Unable to help myself, I glance up at the blacked-out windows and shake my head minutely. I don’t know how the guys managed to make that work during the building process, but they did. It all started with Zach. He said he wanted an exclusive place where he could invite the hottest women up when he needed a quick, dirty fuck. Of course, Trent and Marcus thought it was a genius idea and wanted to make a condo-like living situation out of it. A fuck pad right inside the club, no one the wiser. And of course, Vincent, being Vincent, thought it was the perfect idea.
Fucking ridiculous.
I rake a frustrated hand over my face as my mind drifts to last night. Again. My mystery girl, the dirty girl Mackenzie, has been stuck in the back of my mind ever since I slid through her wet heat. Scratch that, she had me intrigued before she allowed me to fuck her. The second she walked into my hotel, my restaurant, on that damn phone, my dick was rock hard for her.
She intrigued me. Beguiled me. Made me want to spend the entire weekend figuring her out all the while making her come. That intrigue has now turned into a burning curiosity.
Who is she?
Where is she now?
Who the fuck is Mackenzie, and where has she been hiding all these years?
That little tidbit about her never having an orgasm before nearly brought me to my fucking knees. Who in the hell was this gorgeous woman sleeping with and how the fuck did they lack the knowledge of how to please her? Fucking Christ, I didn’t understand it. Not then and certainly not now. Not after wringing those orgasms out of her, watching her skin flush with arousal, and seeing her juices coat my shaft. She was perfect.
She is perfect. And it’s becoming a problem.
For some reason, I can’t get the littlest details about her out of my head. The way she laughed. The way she smiled. How pink her cheeks would get when she blushed. The throaty, sexy as fuck way she’d moan my name when she was coming. The way her pussy gripped my cock while I was—
Fuck, I need to get a grip.
My cell vibrates in my pocket, and when I swipe the screen, I’m not even surprised that it’s a group chat from the guys. They’re ready to start.
I roll my eyes.
This game of sharing and bedding the same women is getting old. We’re not kids anymore. Yet, they all still act like the playboy lifestyle is going to last forever.
It fucking won’t.
In high school, we may have shared and fucked the same girls. Hell, everyone probably did since Ferndale was small as shit, but it was never because I wanted to. Running trains, passing around the same chick, never appealed to me as it did to the rest of them. They get off on that shit, comparing notes, sharing women like they’re fucking pocket pussies. But now? As I’m closing in on thirty, sharing the same women isn’t on my to-do list. I may not be looking for a committed relationship, but I also don’t want my fucking dick to fall off.
Heaving a tired breath, I head up the stairs and nod at Bryce, one of our security guys, before pushing through the door. I clear my face of all emotion and stifle the urge to grind my teeth together when I take in everyone they’ve invited for the night. And that’s when I see her. Fucking Mackenzie. I guess fate decided we weren’t done with each other, after all.
I pause, blinking rapidly as I stare at her, wondering if I’m losing it. Images from last night slam into me, from us fucking against the wall, over the couch, and in the Jacuzzi. All of it is drilled, embedded into my mind, and fuck, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t start to feel my dick stirring against my slacks. But like a bucket of cold water being thrown on me, I take in the scene around me, and it hits me.
She could only be here for one reason and one reason only. The realization is a fucking disappointment if there ever was one. I’m so focused on my thoughts, I haven’t been paying attention to what the guys are saying. I catch the tail end of the conversation and narrow my eyes when I hear Zach refer to Mackenzie as Scarlett.
What the fuck?
I dart my gaze to Mackenzie, and her shoulders are tense as she stands stock-still with her gaze rooted to the ground. So she lied to me last night, or she’s lying right now. I don’t know this woman well enough to defend her, but do you want to know what’s insane? I want to. I want to haul her ass over my shoulder and carry her out of here, even if she is kicking and screaming as I do it. She doesn’t belong here. Not after last night. And the worst of it? Trent chose her for tonight. I see it in his eyes and in the way he’s watching her every move. He’s calculating, plotting what his first move will be.
I grit my teeth together, suddenly feeling angry. At myself, Trent, the rest of the guys, and most of all, Mackenzie. She shouldn’t be here. Not tonight. Not ever.
Over my dead fucking body.
A sudden train of thought strikes me. Maybe she’s right where she’s supposed to be, and she fooled you last night? The thought alone has my lips thinning into a grim line. The only thing that has me feeling marginally better is the fact that when I walked in, she wasn’t staring at any of the guys with hearts in her eyes or more accurately, money signs—she was staring at them with anger and, if I’m not mistaken … fear. I could be wrong—hell, I probably am wrong—but I can’t help but wonder why she’s up here if she’s looking at the rest of the guys like they’re criminals.
The air is taut, charged with tension, and I know it’s only going to get worse once I do what I need to do. I can feel Trent’s anger radiating off him once I try to get Mackenzie by herself. There’s a fire brewing in his eyes. He wants to fight, battle it out over what he thinks is a simple fuck for the night.
Not fucking happening.
Once everyone respectively pairs off, leaving just Mackenzie and me—or Scarlett, whatever the fuck she wants me to believe her name is—I hound her with questions. And with each one, she continues to look over her shoulder covertly as if she has something to hide, and fucking hell, maybe she does.
At the mention of my birth name, there’s a change in Mackenzie. In her whole demeanor. The softness of her features abruptly morphs, sharpening and leaving her with a hard expression on her face. Her brows draw in, and if I’m not mistaken, pain flits across her face. It’s a deep-rooted pain, one that doesn’t make sense or belong with anything in this scenario.
It only gets worse when she learns King isn’t my surname. Kingston was my mother’s last name, and once I was old enough, I decided to use that name and shorten it for business purposes. Anything to distance myself from my father. Being a Pierce comes with many perks but also many disadvantages—one of them being my father is a fucking prick. Using the shortened version of Kingston for my success was one big “fuck you” to the incomparable Mr. Benedict Pierce.
Her face swiftly pales, and she takes a shaky step back away from me, wobbling on her heels. I take a wary step toward her and reach my hand out to steady her, but she shies away from my touch, and her lips purse with disdain, causing my brows to dip down even more.
“Mackenzie?”
Her eyes snap up to mine, and all the emotion is hastily wiped away. “It’s Scarlett,” she hisses. “I told you that already.”
The muscle in my jaw clenches with frustration, and I quirk a brow. “Right. You did. I just don’t know if I believe you, Scarlett,” I taunt.
Her eyes narrow. “Knock it the hell off, all right? You don’t know me.”