Page 55 of Gilt

I nod, but my breath hitches in my throat.

“Don’t pass out,” he warns me, quickening the pace. He crushes his body against mine, trapping his hand in place. His hips begin to imitate the rhythm, adding an insurmountable amount of pressure. “Show me how pretty you look when I’m giving you what you need, Duchess.”

The breath I’ve been holding releases in a throaty cry as I crack apart at the seams. My muscles spasm, and I crumble into him. His mouth finds mine, and he sucks his own pleasure from my lips. I have to press my thighs tightly together when he doesn’t stop. Jameson takes the hint and withdraws his hand. He grabs my hip and kneads it as I come down from the amazing high of his touch.

“What happens when you lose a dare?” he asks.

I stare dreamily at him and smile. “I think you win the game.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

My legs shake as Jameson hits the button to restart the elevator. Best two minutes of my life. Judging from the pleased smirk on his face, he’s happy about it, too. But when the elevator deposits us onto his private floor, we’re greeted by the loud beat of bass. Jameson grabs my hand and drags me out, cursing under his breath. Given the shattering experience I just had, it takes more than a little effort to keep up with him, especially in heels.

“I cannot fucking believe this,” he mutters as he leads me into the entertainment suite. It looks like a scene from last weekend: classmates passed out on the furniture, girls doing body shots on the bar, and even Hugo waves from the couch.

Jameson turns to me. “I’m so sorry about this. Can you give me a minute?”

I nod, but he’s already abandoned me. I stand awkwardly in the midst of my drunk schoolmates. So much for the romantic evening of bliss, I’ve been promised. This is like a bad Vietnam flashback.

“Pawn star!” Hugo calls to me. “Did you miss me?”

“Like I missed the stomach flu,” I respond with a grimace.

Hugo ditches the girl hanging off of him and wanders closer. “I see you traded up, but I suppose damaged goods can be bought at a reduced price.”

“I’d advise you to shut the fuck up before Jameson hears you.” I’m through with his insults.

His mocking attitude evaporates, and he takes a menacing step closer. “You have to do more than screw yourself into this crowd. I thought you figured that out when I left you there after that night, but since you didn’t let me make it clear. You don’t get to speak to us like that.”

“Why, because the Housers always win?” I ask.

“Because you’re trash.”

“Sticks and stones, Hugo,” I say with a sigh. “If you’ll excuse me, I feel the need to throw up now.” I turn on my heel and walk away, my hands balling into fists at my side. If today has taught me anything it’s that violence isn’t the answer, even if it would be very satisfying.

“He’s going to see through you,” Hugo calls after me. “Just like Jonas. Just like the rest of us.”

I refuse to turn around and acknowledge the last comment, even as it sticks in my back. Knowing something isn’t true on a rational level doesn’t always make it hurt less. I escort myself back to the entrance. The last time I walked around here unchaperoned bad things happened, but I’m not about to stand there and let Hugo hurl abuse at me. Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean against the marble wall and wait for Jameson to return. After a few minutes, I send him a text, but I get no response.

I’m just about to head back into the chaos when the elevator slides open. Detective Mackey strides out, zeroing in on me. “Ms. Southerly.”

I force a smile that’s not fooling anyone.

“Are you here with Jameson West?” she asks.

I’m not sure how to answer that, but it’s not like I can hide the truth. “Yes.”

“It sounds like quite a few people are here with Jameson West.” She cocks her head as if she’s listening to the music.

“We just got here,” I rush to explain. It can’t look good to be having a party on the one-week anniversary of your father’s murder, but I can tell from the calculated look on her face that she’s not interested in my excuses.

“Where can we find him?” she asks me.

“What do you want with him?” I make a mental note to get the name of Jameson’s lawyer and put it on my speed dial.

She pulls an envelope from her bag. “It’s private business.”

“I think he’s with his sister,” I say finally, “or at least he’s looking for her.”