Page 89 of Theirs to Corrupt
Maybe that shouldn’t surprise me. After what my husbands just did to me, I can barely recall who I am.
The first people we make our way toward are Lorenzo and Zara.
Obviously Link is strategic with the way we’re greeting people.
As we approach, Lorenzo raises his champagne flute in greeting. Zara is sipping what appears to be soda water with lime. Which makes sense as I recall Link asking how their baby daughter is doing.
Zara hugs me. “You’ve got your hands full with this pair.”
Link shrugs in agreement.
Lorenzo shakes hands with my men, then acknowledges me.
“Thank you for coming,” Link says beside me, his voice warm with genuine affection. “Zara, we’re delighted you could get away.”
“We’re so happy to have shared your celebration,” Zara says. “Forgive us if we don’t stay much longer.”
“Gabriella’s waiting for us at home. This is one of Zara’s first outings.”
With a laugh, she looks at her husband. “You should see this one with her,” she says, nudging Lorenzo playfully. He responds by sliding his arm around her waist and easing her closer.“Gabriella has her daddy wrapped around her little finger. It’s adorable.”
Lorenzo doesn’t even try to deny it.
This formidable man lights up at the mere mention of his daughter.
“What can I say? I’m powerless against her beautiful eyes. Reminds me of myprincipessa.”He smiles at Zara. Then he returns his attention to us. “Your guests are waiting.
“I hope to spend more time with you in the future,” I tell Zara, and I mean it. She’s warm and inviting.
“If you are in Las Vegas long enough, I’d love to have you come and meet Gabriella.”
I look to Link. “I’d like that.”
Gently Link’s hand returns to my back, and he guides me toward three men who are standing in a circle.
As we approach the trio, their conversation halts. They part to allow us space to join them, and their attention turns to us.
Even though I technically met all of them immediately after the ceremony, I really don’t know who they are. Maybe because of that—or maybe because of the fog still shrouding me—I can’t recall names.
They shake hands with my husbands and offer their congratulations before Link once more places his hand on my back, a comforting presence as I face these powerful figures.
Then he more formally introduces me.
“Altair Montgomery,” Link says.
Even in the warm glow of the reception lighting, there’s something powerfully otherworldly about him and the depth of his gaze. His handshake is firm but cool.
“Charmed, Mrs. Merritt,” he says, his voice smooth as silk and compelling as any I’ve ever heard. His eyes are dark, fathomless. “Your ceremony was delightful.”
“Thank you. But I can’t take credit. Link planned most of it.”
“Indeed?” Altair asks.
“Altair owns the Retreat.” After a short pause, Link goes on. “A BDSM club in downtown Houston.”
Unable to respond, I blink.
BDSM?