Did he follow me here? It’s possible. After all, he found me at the archbishop’s summer home outside Charleston. How could that be?
As I board the bus thirty minutes later, I glance over my shoulder, taking one last look around the deserted road. Not for the authorities, but for the man who already overpowered me once tonight without breaking a sweat.
3
Delilah
The alarm blares, startling me from a deep sleep. I set it every night, but I’m always awake before it goes off. Not today. Hopefully it’s not an omen of things to come. It’s been awhile since I’ve had an uneventful day, and I can sure use one.
Once the alarm is silenced, I scroll through the messages, half-expecting to find a threatening one from Gray, but there’s nothing.
A small pang of regret shifts inside my chest. It’s short-lived, but annoying. I should be focused on the damning photo he has of me with the archbishop—not that the holy bastard didn’t get everything he deserved. But instead, here I am, hoping the hot guy texted while I was asleep, like I’m some stupid high school girl crushing on the bad boy. The one draped in fire engine-red flags that nobody with a lick of common sense would go anywhere near.
But Gray Wilder messes with my head in a way that no one has ever managed to do. Not even Kyle, and he was an expert at messing with my head.
It’s precisely why he’s so dangerous.
After brushing my teeth, I throw on running clothes, and head to the Battery section of Charleston while most of the city is still asleep. Rain or shine, I never miss a morning run. No matter how much upheaval there’s been in my life, it’s been the one constant. A comforting ritual that rarely disappoints. My version of afternoon tea.
I give my mind a wide berth while running, let it wander freely until the thoughts venture into forbidden territory. When that happens, I push my body harder and harder, allowing the pain to reel me back into the moment and ground me. The way Kyle’s belt did.
The Battery is a far cry from the dirt-poor corner of Mississippi where my mama raised me. Never knew my daddy. There were times when I wasn’t sure Mama knew him either—or at least knew who had actually planted the seed.
Mama had one ambition in life that she never strayed from: to be a wealthy man’s queen. Despite her gorgeous veneer, it never worked out for her, of course, because rich men marry rich women, or women who bring something more than beauty to the table. Beauty is a depreciating asset. Nobody understands that better than a powerful man who regularly dips his dick into a pretty face.
My looks might have made me prom queen and a Magnolia Princess. Imagine that. But unlike Mama, my dreams have never included marrying a rich man.
As I round the corner onto Water Street, I nearly collide with the junior senator from South Carolina. He stops, continuing to jog in place. “You all right, miss?”
I nod. “Thank you.” He’s on his way before I have the chance to ask if he’s all right. Even in skimpy shorts, with a thick sweat covering his red face, I recognize him. He’s a regular at Wildflower, Gray Wilder’s social club.
While there’s plenty of socializing at Wildflower, the most interesting socializing happens deep in the bowels of the club, in rooms with names like the Dungeon, the Stable, and the Sultan’s Palace.
When I came to Charleston to work for Smith Sinclair, Gray’s father was running for president. Smith is in charge of security for the Wilders and their businesses. He stationed me undercover, as a hostess, at the club. Even shrouded in the kind of secrecy money and power can buy, Wildflower was an obvious liability for a presidential candidate. Smith expected trouble and he didn’t trust Gray to see it coming.
No one knew I worked for Smith. Not even Gray. To him, I was just the accommodating hostess, happy to help out wherever needed.
That’s when the attraction between us blossomed. It started out innocent, as these things often do, but there was an undeniable pull from the beginning. Gray looked for excuses to have me work longer hours, and I looked for every excuse to be there too.
Although I was never allowed downstairs, I was privy to all the comings and goings at the club. I didn’t need to see Gray in action to know he was an experienced Dominant. His demeanor, the subtle shift in tone, broadcasts that vibe to anyone familiar with the lifestyle.
On the surface, Gray is a charming playboy. That’s what he wants people to believe. Although most everyone he’s rubbed elbows with knows he’s not to be crossed. That becomes abundantly clear the very second someone gets too close to the line he’s drawn carefully in the sand. It’s all fun and games—until it isn’t. And even in the best of times, all the fun and all the games are controlled by him.
Gray doesn’t use a big stick to grab control—not normally. There’s no need. His employees and the club members are more than happy to hand over their power to him. In exchange, he makes sure all their needs are met.
He pulls off the ruse with a winsome smile that rarely reaches his eyes, and an innate understanding of the human condition. I’ve watched him draw out even the most reticent, enticing them to do whatever he requires in the moment. They don’t see it coming until it’s too late. Most people are so captivated by his bank account and good looks that they never see it at all. But I saw it.
I recognized his thirst for control right away. It beckoned, pulling me toward him like he was the center of gravity and I would be forever adrift without him. The attraction was potent, and late at night after the club closed, when we were alone in the office, sipping expensive whiskey, it became a demonic temptation.
On those nights, I wanted nothing more than to hand him control over me. And there were many times, when he tracked me with the dark gaze of a predator, that I was sure he wanted it too.
But I was there to do a job, not to play sexy games. It didn’t matter how much I wanted or needed those games. And it didn’t matter how much he wanted or needed them either.
We fought the attraction. Gray with any number of beautiful women who sailed in and out of his aura, and by training submissives. The part of his job, I once overheard him say, that he enjoyed most.
I resisted too. I threw myself into the work, put miles on my running shoes, and reached for a sleek vibrator when I craved release. I never strayed from my mission, and kept far, far away from the powerful men who frequented the club. That would have been my mother’s game. But I believe queens are most powerful when they ascend the throne by their own devices, not when they stand on a man’s shoulders to reach the vaunted seat. Besides, there was only one king who interested me.
Then the kiss happened. It changed everything. There was no going back after that. For either of us. I have only myself to blame.
Gray Wilder is many things, not all of them honorable, but he isn’t the kind of man who would touch an employee—and he didn’t—until I touched first.
When I didn’t have anywhere to go on Christmas Eve, he invited me to Sweetgrass, his brother JD’s home. The starry night, coupled with the free-flowing booze, made us both stupid. When the pull became too much to resist, when I couldn’t deny myself any longer, I kissed him. And he kissed me back. It was everything my mind had conjured, and so much more.
Although I might have acted first, from the moment my lips grazed his, he had complete control. Looking back, I often wonder if the kiss was actually my idea or something he orchestrated.