Page 57 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
I want to toss this mic into the crowd, sprint across the room, grab her, throw her over my shoulder, carry her into the nearest room, and fuck her until we both come so hard we pass out.
Only once before in my life have I felt this level of heat, of utter, soul-shaking need.
I screwed that up royally. I won’t allow myself to make the same mistake twice.
“There are many things to love about my adopted home, but first and foremost, the people are what make it so special.”
Almost to the bottom of the staircase, Victoria laughs. She shakes her head again as if bemused by my audacity—because we both know I’m speaking directly to her—and flashes me a look that could be either derision or desire.
Fuck. I have to have her. I have to have her now.
Abandoning the prepared speech that I can’t remember anyway, I blurt, “It’s my commitment to the amazing people of New York that’s led me to the decision to run for a seat in Congress, representing this great state.”
The room erupts into applause and cheers. Now on the bottom step of the staircase, Victoria, still holding my gaze, stifles a fake yawn.
I’m going to spank you so damn hard you won’t be able to sit for a week, you impossible, infuriating woman.
Two can play at this game.
I say loudly into the microphone, “Marie-Thérèse, will you please join me?”
Victoria stiffens. Her eyes gain a murderous light. Marie-Thérèse makes her way through the crowd, smiling broadly, and I can tell Victoria wants to turn away but can’t. She watches with glittering malice as Marie-Thérèse approaches and takes my outstretched hand.
And I feel a satisfaction so profound it’s almost sexual.
I was right. Victoria is jealous.
; It’s her eyes that always give her away. Her expression might be bored, her indifference feigned, even her words smoothly lying. But those knife blade eyes always tell me the truth.
I imagine if she knew that, she’d put them out with acid.
I drape my arm around Marie-Thérèse’s shoulders. She clasps me around the waist, gazing up at me adoringly. Victoria’s hand, white-knuckled, curls around the polished wood staircase balustrade.
“My mentor, the late Alain Gérard, once told me that the true meaning of life could be found only in service to others. He embodied the values of selflessness and service, and this legacy lives on his daughter, Marie-Thérèse, whom I’ve recently appointed head of The Hunger Project, my foundation that serves the underprivileged children of the rural South.” I look down at her with fondness. “She and I are siblings of sorts, though of course I’m much older and therefore, in her view, very uncool.”
She smiles and pokes me in the ribs. Across the room, Victoria looks confused.
This is starting to be a hell of a lot of fun.
“So tonight I’m very proud and grateful to stand before you and announce my candidacy for the House of Representatives of the United States Congress, so that I may continue to honor the memory of my mentor by serving others, giving a voice to the voiceless, and using my practical business experience and passion for this community to make it a better place for all.”
As the crowd applauds and whistles, I plant a chaste kiss on Marie-Thérèse’s forehead, and look at Victoria, making sure she sees that there’s nothing whatsoever romantic about the gesture.
What does the Queen B do in return for this olive branch I’m extending?
She golf claps.
Three slow, sarcastic claps, her eyes half lidded, with a mercenary smirk on her face that would look at home on a barracuda.
My fingers tighten around Marie-Thérèse’s shoulders. She glances in the direction I’m looking, and shudders.
“That woman is scary,” she whispers through her smile.
“She’s all bark and no bite,” I reply through one side of my mouth, nodding at the crowd. “A pussycat.”
Marie-Thérèse snorts. “Cats have long claws and sharp teeth, and kill billions of small mammals a year. They’re basically cute serial killers.”
