nietzsche. Twilight of the Idols. 1888.”
The blood drained from Michael’s face.
“Both were great philosophers.” A corner of my lips lifted. “But have to say that I’m a bigger fan of Nietzsche’s concept of the Ubermensch, the man capable of rising above life’s hardships. Then again, Sartre’s concept of bad faith is pretty great, too.”
His jaw locked and flexed, and I couldn’t help but continue.
“Bad faith? Come on, you know it. That’s the one where we tell ourselves that things have to be a certain way because that’s the way it’s always been, and therefore close our eyes to the other options that exist around us. For example, by marrying me, Persephone has proven herself enlightened by Sartre’s standard.”
Every gaze turned back to him, to see how he’d respond to my volley but he remained silent.
“Our guy is smarter than yours,” Sawyer whispered at Andrew.
Persephone yanked on my suit-coat, and I leaned down slightly just in time to see her rise up on her toes to brush a kiss over my lips.
It was quick. Soft and chaste, but the meaning behind it punched me in the gut and stoked the carefully contained fire of need that raged in my belly. She pulled back with a wide, pleased smile.
I was so fucked.
“This won’t last,” Michael’s tone dropped low. “You’ll never make it to the altar. Eventually she’ll see that she’s made the wrong choice—took the bad deal, so to say, and she’ll back out.” He nodded slowly.
I grinned at him with lips still humming from Persephone’s kiss. Jesus, the woman kissed me. “Harvard, huh? What? Daddy couldn’t get you into Wharton?”
He blanched. Apparently, I’d struck a nerve.
“First off, we’re already married, just in case you missed that memo. Two, you’re right.” Persephone stiffened next to me, but I kept going. “One day she’ll see that I’m not good enough for her, but I somehow don’t think that’s going to help you, considering she already knows that about you. And lastly, you get to play with millions of dollars all day because men like me—” I gestured toward Logan and Sawyer, “—and my friends, make those millions with our talent, drive, and sheer fucking willpower. But don’t worry, the first thing I’ll do on Monday is make sure none of my millions are in any of your banks or hedge funds. I don’t trust morons with my money any more than I trust douchebag assholes with my wife. So if you’ll excuse us.” I turned abruptly from the group, taking Persephone with me.
“Thank you for coming! It’s always a pleasure to see you!” She fired over her shoulder as I ushered us toward the door. “Cannon, where are we going?”
“I need to talk to you.” It came out more growl than statement.
“Oh. Okay. Here, this way, then.” She took my hand and led me past a tuxedoed attendant into a dark hallway.
I counted to thirty, trying to cool the fire in my blood, and she pushed open a heavy door on our left once we were halfway down the hall. The smell of old books hit me as she flipped on the light switch and closed the door behind us.
The room was massive, with fifteen-foot high bookcases and a ladder that ran down each side of the wall. There was a sitting area on our left, complete with a fireplace, and a massive mahogany desk in the center of the room.
“Dad’s study,” she said simply. “He does most of his work in Charleston, of course.”
“Of course,” I repeated dutifully, taking in the clean expanse of his desk.
“What did you want to talk about? I thought you handled Michael quite masterfully.” She toyed with her fingers, spinning her engagement ring as she placed herself in front of me.
“You kissed me,” I accused.
She blinked, her lips parting. “Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.” I backed up a step to give us some space, but she took it right back.
“I wanted to show you my support.” She turned those eyes on me with a pursed, worried set to her mouth. The same mouth that had been on mine moments ago.
“Then you pat my arm or give me a high five,” I snapped.
She pressed her lips in a line as laughter danced across her face. “A high five? What am I, one of your teammates? Because if that’s the case, I should at least get to pat your ass, not your arm.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep them off her. I’d never wanted a woman like I wanted Persephone. Never been taken to the maddening edge of obsessive need without so much as a kiss…except she had kissed me, and it wasn’t enough. It was too much. It was all fucked up.
“Rule number five specifically states—”
She scoffed. “Rule number five says no sex. It certainly doesn’t say anything about kissing you. Are you saying we need to negotiate our verbal contract?”
“It should be covered under rule five,” I argued.
Her eyebrows popped high. “What? Why? It’s not like I gave you a handjob or oral—”
“Oh my God, stop talking,” I begged, spinning around so I could get the hell away from her. The imagery in my head was sinful, and I couldn’t help but wonder if her fingers would manage to wrap all the way around my cock, or if she’d come up just a little short. I parked my ass at the edge of her dad’s desk and gripped the heavy wood of the top.
“For being one of the NHL’s baddest boys, you sure are a prude.” She folded her arms under her breasts, drawing my eyes to her impressive cleavage and the single strand of pearls that nestled at her collarbone.
“Prude?” I snapped.
“What else would you call all this fuss over a little kiss?” She walked closer.
“I’d call it looking out for your best interest.”
She arched an eyebrow in challenge but kept moving toward me.
“Persephone, if you had any idea of the things that go through my mind regarding that mouth, that body, you wouldn’t just casually kiss me. You’d run the other fucking direction,” I warned.