Page 107 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
But then I catch a whiff of her light, floral, seductive scent, and my cock presses insistently against the front of my tailored slacks.
I’ve prided myself on never letting a woman lead me around by my dick. And goddamn it, she won’t be the first.
She flicks a glance toward the silver carafe on the room service cart.
“Is there more coffee?”
Instantly Brennan crosses the room to pour her a cup.
I remain where I am, despite my natural inclination to take care of every imaginable need she might ever have.
“We’re meeting Celeste Fallon?” she asks, repeating what I told her earlier this morning and smiling her thanks as she accepts the cup Brennan offers.
I nod.
“The owner of Fallon and Associates?”
Impressed, I tilt my head. When had she done her research?
“Her website is rather vague, but I gather from articles that her firm is much more than a PR company.”
Again, I’m impressed.
“She’s a Titan?” Isla guesses.
Did she overhear something? Or had she reached that conclusion on her own?
If Celeste wore her Zeta Society ring today, Isla would know for sure anyway. No sense hiding the fact. “She is.”
“Are we meeting anyone else?”
“Everett Parker. He’s a political strategist.”
She carries her coffee into the living room, sets it down, and perches on the edge of a chair. Then, with a whisper of silk, she crosses her legs. The hem of herdress parts just slightly, offering a glimpse of her creamy thigh.
Brennan and I exchange glances.
As we watch, she taps her keyboard, reads for a bit, then looks up at me. “He’s known as the Kingmaker.”
“Perhaps a bit overstated.”
She reads further, then sets her phone down. “I see people referring to him as the Oracle. People go to him for answers they can’t get from anyone else. Able to predict the future. See things others can’t.”
“Again, overstated. A clickbait headline.” I shrug.
“No one’s infallible,” Brennan agrees. “Not even Parker.”
I return my gaze to my wife. “Can you be ready to go in five minutes?”
“I’m ready now.” After a drink of her coffee, she stands and grabs her phone. “I just have to feed Calypso.”
“Already handled,” Brennan replies.
“You…?” Her eyes light up. “Thank you.” The smile she gives him is bright, genuine—one of those quiet, radiant things that sneaks up on you and stays lodged in your chest. And I hate how much I notice. Hate how much it stings.
She should look atmethat way. But I’ve given her very little reason to.
As she deposits her phone in her purse, Brennan’s phone chimes. After checking it, he tucks it back inside his suit coat. “Transportation is here.”
