She shuddered at my words, and I pressed her against the table with a hand to her back. She moaned at the contact. Leaning over her, I whispered in her ear. “You gotta hold those hot little moans in, baby. You think you can do that?”
She only nodded in response. “Good girl.”
I pushed up the skirt of her dress and the sight of her gorgeous ass had me struggling to hold in a groan. I wanted to spend the rest of my life memorizing her every curve. She fisted the white tablecloth as I nudged her feet apart. Another whisper into her ear. “That’s right, sweetheart. Hold on tight. This is going to be hard and fast.”
She arched her back, pushing her ass against me. Urging me on. I could only imagine what she’d be saying if we weren’t worried about being discovered. It’d be something filthy, and I’d fucking love it.
I freed myself from my pants and cupped her between her legs to find her hot and slick and ready. She pressed her face into the tablecloth as I slid two fingers inside her. A low moan escaped her lips. My answering groan was strangled in my throat. “Shhh, baby. I’m going take care of you, don’t worry.”
I fit the head of my cock against her entrance and thrust home. Because that was exactly what Charlie had become for me. Home.
Simon didn’t let his inner caveman out to play often, but when he did, watch out.
I loved the heat of his palm against my back, pressing me into the table, the way he handled my body so confidently, as if he had no doubt that he was going to give me exactly what I wanted. What I needed.
And I had no doubt that he would. Simon was everything I needed.
I bit the inside of my mouth to keep from moaning his name when he finally pushed inside me. My fingers curled into the tablecloth, and I tried to hold on to my sanity and keep my silence. Thrust after thrust, hard, soft, slow, fast, shallow, deep. I couldn’t keep up with his pace, couldn’t latch on to a pattern, just reveled in the sensations overtaking me. I turned my head toward the window where fireworks burst in the air and trails of red, blue, green, and white sparkled and descended to the dark river.
My eyes fluttered shut as my body tensed. Simon reached around me, slipping a hand between my legs. With a press of his thumb to my clit, the orgasm tore through me, and I could see nothing but the bursts of color in my mind as I detonated.
Simon, being the Southern gentleman, produced a handkerchief from his pocket to clean us up, and helped me step back into my underwear. I may not have forgotten my name—I’d tried for months without success—but I’d had an epiphany. He needed to know everything. I owed it to him. And then he could make his choice about whether or not he wanted me in his life. I knew what I wanted. I just needed to get him home and lay it all out.
The party was winding down after the firework display had concluded. We crossed the deck, ready to depart, when Simon’s mother flagged us down. She was concerned about his father making his way off the ship by himself. Simon steadied his dad, and we headed down to the private dock where dozens of cameras were flashing just beyond the railing. I reached up to touch my face and froze. No mask. But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The volley of questions hit me like a slap in the face.
“Charlotte—how long have you been in New Orleans?”
“Charlotte—where’s the money?”
“Ms. Agoston—why aren’t you cooperating with the FBI?”
It was like I was stumbling down the courthouse steps all over again, determined to outrun the stigma of my name. My stomach knotted, and even in the hot, humid Louisiana night, a cold weight settled over me.
A youngish redheaded man, apparently with balls of steel, jumped the rail and strode toward us. “I knew it was you. I saw you first! I deserve the exclusive.”
For destroying my carefully constructed life? He deserved nothing but a stiletto to the groin. Instead of carrying through with my thought, I focused on the obvious. But I couldn’t form the right question.
“H … how…? I don’t—”
“Out in the crowd earlier. I saw you. I didn’t even think it was really you at first, so I followed you back to the boat. I spent weeks watching you and your mother come in and out of the courtroom. And then hours studying you on the stand. I was interning at The Post. My boss was covering your dad’s trial. He was cool enough to let me tag along for all of it.” He paused. “It was your eyes first. And then your face. You just don’t forget those Agoston eyes.”
“But—”
He continued, “Shouldn’t have fucking said anything, but I told my editor I had the story of the year, if he’d let me run with it. Don’t know how the rest of these vultures heard. Grapevine, I guess.”
“Get the fuck back before I throw you off this dock, boy.” Simon’s voice was harsh, promising violence. It had the intended effect. The redhead scuttled back and hopped the fence before an Orleans employee could grab him.
Outted by an overzealous intern. It was almost as ridiculous as Al Capone going down for tax evasion.
Simon dropped my hand and stared down at me, assessing my every feature with new intensity. Everyone and everything else—the voices, the flashes—fell away. There was nothing but Simon. There was also nothing I could say to fix this.
He was a stranger again. The one who’d met me at the door to his office. His expression was stony, and his hazel eyes gave nothing away as they stripped me bare.
I straightened, trying to prepare myself for what I knew was coming. My heart was already cracking. But I’d brought this on myself. I could have told him weeks ago. Months ago. But I’d chosen not to.