Page 54 of Break My Rules
“Oh, thank god,” Tessa exclaims when I reach her. Clearly, the feeling is mutual. She holds my hand tightly, looking around. “Someone asked me if I was with the Department for Trade and Industry, and what I thought about the tech policy being negotiated at the upcoming G8 conference. I was worried I was going to start an international trade war!”
I smile, tugging her closer for a kiss. “You should have told them you favored protectionist policies and were pushing for tariffs. You could have sent the stock markets reeling tomorrow morning,” I joke, feeling better already with her in my arms.
Somehow, she makes everything better.
Tessa takes a breath, stepping back so there’s a polite distance between us. “Lionel Ambrose looks comfortable,” she says, nodding to where the man himself is holding court with my father and a crowd of journalists, imposing and charismatic. “Is Hugh here yet? How was the squash match?” she demands. “Did you find anything useful?”
I shake my head regretfully. “He was at the party last year, but we knew that already,” I reply, knowing she’ll be disappointed. “He says he left early, though, but there wasn’t really a way for me to quiz him what else he was doing.”
Tessa looks downcast. “What about Max, is this the kind of event he shows up for?”
“Not if he can help it.”
“So there’s no new information at all.” Tessa presses her lips together, annoyed. “We’re running out of time.”
“How do you figure that?” I ask, frowning. I’ve noticed a change in Tessa’s mood the last couple of days, a new focus and determination in her hunt for Wren’s assailant. She’s stayed up late, running internet searches, looking for clues; blowing off her college work to obsess over Hugh and Max’s possible alibis, and trying to brainstorm ways to trap them in a lie.
I know this search matters to her, but I can’t help feeling uneasy, seeing how much it consumes her thoughts. Even talking on a night like this, I can tell that a part of her brain is on alert for anything that might link back to Wren.
“Well, the longer I’m asking questions and digging around, the more chance there is that her attacker will find out I’m looking for him, and cover his tracks,” Tessa explains, looking away, almost guilty. “The Blackthorn Society found out I was looking into their business, and sent that guy after me,” she adds. “If this man feels threatened… Who knows what he might do?”
“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” I vow, drawing her closer. That attack in Oxford still haunts me, knowing I should have been there, protecting her. “You don’t have to worry. You’re not going after the society anymore.”
“No, but that doesn’t mean my target isn’t just as dangerous,” she points out, her face still shadowed.
I lean down, and kiss her softly, trying to banish the shadows from her eyes. “We’ll find him,” I promise her, even though I still have no idea how.
And once we find the right man, what happens then? I haven’t talked about it with Tessa, but she has to know that we can’t just go to the police or expect the legal system to offer any kind of justice at all. Wren is long dead, there are no witnesses, only secondhand fragments of information, and no one would press charges, let alone convict a man on evidence like that. Not to mention the fact that the Ambrose or Lancaster families would never stand for so much as an official investigation. Their lawyers would send even the most determined prosecutor running.
So what is Tessa’s endgame here?
Do I even want to know?
I grab another glass of champagne. This just got too dark, too fast—and I see my parents across the room, too. It’s only a matter of time before they decide to come say hello, so I grab Tessa’s hand, and pull her down the hall, away from the main party. “How about a tour?” I ask, wanting to lighten the mood.
“I’ve already visited,” she protests, but she’s smiling again as I tug her into an alcove behind the main reception area.
"Yes, but you haven’t had a special, personal, private tour…” I murmur, dropping kisses on her neck and collarbone. She catches her breath in a rush, shivering as I find the sensitive spot I know she loves.
“Don’t you need to circulate?” she asks, but her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are already sparkling with temptation. “Play the dutiful son?”
“I’d rather hear that moan you make, right before you come.”
“Saint!” Tessa gasps, looking around to see if anyone heard, but luckily, they’re all too busy schmoozing.
“I don’t hear a ‘No,’” I smirk, my hands skimming lower.
Tessa bites her lip, blushing even deeper, but she holds my gaze boldly. “Now that I think about it, I have wanted to see your office,” she muses with a saucy smirk. “So I can picture exactly where you are when I’m sending you those dirty texts, and getting you hard.”
Damn.
I bite back a groan, already pulling her on down the hallway, and through the executive floor until we reach the CEO’s office, where I’ve been working these past couple of weeks. The noise from the party is quieter here, away from the crowd. “Fancy,” Tessa whistles, looking around the luxurious space, furnished with a couch, designer chairs, and a massive desk positioned right in front of the incredible view. “The décor leaves something to be desired, though,” she adds with a smirk, holding up a framed photo of my mother.
I take it from her and set it aside. “This is my father’s office,” I tell her, and Tessa raises her eyebrow—at the same time as she grips my collar and pulls me closer, up against the desk.
“And you want to have your wicked way with me right here? You really are the rebel heir.”
“What did you call me?” I chuckle, gripping her hips and lifting her the perch on the edge of the polished wooden surface.