Page 12 of Depraved Boys

I groaned. Why did someone so ridiculously handsome need to resort to such cheesy lines?

He turned to me, face splitting into a wolfish grin. “You brought a friend?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that’s my sister, Willow.”

Leopold wrapped an arm around my shoulder. A mix of scents filled my nostrils. The smell of green apples, a fresh sea breeze, with luxuriant, leather base notes. It reminded me of a warm summer day at the beach, although I wondered if the fluttering in my belly was the feeling Icarus had as he flew too close to the sun.

“Willow… Ashley,” he drawled. “I see that you both have the same luxurious, mahogany hair.”

“You’re not letting them in,” said the blonde.

“They’re my guests.”

“But you barely even know them!”

“But I know you,” he said to the blonde in a low, seductive voice that made my nipples tingle.

I rolled my eyes, mostly at myself. With a heavy work schedule, sleepless nights, and countless other concerns preying on my mind, why would I melt at the sound and touch of a player so completely out of my league?

The blonde stepped aside. “Alright. You can come in.”

As soon as we stepped over the threshold into the marble hallway, I scooted out from under Leopold’s arm and pressed a hand to my chest. My ribcage reverberated with the force of my stupid heart. Then Leopold bent down and pressed his lips on the blonde girl in a lingering kiss that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“I owe you,” he murmured into their kiss.

“Don’t think I won’t collect on that favor,” she said back.

“Anytime!” With a chuckle, he freed himself from Ashley, strode across the hallway, and opened the door to a room full of smoke.

Without a word or a backward glance, the blonde and brunette strolled arm-in-arm after Leopold. Their synchronized steps and swaying hips reminded me of a video I’d once seen of Prince walking off stage with his twin backing dancers.

Wondering if they had practiced that movement, I turned to Ashley.

Her face fell. “What the fuck? Why did he leave?”

“He’s a player,” I muttered. “You can’t take a guy like that seriously.”

Her brows drew together, and her bottom lip trembled. “But I thought—”

“At least he got us in through the door.” I hooked my arm through her elbow. “Let’s walk around and see if there’s anything to do.”

Neither of us wanted to go into the smoky room. Instead, we headed to the source of the thudding music at the end of the hallway and stepped into a darkened room. It reminded me of a ballroom in miniature but with groups of sofas and tables around the edges, separated by ornate, marble pillars.

Up at the far end, a DJ stood behind turntables surrounded by a group of people dressed in oversized T-shirts and back-to-front baseball caps. I gulped. Was this like the parties Ashley went to in the mountains?

About a hundred teens mingled on the dance floor, chatting and bouncing to the loud, fast beats. The DJ shouted out rhythmic words of encouragement in a posh accent that sounded more that it belonged in Downton Abbey than at a rave.

Shivers skittered down my back, and I shot Ashley a panicked glance. I didn’t belong in a place like this.

Ashley pulled her shoulders back and preened at a tall, dark-haired boy with a deep cleft in his chin. He strode toward us, his gaze locked on my sister’s pouting lips.

“Hello,” he shouted above the music. “Bruce Wilmington, at your service.” He growled the last word, emphasizing its double meaning.

Ashley cocked out her hip. “And how exactly are you going to serve me tonight?”

The music stopped, annoyed groans filled the ballroom, and everyone slunk back to their seats.

“Drinks first,” Bruce said in a voice as smooth as velvet. “And then a spin in my BMW. Then a spin on my cock.”