Page 81 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
I nod, and because I can’t help myself, I say in disgust, “You don’t have a single woman on your board?”
He gives me an exaggerated groan. “You’re such a pain in the ass,” he says, but he’s grinning.
I wonder if it’s an act for the crowd.
This isn’t real.
This isn’t real.
This isn’t real.
He continues, “Martin will vote for René, and Elliot and Tim will vote for me. They’re loyal. The only one that’s up from grabs is Owen. He’ll be the tie breaker. He’s the one we have to impress.”
I study Owen again. He’s the one that was impressed by my education when it was brought up at Rogue. He has an easy going grin on his face, and he doesn’t come off as evil or creepy, like René does.
He looks nice enough, so I roll my shoulders back and nod. “I can do that.”
Asher intertwines our fingers and leads me to the center of the tent, formally introducing me to the men. While he isn’t as kind as Elliot or Tim are, Martin is at least cordial, treating me with much more respect than René does.
Owen is harder to read. His stoic face reminds me of Asher’s, though I’m starting to grasp that I’m privy to a different, private side of Asher. I don’t know how I feel about that. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming to think about, so I shake the thought out of my head.
This isn’t real.
This isn’t real.
This isn’t real.
The match begins, so we settle at the front of the Black Enterprises tent, which is prime seating in the center of the field. Even though I understand the game, thanks to Eduardo’s lessons, I can’t pay attention to it.
I can feel Viola’s eyes on me. She’s sitting to the far right of us with all the other wives. They haven’t extended me an invitation to join them, which is fine by me. I feel more comfortable at Asher’s side anyway.
I let Viola’s creepy staring go. But after ten minutes pass by, I can’t help but frown. I’ve caught Viola’s eyes on me for the tenth time in as many minutes.
I whisper under my breath, “Viola keeps staring at us.”
Asher gives me an imperceptible nod and squeezes my hand, which is quickly becoming our way of communicating silently with one another. Then, he surprises me when he lifts our joined hands and places an open mouthed kiss on my wrist.
His tongue swirls around the sensitive skin, even sucking gently for a brief moment, sending a shocking jolt to my aching clit. It’s over as quickly as it began. He presses another swift kiss on my wrist and one more on my cheek before he returns his attention to the game as if what just happened is normal.
I’m glad I slipped on my sunglasses a few minutes ago. My face is undoubtedly flushed, and my widened eyes would have portrayed my surprise. I know that was just a show for René’s wife, but holy cow.
Man, am I affected.
If Asher keeps this up, I’m screwed.
When the match is finished, everyone stays in the tent to socialize. Thanks to Eduardo, I’m well-prepared for this. Asher and I separate. While I go to butter up Owen’s wife, Madeline, he goes to charm Owen.
Madeline was the only brunette in the VIP lounge that night at the club. Turns out she is also pretty nice. She’s chubbier than I recall her being, but she carries the weight beautifully and gracefully. She’s one of the prettiest women I have ever seen, and when I tell her this, she gives me a sweet smile and compliments my eyes.
“Are you two planning on having children anytime soon?”
I groan. “Not you, too?” At her confused look, I say, “The reporters were hounding us on why we’re getting married so soon. They think it’s out of wedlock.” I roll my eyes and pat my flat stomach pointedly.
With my luck, some photographer probably just snapped a picture as my hand connected with my belly. I can imagine what the headlines would read—Asher Black’s Fiancée Rubs Pregnant Belly at Charity Polo Match.
“Ah,” she says, her amusement sincere. “No, I was just genuinely curious.” She points to her belly and grins. “If they ask you that again, you should point them in my direction. This is what a pregnant belly looks like. I’m due in seven months.”
Oh.
